When Girlfriends Step Up (29 page)

Who am I kidding? I was on cloud nine whenever Bobby called me one of his adoring pet names. Even him saying my name was nice, knowing that I was no longer “Miss Sinclair, the co-worker.”

“I’m bummed we didn’t get to see each other this weekend. A whole weekend without you was rough.”

“Well I had my first Lamaze class yesterday. Then coffee with Kaitlyn, which, by the way, went really well.”

“Awesome. I’m happy to hear that. Glad you guys are reconnecting.”

“And then of course I had the most
a-ma-zing
spa day today. The best day, ever.” The pre-natal spa date Sophie and Claire gave me was pure heaven. By far one of the most exorbitant gifts I’d ever received.
 

“Your girls one-upped our first date, huh?”

“Ohhh, I’d say maybe an even tie.”

“Is that so? Maybe I need to up the ante then.”

“I’d like to see that.”
 

“Well, Miss Thing wants to take things slow. I’ve got to be an upstanding gentleman and all…” I rolled my eyes, seeing that one coming a mile away. “But once a gentleman, always a gentleman. If that’s the way my girlfriend wants things, that’s how she’ll have them.”

It was the first time Bobby referred to me as his girlfriend. Were we, in fact, exclusive? I honestly hadn’t given much thought to it, but considering how we were spending a lot of time together, going out on romantic dates, sharing our lunch hour together at work every day…I suppose we were an item. I suppose we
were
boyfriend and girlfriend. I wasn’t seeing anyone else. (And I didn’t want to or plan on it.) I was certain Bobby wasn’t seeing anyone else. Where would either of us find the time, anyway? When we weren’t sleeping (or having baby showers and luxurious spa days), we were together—at work, on dates, you name it.

“Girlfriend, huh?” I kept my voice as playful as his.

“I assume so. Did I assume wrong? Seeing another Prince Charming?”

“Of course not.” I bit down on my bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. I was relieved when he took the liberty.

“I’ve told the boys at work that my girlfriend is the amazing graphic artist, and determined-to-be project manager of the new
chick lit
author our firm
has
to get. The one and only Miss Robin Sinclair.”

“People at work know?” I asked, somewhat astonished.

“Uh-oh. Should we keep it under wraps? Someone ashamed to call me her boyfriend?”

“Ha. Ha. I didn’t think about it, that’s all. But we are official. We have been going out for a while…I
am
falling for you…
fallen
for you, I should say.” I left room with my pauses for kittenish remarks. “I guess all of those lunches together would leave people talking around the office. And the kisses, too. Not too good at hiding those…”
 

“Aw, Robin, you’re amazing,” he sighed. “I’ve fallen
hard
for you and I’m enjoying every minute of it. I’ll let you get some sleep now.”

“Goodnight, Bobby,” I said softly.

“Goodnight, honey.”

***

Since Bobby and I had made it “official” a few days earlier, I wanted to lay something out on the table that’d been bothering me for a while. Complete honesty. Janet’s vindictive mention about Bobby buttering me up for the promotion, so he could squeeze by, become my best right-hand man, then say, “See ya!” and move on to greener pastures—I couldn’t shake it from my mind. I know it was a ridiculous thought, “totally absurd,” as Lara had put it. However, I wasn’t completely convinced. I needed to do what my gut was telling me and put it out there. If Bobby and I were an official pair, now, he’d have to get used to listening to my thoughts, no matter how obscure they were. And as secure as I felt around him, as comfortable as I felt being me and feeling confident when I was with him, I couldn’t help but hear the nagging voice in my head warning me that something would spoil this fantasy-turned-reality. Maybe Bobby
was
only with me for the stupid reasons Janet said. Sure, he’d said he didn’t want the PM position in the interest of the firm and his own career goals, but what about going at it from a different angle? Going through me somehow? What if Bobby did have an angle, and I was the pathetic pawn in it all?
 

I unwrapped the sandwich I’d hastily packed for lunch that morning. My mind was buzzing with thoughts of how I’d delicately tell Bobby what was on my mind. I didn’t want to hurt him or accuse him of something I hoped to God was false, yet I needed to dispel the thoughts and ill feelings by laying it out there.

