barbeque or weenie roast. Once in a while, I'd get a phone call or run into them in town, but this was the first time they'd taken a real interest in me since they'd graduated high school.
As irritating as they could be, I was touched by their efforts to help me.
I laid a hand on my belly where my baby was growing. It was the first time I'd really acknowledged its existence. Between the stress of school and worries about money and medical care, I hadn't given a lot of thought to what a miracle a baby was. Especially one that had been conceived despite the fact that J.J. and I had used condoms every single time we'd had sex.
"You're a miracle in more ways than one, jelly bean," I whispered.
14
Within a couple of days, J.J. and I settled into sort of a routine.
He was an early riser, just like I was, though he tended to exercise in the morning, and I liked to work in the garden before the heat of the day hit. Not that I minded seeing him come back from his run shirtless or using the weights he'd brought over to the house.
We ate dinner together both nights. And on Sunday night, as he had done the week before we got married, J.J. cooked several healthy dishes and portioned them out into meals for his lunch for the upcoming week and he'd done the same for me. I helped as much as he would let me, but since my feet had swollen up so badly on Friday, he wanted me to sit down and put them up as much as possible. I tried to explain that the swelling was from being on my feet all day in those heels, but he was insistent I rest.
It was strange to spend so much time sitting down when I was usually up and going all weekend long, either for work or with household tasks that needed to be caught up on.
We both went back to work that following Monday, which again, seemed a little strange after the weekend. There were moments that the entire situation seemed unreal.
One example was Monday morning when J.J. walked into the kitchen, dressed for work. I was munching on toast and drinking tea when he came in and set about packing his lunch.
"Morning," he greeted, his voice pitched low and still a little rough with sleep.
"Morning."
Once his lunch was packed, he set the bag next to his briefcase in one of the chairs and made coffee with the single-cup maker.
"Want some eggs?" he asked.
I had to laugh. He'd asked me that every morning since Saturday and the answer was the same today as it was the first two.
"No, thanks."
"You need protein," he replied.
"I'll get it when I have lunch and dinner," I shot back. "You made sure of that by making them for me."
It was his turn to laugh. "Fair enough. Do you have something against scrambled eggs?" he asked. "I could have sworn you used to eat them all the time as a kid."
I shook my head. "I don't have anything against them, usually, and I did eat them all the time as a kid. My stomach is still a little queasy in the mornings so tea and toast are about all I can handle. I promise I'll let you make me eggs at some point. Just not for breakfast."
J.J. grinned as he got a pan out of the cabinet. Over the weekend, he'd managed to familiarize himself with most of the kitchen. Granted, it was a tiny kitchen with only a few cabinets and the pantry, but he took the time to figure out where everything was.
It was something I noticed about adult J.J. that hadn't changed much from teenage J.J.
When he was interested in something, he learned what he could about it.
Which was also why he started bringing me dinner or taking me out for dinner every night that I worked at Crave after Monday. Once he realized that I was eating a sandwich and fruit for lunch and the meals he'd prepped for dinner, he started showing up at the shop with food.
I really wanted to be irritated at him but he made it impossible. Rather than bossing me around or trying to wheedle me into doing what he wanted, he did something nice.
It was a tactic that worked because my mother had hammered the concept of manners into me from a young age.
Friday night was a good example. He