Because of Them (Because of Love #2)

Chapter Sixteen

AUDREY

T he phone rings out, but the second the vibrating stops, it starts up again with a new call. Same as it did two minutes ago. It hasn’t stopped since I said goodbye to Michael, reassuring him that I was okay and he should get back to work.

I’m not okay though, and with each gentle whir from my bag the throbbing in my temple grows a little louder. The dread that began to settle in the dim light of the ultrasound clinic pulses through me. There’s no way the person calling is bringing good news, and I know I shouldn’t worry about the what ifs but they are the only thoughts left in my brain.

Is it Michael calling to tell me this is all too much? That he never signed up for one baby, let alone two, and he is done playing pretend.

Or maybe it’s my mother, calling with good intentions to ask how the ultrasound went. She’s been overbearing and smitten ever since I finally told her I was pregnant. The latest display of that, a giant hamper of baby goods, still sits fully wrapped on the entry table. She’s probably ready to beg me to send her the photos of her precious grandchild. But if it is her, I’m not ready for that conversation. How do I tell her that instead of one surprise baby I’m having two? And I’m pretty sure my baby daddy is even more freaked out than me, and I’m freaked out a lot.

Most likely though, it will be my boss, calling to ask where I am, because I told him I would come in as soon as the appointment was over, but the appointment ran late and I came home instead. He’d acted like a hero when he said I could have the morning off for my appointment, but the side serving of a passive aggressive reminder that I’ll just have to work harder to clear my inbox in the afternoon gave away his misogyny. It grates on me, but right now I don’t have it in me to care. I have no appointments scheduled and frankly, my inbox can wait.

Two babies.

Two.

My heart starts to gallop again. Walking to the kitchen and dumping my bag on the island bench, I stare down at the ultrasound pictures in my hand. Twin A written in tiny, bold font on the top photo. Twin B on the other. Which twin did we see in the first two ultrasounds?

Holding the photos next to the earlier one I keep on the fridge, I squint my eyes. The photos are far from clear and the profiles all look the same. To be expected, really, considering they are identical. I doubt I’ll ever know which baby I saw first. I wonder if I’ll be able to tell my babies apart.

I wonder if Michael will. I wonder if they will look more like me, or more like him. I wonder how often they will see their father, what kind of relationship they will have. Will he want to parent them the same way I do? Will he take them for weekends at a time, dropping them back loaded with sugar or emotional trauma? He said he will always be there, but for how long? When will he realise that his life has changed far too much, and he doesn’t want it anymore?

When will he realise that being tied to me is not as much fun as it used to be?

Nausea hits me harder than ever before, squeezing my stomach and clawing at my throat. Dropping to my hands and knees, I rest my head against the cool stainless steel of the fridge. My body heaves but, thankfully, for the first time in a long time, I manage to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong. It takes an age for my muscles to recover, to loosen again. But my back continues to ache from the hunched over position, and my knees protest when I use the kitchen bench to pull myself up.

My bag vibrates all over again and I groan, conceding that I have to check who it is. At best, so I can ignore the call for a while longer. At worst, so I can tell my boss I’m not coming in today.

Brett Harper—Harper Smith Real Estate

His name flashes across the screen and Cassidy’s words ring in my ear. You deserve to be thrilled about what you do for a living. But if not this, then what. Then art? But how would I pay the bills, how would I put food on the table? I don’t want to rely solely on child support and single parenting allowances.

My hand shakes as my thumb sweeps across the screen to answer the call and I bring the phone up to my ear.

“Brett.” The name comes out with more hatred than I intended, and I pray he hasn’t picked up on my joyless attitude.

“Audrey, just checking in. Figured the appointment would be done by now but haven’t seen you at your desk yet.”

He speaks all snappy and sharp, and my jaw clenches at the way he drawls out my name.

“I was about to call you, actually. I just got home and—”

“Home?” He cuts me off and I want to scream at him that I deserve to be listened to. “I thought you were coming straight back. Your calendar looks empty but there is always work to do. I’m sure you have hundreds of potential clients in your inbox.”

“I’m sure I do, Brett, but I had some … unexpected news at the appointment. I need to take the full day as personal leave. Just while I process and figure everything out.”

“Unexpected? Ah well. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Anyway, I guess if you aren’t coming in, we’ll have to chat on the phone.”

I swallow down the rising anger. How dare he?

“About what Brett? I’m sorry but if it’s not time critical, I’d really rather wait until tomorrow.” I keep my tone flat, still fighting to hold down the burst of frustration that tries to bubble to the surface.

He lets out a quick, huffed, laugh. His lack of tact and his indifference to my capacity grate down my spine. One step lower and I’ll jump.

“It’s just about that house you sold. The big modern town home with the huge backyard that closed last month. You sold it to your ex-husband.”

I hum, urging him to get to his point because I really want to get off the phone and go hide in my bed until I have to pick up Maisie from kindergarten.

“We’ve had some complaints,” Brett states. I remind myself to breathe.

“Complaints about what?”

“Some buyers that missed out on the property seem to think the sale was conducted in a way that was deceptive. The complaint is that you enticed the buyer to reject offers, knowing that you wanted to sell the property to your ex. Now, if that’s true Audrey, it’s a major concern. And even if it’s not, the fact we have had complaints is something we have to take very seriously.”

I can’t hold back the scoff. “Everything was done above board Brett. You know that because I had you sign off on everything because the buyer was my ex-husband. I gave each offer adequate weight when informing the seller. It’s not my fault Callum offered a quarter of a million over the asking price.”

“Yes yes, I am aware of how much he offered. Even so, Audrey, we need to take the complaints very seriously. We can’t risk losing potential buyers of future homes, just because they aren’t happy with how a sale went in the past.”

“What are you saying Brett?”

Bile rises once more in my throat, burning through my neck.

“Nothing major Audrey, don’t panic. But instead of having someone shadow you before your leave, we will be adding a second agent to every sale, to show buyers that we value integrity and honesty. All commissions will be split.”

“What?”

“In an attempt to keep the situation fair, we will assign a different agent to each sales contract you currently have open. For their work in finalising the sale they will receive fifty per cent of the commission.”

“Brett, that’s not fair.”

“It has to be done Audrey. I’m sorry we had to do this over the phone, but since you didn’t feel like coming into the office it was needed.”

I force out something that resembles, “thanks for letting me know,” before ending the call and slamming my phone back on the bench. Tears blur my vision for a moment before one spills onto my cheek. I bat it away and wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve. No. Brett doesn’t deserve my tears. That stupid job doesn’t deserve my tears.

I open the calendar app on my phone and count the weeks. I just need to make it to my maternity leave. Then I’ll figure it out. Fifteen weeks. I can do this.

Callum’s surname screams at me from the back of my hand. I want to scratch it off, but I wrote it there for a reason. No matter how desperately I want to wallow, now that I have an afternoon off, I might as well use it to get my name back.

In the small study nook, I open up the laptop and start making a list of all the organisations I’ll need to contact. It drags on and on until my eyes hurt, but once I’m sure I have everything listed, I scroll back to the top to start the process. I’ll have to physically go into most places, but it feels cathartic, finally leaving that piece of my history behind. Like I can finally start to think about what my future might be like.

Anyone would think a woman about to have a baby would have her future sorted, but I don’t. I have no idea what it looks like. Especially now that I am questioning my career as well.

I wonder if I should feel scared. If I should be panicking beyond measure. But I’m not. I’m not scared or worried or nervous. I’m not excited or thrilled either. I just kind of am, and I guess right now that’s all I can hope for.