“Come on, Robin. What is it?” Bobby urged, caressing my forearm. The weather had surprised us with a tepid day with more sunshine than rainclouds, so we took our sack lunches out on the bistro table on the sidewalk outside the office.

I glanced up at a co-worker who passed by on his way to his car in the parking lot. I made sure the co-worker was in his car, door shut, and no one else was around. When all was clear, I told Bobby not to think that I was stupid or childish or petty. Sometimes I could be irrational—a trait enhanced by being pregnant, but also what came with my unfortunate general lack of confidence. I told him Janet’s stupid theory about why he was suddenly interested in me, why she thought he turned on the charm and, as she said that morning, that “Bobby’s only using you by making you his girlfriend now.
How
convenient.”
 

“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” he said, his face turned down, the veins in his neck starting to push forward. “That’s deplorable. Nothing could be further from the truth!”

I told him to calm down, that I was sorry for bringing it up.

“No,” he said, trying to relax. “Don’t be sorry. It was on your mind and I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything. You need to follow your heart, though.” He took my hands in his. “Ignore what Janet, a miserable woman with no one to love, thinks about us. You know none of that’s true.”

“But why now? Why me and now?” I asked, still wanting to press the matter, not because I actually believed Janet’s stupid theory, but because why on Earth would someone like Bobby, such an amazing man who could probably have a handful of women out there, want to be with me? And at eight months pregnant!

“Robin,” he said, his voice stern. “I’m going to tell you something.”

I nodded my head slowly.

Dear God, what is he going to say?

“I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. Your being pregnant has no bearing,
whatsoever
, on the situation. I would have asked you out whether or not you were pregnant. Whether you were caught up in some custody battle with the father…even having to split time with the baby, seeing him. So long as we were both single, I would have asked. Hell, I probably would have asked you even if you
were
seeing someone.
Not
that I condone sweeping a girl off her feet and out of the arms of another dude. Not cool.” He pulled in closer to me, leaning over the table, my hands still tightly clenched in his. “But knowing what I know now. Knowing you. Knowing how I feel about you. About what I feel when I see you walk into a room. When I’m around you—I couldn’t imagine life without you now, Robin.

“So I’ll say it again, once more. I’m not trying to sabotage your career or advance mine by making you my girlfriend. I’m not trying to weasel my way into anything. I’m not with you because you’re pregnant and single and I feel sorry for you or anything ridiculous like that. In fact, if I had my head on straight, I would have asked you out years ago.” He glanced down at the table, then looked back up at me, straight into my eyes. “I’ve fallen for you, Robin. Fallen hard. I’m with you simply because…because I’ve fallen in love with you.”

I swallowed the lump that had been forming in my throat the instant he said he had something to tell me. My feelings for Bobby were, without a hint of doubt, reciprocated.

I felt my stomach flip, and I thought they were butterflies, until I recognized the peculiar movement. I was feeling my little girl kicking, rolling around.

“Oh my goodness,” I said, clutching my stomach.

Bobby jumped forward out of his chair slightly, alarmed. “You all right?”

“Yes,” I said, grinning widely. “Yes, yes. Here, feel.” I grabbed his hand and placed it on my stomach as my baby girl continued kicking and moving.

“I think she’s celebrating!” I laughed, tears springing to my eyes. “She liked your little speech there, Bobby.” She kept fluttering about, a small nub apparent to the naked eye, right there through my shirt, skirting across my stomach. “My God! Look! You can see her!” I gently touched the moving button, Bobby’s hand moving with mine.

I looked up at him, wiped a strain of tears from my cheek, and said, “I’ve never felt her move so much. This is amazing. This is incredible! I think she really is celebrating, Bobby.”

With one hand still on my stomach, feeling the constant kicks and movements of my baby, he brushed away the last tears from my cheek with a soft swipe of his thumb. His ocean blue eyes looked deeply into mine, lightening up to an even bluer shade, as he smiled, and said, “I love you, Robin.”

“I love you, too, Bobby.” I sniffed back my tears and met him halfway for the most passionate, most beautiful, and most meaningful kiss I’d ever had.

