#quandary

There wasn't any music playing or the faint smell of toast cascading through our home, so he wasn't in the kitchen or studio. The only other option was the nursery.

I waddled my way towards what used to be our spare bedroom, peeking through the door left ajar. I grinned to myself when I saw him hunched over a piece of paper, tiny screws laid out in front of him in neat piles. I pushed the door open gently and leaned against the doorframe, giving it a light tap to announce my entry.

"Hey you," I greet him. "Whatcha up to?" "Building the crib," he replies, clipped. I scrunched up my face at his curtness, shaking my head lightly. "I see... Been here long? I didn't even feel you get out of bed." "Couple hours. Didn't want to wake you."

I stand up straight, pulling my brows together with a small frown. I was not appreciating his tone.

I take a gander around the room, seeing he had put together the white bookshelf my mom had gifted us and the nightstand we got from Ikea. I loved seeing that things were coming together, bringing me a sense of security and joy, but I could still feel the rigidness permeating from him.

"Everything okay? You seem a little tense," I ask. He sighs harshly. "Yes, I'm fine. There's a few pieces missing, so I'm a little annoyed with that." I shuffle on my feet. "Well, we could take a break. Make some breakfast. Plus, we still need to paint the walls, so we can figure out the missing pieces afterwards—" "We?" He scoffs. "I'm the one putting all this shit together."

My mouth opens, but no words come out. I snap my mouth shut; I'm left blinking as I register the words he just said.

I ball my hands into fists as I feel anger simmering in my veins. "It's a little more difficult for me to sit on the floor and put things together, Noah." "Then maybe we should've done this sooner before it got too difficult for you," he mumbles with a roll of his shoulders. "Excuse me?" My jaw drops and my hand flies to my chest, absolutely appalled. I give him a chance to explain himself, but we're left in a tense silence as I watch him continue to fidget with a piece of the crib. "You know what? Go fuck yourself. I can't believe you just said that!" I take hold of the door knob, pulling the door towards me as I begin to make my exit. "Sorry for being eight months pregnant," I snap, then slam the door behind me.

Tears are burning my eyes as I stomp to the kitchen. From there, I don't waste a second and pull out the griddle, aggressively putting it on the counter and plugging it in to heat up. It might be hard for me to build a crib and paint the walls, but it certainly wasn't hard for me to cook breakfast for the both of us. Even if I was pissed off to no end.

After throwing several strips of bacon on the griddle, I made my way around the kitchen and grabbed everything that I needed to make pancakes with haste. I whipped together the batter as the bacon cooked, never minding the fact that Noah was now standing by the island, watching me.

"Olivia," he says my name gently, closing the distance between us. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." "I'm cooking." I shoulder him away when he places an arm around my shoulders. I see him stiffen in my peripheral, letting his arm drop to his side. "Would you like some help?" "Nope."

We're back to a rigid silence, nothing but a quiet sizzle filling the room as I poured batter onto the griddle in perfect circles. Noah is hovering behind me, and it doesn't help alleviate the tension. Instead, I realize it was making it worse as I fisted the spatula with such aggression, my knuckles turned white. My hand even trembled a little bit while I watched the pancakes start to rise, speckled with tiny bubbles.

"You're gonna burn them—" I grit my teeth. "I know," I grumbled, flipping them harshly one by one. I knew they would burn if I let them cook any longer, he didn't need to tell me. He sighs, sidling up behind me and placing a hand on my waist. "I'm just trying to help, love—" "You can help by parking your ass at the table and leaving me be." I feel him flinch and slowly retract his hand before he returns to the island, where I hear him take a seat on one of the stools.

Minutes pass; I take the pancakes off the heat and split them between two plates. I had already laid the strips of bacon on paper towels to soak up the excess grease before serving Noah the chewier pieces, and me the crispier.

I may be done cooking breakfast, but I was certainly still stewing in aggravation as I grabbed the bottle of syrup and slide his plate in front of him. I glance at the sullen look on his face before I turned and retrieved my own plate, sitting across from him. He thanks me in a quiet voice, but he doesn't so much as move a muscle while I dig into my breakfast.

"Olivia, I'm sorry," he tries again. "I was just frustrated, I shouldn't have taken it out on you and said that." I picked up a piece of bacon, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, you shouldn't have." I shrug and take a bite of the bacon, savoring the hint of applewood as I chewed, and he sighs. "You gonna eat?" "I'm not all that hungry."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head lightly in annoyance, finishing the strip of bacon in hand before picking up my fork and digging into one of the pancakes.

"You know, that's how I felt when I spent hours putting those things together, just for you to come in and tell me we still had to paint the walls, Liv." "Seriously, Noah?" In an instant, the anger flared up again and I finally brought my eyes to him, shooting daggers in his direction. I slammed my fork on the table, his untouched silverware rattling from the aggression. "Why are you being such a dick?" He pressed his lips into a line as he leered at me, his eyes bouncing between mine while the tension between us was once again pulled taut. "Forget it," I grumbled, standing abruptly from my seat.

I picked up my plate and brought it to the sink, practically tossing it onto the counter, and turned to make my way back to the bedroom. I brushed past Noah with tears in my eyes and he calls my name, but I ignore him and continue down the hall. My throat burned as I tried not to cry.

