CHAPTER SEVEN
T
hird Trimester: Seventh Month

Week 25
198. Couch

Tony paused halfway through the living room and stared at the overwhelming mountain of gifts piled on and around the couch. Eventually, he bravely approached it, set down his glass, and picked up a colorful hardback book atop some receiving blankets.

A crudely drawn pig in a pirate costume danced on the cover with a treasure map and sword.

"Pirate Piggy Wiggy?"

He flipped through its bright pages, reading about this pig and its teddy bear drinking pints of hot chocolate and using the plank for a diving board.

Books like this were going to make his kid a simpleton.


Week 26
125. Watch

"Mr. Stark, this package just arrived," Natasha said, setting it on his desk. "And your 4:00 is here."

Rose Hill, Tennessee.

"Cancel my 4:00."

Natasha left. Tony opened the note attached to the small, brown-papered cube.

Dear Mechanic,

The news says you're going to be a dad. I know you'll be a good one. Come visit – Mark III's almost ready!

Your friend,

Harley

Tony smiled, opening the box. A laugh immediately leapt from him; an all-too-familiar limited edition watch and its Spanish-speaking senorita beamed up at him. He shucked the Rolex.

Pepper chuckled at dinner. "What is that?"

"Friendship bracelet."


Week 27
106. Settle

He set up a hammock under a canopy on the beach. A cool breeze and a memory rushed over him. He started to laugh. Pepper shifted against him.

"Remember the Fourth of July party we had here four or five years ago?"

"I remember waking up under the bathroom window with you standing over me in a shower curtain."

"Not one of my finer moments."

"What about the party, Tony?"

"I had a ridiculously lucid dream that night that Jarvis was our son."

Pepper's eyes narrowed. "How does that work?"

"I don't know. But you looked good in lavender silk."


Week 28
130. Ceiling

Tony stopped dead in the doorway.

Twenty-some weeks along and she's perched precariously atop a ladder painting the goddamn ceiling.

Does pregnancy make women stupid or something?

"What the hell are you doing?"

She turned, ladder wobbling. "Painting."

"Get down. Now."

He steadied the ladder, its legs sinking into the carpet as she dismounted.

"What are you doing? Can't you paint little bunnies along the baseboard or just call a paint crew like a normal person? Give me that. Go knit in the rocking chair or something."

She obliged, smirking at how irritated his own concern for her made him.