Not My Type: Rhiannon Ch. 05

We stood across from each other for a while. I watched the expressions flitter and change over her pretty face. She wasn't okay with it. I knew she wasn't. But she was trying to be and I wondered if it was out of love for me or for Joe.

"You do realize of course, that my parents are going to freak." She giggled a little. "And for once it won't be my fault."

I laughed at that. I was hard to believe little Lilly Tanner getting in trouble with her parents at all. "Are we going to be okay?" I asked.

Lilly crossed the room and tentatively gave me a hug. "I guess we'll have to be. I'm sorry I got mad at you, it was all just a bit of a shock. I shouldn't have asked you if he was really the father. That was awful of me. I didn't really mean it." She hung her auburn head and watched as she ground her toes into the carpet like a chastised child. "This is so big, Rhiannon."

"You're tellin' me!" I said with a sardonic laugh, hoping to lighten the mood with a little humour.

Lilly giggled shyly. "You know I love you to pieces, but you're just not the sort of woman I ever pictured for Joe."

My smile was wry. "Well nothing is written in stone yet, Lilly, but I promise you I'll always be honest with him, and with you."

"I guess I can't ask for more than that, huh?" Lilly admitted with a sigh. "Just be careful with him Rhi. He acts tough, but he's really not."

I'd seen through the tough façade already, but I knew what Lilly was trying to say. "He's half bulldozer, half teddy bear," I agreed.

Lilly and Adele laughed. There was a moment of silence between us all which was much more comfortable than the earlier ones had been. Adele was smiling at us both, watching as Lilly took my left hand and looked down at my engagement ring. The smile which bloomed over Lilly's pretty face was beatific and almost as if she couldn't contain herself she squealed excitedly, clutching my arm.

"Do you know what this means? I'm going to be an aunt!"

~*~

I had no bloody idea how early it was when the alarm clock went off. It was still dark outside, but with my contact lenses out I couldn't exactly read the time. Joe grunted a little unhappily, but shut off the buzzing quickly. He patted my hip and kissed the top of my head.

"Go back to sleep, darlin'," he whispered.

"Duty calls?" I mumbled into the warmth of my pillow.

"Yup. Welcome to farm life." Joe sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. I closed my eyes and tried to sink back into sleep. He moved quietly around the room getting dressed.

"You want me to get up and cook you breakfast?" I offered sleepily. It wasn't something I'd ever thought I'd say, but somehow I thought I should make the attempt.

He chuckled in the darkness. "Do you even know how to cook breakfast?"

I lazily threw his pillow at him, and in the dim pre-dawn light I saw that I missed him completely.

"I can make toast," I muttered. I snuggled down further into the warmth of the sheets. "But now you'll have to make your own, smart ass. Just no bacon! And don't go eating that leftover Angel Food cake that Lilly sent home either, that's not breakfast food."

"Yes m'am," Joe teased. "I can get my own breakfast Rhi, so just go back to sleep. Wouldn't mind lunch though, if you can manage it. I'll aim to be home at noon."

I nodded and made what I hoped was a noise of assent before my dreams claimed me again.

~*~

The cupboards needed cleaning out. I'd only poked around the kitchen a little before I made that decision. It had been so long since anything had been used that its cleanliness was questionable, so I decided the first order of the day was to wash and reorganize everything.

I loaded as much as I could into the dishwasher. There wasn't a single plate or glass that matched in the whole cottage. Instead every piece looked like it had been picked up from a garage sale or antique store. Every era was represented too, from delicate, turn-of-the-century china plates, to really ugly, heavy 70's era stoneware. Altogether though, the effect was quite charming. There were a few pieces I was instantly drawn to -- the little yellow rose-patterned teacup and the blue willow platter in particular both just begged to be used often.

While I had the cupboards empty, I scrubbed them all out. It didn't take long for my knees and back to be in ten kinds of pain, but I didn't want to stop. I'd promised Joe lunch, and I wanted to have the kitchen done before he got home. I don't know why I cared so much, I'd never done much housework before. We'd always had a housekeeper growing up, and when I'd bought the condo I had a cleaning lady come in once a week. But for once I felt a fierce need to do it myself, to somehow make the kitchen mine. Goodness knows what I was going to do with it all once I was done.

I finished scrubbing out the last of the bottom cupboards and put all the freshly washed pots and pans back in it. I sat back on my heels with a pained but satisfied sigh. The small of my back ached like it never had before and I didn't even want to think about the state of my manicure. I glanced up at the clock on the microwave. 11:05. Joe would be home for lunch in less than an hour.

I'd had the vague idea while I cleaned that I'd make Joe a hot lunch. Lilly had mentioned once that they always had a hot lunch at the farm. It was sort of an odd idea to me, especially since I rarely had lunch at all, but I could see how a farmer could need one. For Joe, it must feel like a long stretch between breakfast before the sun came up and something warm to eat at noon.