Chapter Twenty

The final Lamaze class went very well. Lara and I were confident we knew all the proper breathing and relaxing exercises. We knew more than we wanted to about things that can tear, needed to be stretched, massaged—the works. We were well-prepared for when the baby would arrive. I was approaching my last full month of pregnancy and couldn’t wait to meet my little girl. She’d been doing a lot of moving in recent weeks, and Sky said she had dropped. I was well on my way to delivering very soon.

Naturally, when the girls heard that my baby was getting into position for birth, they agreed we were in need of one final girls’ night before the big moment. Location: not a bar or a club or the usual spot with loud music and dancing. Jackie and Claire had originally suggested we go to The Clubhouse, a converted warehouse-turned-bar that was, in spite of its rowdily suggestive name, a low-key, but high-on-fun bar in Capitol Hill. But Lara chimed in with me when I suggested that it was probably best I put my club-visits on hold for a while. And, as they reassured me, there’d be plenty of time in the future to toast with a cosmo and hit the dance floor, all the girls together again going out for a night. This time, however, with my daughter’s due date right around the corner, we decided to head over to Josephine’s and Josie’s, a very laid-back coffeehouse that often hosted poetry readings, book signings, and the occasional weekend evening piano or guitar performance.

All of us, save for Sophie, who was spending the weekend at her parents’ in Santa Barbara saying goodbye to her brother before he left for London, got dolled up for the special acoustical guitar duo performance that night. Although I’d found myself the designated driver in a few situations since I became preggers, I could no longer fit behind the wheel. So Jackie did what Jackie does best, and she called for a stretch limo, saying that Andrew wouldn’t mind. “We have to go in
style
for your last night out before the baby’s here,” Jackie had insisted.
 

It was a bummer that we couldn’t manage to gather all the girls together, but lately it was a miracle we could find a weekend when Jackie was free. As great as Andrew was (and Jackie reminded us on several occasions how fabulous and generous he was), he did demand a lot of Jackie’s attention and time. He traveled a lot, but when he
was
in town he wanted Jackie by his side, no questions. When she said she was free this weekend we pounced; not like I had that many free weekends left before it would be all about midnight feedings, diaper changes, and possibly something I recently read in my new infant books called colic. Sometimes I was really nervous about the big delivery day, then I’d think about finally getting to meet my daughter and I’d get excited. Still so very unreal, yet somehow, at the same time, it all felt very real.

Things were going spectacularly with Bobby. I still couldn’t believe I was in love with the most incredible man. I mean, these kinds of stories exist in fantasy only! The stuff fairy tales are made of. (Even though Snow White and Sleeping Beauty weren’t knocked up, single, and
then
swept off their feet by the knight on the white horse. Different stories, same happily ever after, I hoped.)
 

My whole office learned really fast that Bobby and I were an item. Janet continued making underhanded remarks and I did my best to ignore them, brush them off and not let her get under my skin. Damn was that difficult. Back on our one-week anniversary (so cute!), Bobby had brought me a colorful bouquet of roses, with a handmade card: a simple heart cutout on pink card stock, that read,
Roses for my Rose. XO, The Man Who Loves You
.
 

Janet had exaggeratedly rolled her eyes and told me that such public displays of affection were immature and that we should keep our personal lives to ourselves. She repeated this antic in her usual distasteful manner whenever Bobby brought me a drink, or left a sweet Post-It on my desk, or shared lunch with me in the break room. I got used to tuning her out, admiring my gifts and enjoying Bobby’s attention, and then getting right back to work. Bobby and I were affectionate towards one another in public, but not to a revolting level, and certainly not to the point where our job performance suffered. I don’t think we kissed more than once a day when at work—usually reserved for lunchtime. We were a solid item, but we weren’t, contrary to my wretched officemate’s opinion, behaving like “love sick middle schoolers.”

On the way to the coffeehouse, the girls sipped champagne in the back of a snazzy limousine that had extremely comfortable seats, really taking the strain off my lower back, which had been killing me in recent days.
 

I’d finished filling the girls in on the Janet saga, and about how over-the-moon I was for Bobby, gushing over the story of how Bobby brought me a gift for just a one-week anniversary awhile ago.