An examination of the pantry revealed a glorious spread of canned goods, but there wasn't much fresh in the fridge. There was a loaf of bread though, along some butter and some cheese, so evidently Joe had done some shopping. Grilled cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup didn't sound too beyond my culinary capabilities. It probably wouldn't equal the meal up at the Tanner house, but it would have to do. Maybe later I'd run in to town and buy a couple of beginner cookbooks. After all, if I was going to consider this farm wife thing, I'd have to broaden my repertoire past sandwiches and soup.

I hopped in the shower to wash off the morning's sweat and dust. By the time I felt clean and presentable again it was 11:43. I set out all my sandwich making ingredients and opened the can of soup. It looked a little thick as it slid slowly out of the can and into the pot, but I figured a little heat would smooth things out. I sliced cheese, buttered bread and put the frying pan on the stove to heat up while the soup did. 11:51. I had enough time change out of my robe before Joe waltzed though the door.

I should have stayed in my robe. I'd been so wrapped up in life the past few days, and getting used to having Joe around, that I hadn't had any time alone. I stood in shocked disbelief when I caught sight of myself naked in the full-length mirror on the tiny closet door. I'd changed since the last time I'd taken a good look at myself.

I'd never been skinny, but I'd always been proportionate -- hourglass-shaped at least, which was a blessing I suppose, but things had changed. Already my middle had thickened a little, so that the ratio between my hips and my waist looked smaller; no wonder my favourite jeans weren't fitting properly. It didn't help that my breasts looked bigger too, fuller, my nipples darker. While I didn't exactly have flat, wash-board abs to begin with, the small curve of my belly was definitely more pronounced. I touched it gently, curving my hand around the gentle slope and suddenly everything began to sink in in a way it hadn't before.

I was going to have a baby. It wasn't just an abstract concept that had changed my life so completely and overwhelmingly—it was real. It was there, growing inside of me. A little person. A little version of Joe. My knees shook. I sat down on the edge of the bed, still cradling my abdomen.

It was real.

There was really and honestly going to be a baby. I was really and honestly going to be a mother. It was going to change me, had already changed me. I was never, ever going to be the same.

I started to cry.

I don't know why, but I did. Big, gulping, unattractive sobs which made me glad I was finally alone in the house. No one else needed to see me like this, no one needed to know how scared I felt, how unprepared.

It hurt so much to cry while it felt so good to let go and just weep. I don't think I could have stopped it anyway, even if I wanted to. Everything else in the world just ceased to exist except for the weird throbbing rhythm of my heartbeat inside my head. While the doctor had told me it would be a few more weeks before I felt anything, a sympathetic flutter in my insides reminded me I wasn't quite alone.

"Rhi?" Joe's voice from the sun porch sounded strangely far away. It took me a moment to realize he was there. "Rhiannon?" There was a panicked edge to his voice when he didn't immediately find me and I didn't answer back. I tried to cry out, but my throat felt thick; my response was little more than a croak. I wiped at my tear-streaked face with the corner of my discarded robe and took a few deep breaths to calm myself.

Joe stuck his head in the bedroom door and gasped. "Darlin' are you okay? Is something wrong?" He fell to his knees at my feet and took my hand. I shook my head frantically, trying to come up with an explanation as to why I was sitting naked on our bed and crying my head off in the middle of the day. Nothing plausible came to mind.

"I-I'm fine," I mumbled when my tongue untangled enough that I could speak. "Nothing's wrong."

"What are you doing?" Joe reached up and tucked a damp, wayward strand of hair behind my ear. He sounded worried.

"I'm crying."

Joe's chuckle was low but kind. "I figured that. Why?"

How did I explain myself? My brain couldn't come up with the words to describe what I'd been thinking, what I'd felt, so I said the only thing I could think of. "I feel fat."

And then I started to cry again, because even if that wasn't why I'd started crying in the first place, it didn't make it any less true.

"Oh, darlin'" Joe murmured, putting his arms around me. "You're not fat, you're pregnant and that's two completely different things by my thinkin'. And you're sexy as hell, so don't worry your head about it. You know you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He tucked me under his chin and stroked my back, which felt good since it still ached from my morning of scrubbing cupboards.

We stayed like that for a while, me sitting on the edge of the bed, Joe kneeling at my feet, arms around each other, not saying anything. I tried my best to stem the steady stream of tears, but it took a while and a few deep, shaky breaths.

I took another deep inhale of the skin along Joe's neck where I was cuddled. "You smell like dirt and sweat," I teased when I felt a little better. It wasn't a bad smell at all, actually, even if it was a little strong; it was manly—earthy and primal.

"You smell like shampoo," Joe laughed into my shower-damp hair. "Shampoo and..." he paused, inhaling deeply. "Is something burning?"

"Holy shit!" I shouted, breaking our embrace. "The fucking soup!" I reached quickly for my robe and wrapped it around myself, Joe came to his feet just in time to follow me on my sprint to the kitchen.

To be continued...