It was like a flip of a switch with him, and I didn't understand it. Yesterday he was so kind, gentle, and helpful during the entire shower. He helped set up the event, helped me open gifts, cut and served the cake and other food, put everything away—hell, he barely let me lift a finger. But this morning? He made me feel like absolute garbage for not being able to do these things. I can't lift more than 10 pounds, I can't sit on the floor for very long and put together furniture, I can't paint the walls by myself.

I took a seat on the edge of the bed, my cheeks burning hot as tears rolled down them. Noah comes in shortly after and crouches in front of me, taking my hands in his with a gentle squeeze. He says my name quietly and I bring my eyes up to his face, which screamed nothing but remorse with a definitive crease between his brows and a heavy frown.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "Please don't cry." "Why are you so... flippant this morning?" I mumbled, struggling to find the right word. My lips quiver and he lets go of one of my hands to cup my cheek, his thumb swiping the trail of tears dry. "I don't mean to be," he sighs, shaking his head. "I'm just stressed." "So, you take it out on me instead of talking to me about it? Yesterday you were fine, and now... this," I motioned between us. "Did something happen?" "No, not exactly..." he trails off. I shake my head, not understanding. "Then what?"

He remains silent, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. He licks his bottom lip before biting it lightly, most likely mulling over his words before he cradles the back of my head and presses his lips to my forehead.

"I didn't want to upset you by telling you I was nervous about having the baby." He's kneading his fingers in the back of my head as he says this, his eyes heavy with concern, begging for forgiveness. "And don't think that means I'm not excited to have him, I'm just... I'm in my head, you know? It's a lot and I'm worried that... that I'm not ready or that I won't be a good dad." I felt my heart sink hearing his words, my whole jaw trembling trying to hold my emotions back. "W-why didn't you say anything before, Noah?" I sobbed, shaking my head as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.

"Because it didn't hit me until yesterday," he tells me, squeezing my hand. "Seeing all the gifts, seeing how excited everyone was for his arrival, knowing you're nearly 9 months pregnant. It hit me all at once. We have so many things to put away, so many things to do for the nursery; it freaked me out." I lock eyes with him, his chocolate irises glistening with sincerity. "And you know how I get when I have a task on hand—I don't stop until it's finished. Til everything is perfect. I just want everything to be perfect for you and him." He cups my face with both hands, once again trying to dry my tears with his thumbs. "Okay? I'm sorry for being an ass, from the bottom of my heart."

I nod shallowly in his hands, and he brandishes a soft smile before pressing his lips to mine delicately. I let out a single cry against his mouth and cling onto his shirt, melting into him shortly after, and we stayed like this until neither of us could breathe.

Though him saying he wanted everything to be perfect was reassuring, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't the least bit worried about what comes after childbirth. The irritability from lack of sleep, and the arguments that would ensue from it. The disagreements, the crying, the screaming. Things won't be perfect, and that's what scares me—what if he gets sick and tired of trying to make things 'perfect' and leaves?

"Come on," he breaks through my thoughts. "Let's finish breakfast, cuz I know you're hungry," he chuckles, and I huff a quiet laugh. "Then we can set up the room to start painting the walls. How's that sound?" "But what about the things you already put together?" "I'll move everything to the center and put a tarp over it. We have to put one down over the rug, anyways."

I nod with a quiet 'okay' and he gives me another reassuring kiss before standing, pulling me to my feet. He takes my hand in his, bringing me back to the kitchen where we finished our now cold breakfast before he left to set up the nursery for painting.

In the meantime, I cleaned up the kitchen and changed into clothes that I didn't necessarily care if they got ruined or not. I threw my hair up into a messy bun and made my way into the baby's room, seeing Noah had finished the task of tarping everything and covering the trim in painter's tape. He was now beginning to pour paint into the pans.

"Ready to get painting?" he asks after putting the lid back on the can. He stands, picking up one of the rollers and attaching it to an extension pole before handing it to me. "I figure it would be easier for you, not having to bend or reach as much. I'll get the nooks and crannies when we get there," he winks, holding up a wide, angled brush. "Thanks," I chuckle. "Let's get this party started," I say, glancing around the area to survey where to begin. I dip the roller into the pan, coating it in the sky blue color we picked out, and started with the wall opposite of the door.

The idea of painting was a lot easier said than done. It wasn't all that bad at first, just a little burn in my arms from extending them time and time again, but after a while, my back started to ache quite a bit. I was breaking a sweat, and was even a little winded, but still, I pushed on through it, knowing this had to get done—I couldn't let Noah do it all himself, considering our little tiff from earlier.

We had just started the third wall when I couldn't handle the back pain anymore, which was beginning to spread to my abdomen. I set the roller down gently and excused myself, making my way to our bedroom where I lay down, hoping to alleviate some of the ache. It doesn't take long for Noah to follow me in, a look of concern spread on his face as he closes the gap between us.

"You okay, love?" he asks, brushing my bangs back to press a kiss to my forehead. "Yeah," I let out an exasperated sigh, my face scrunching from the uncomfortability. "My back hurts. I just need to rest for a minute and I'll be back to help finish painting." He frowns. "I'll finish it up, I don't want you over-doing anything. Sit tight, I'll grab you some water, okay?" "But—" "I mean it." He shoots me a pointed look before exiting our bedroom.

I huff with defeat, settling against the pillows with an arm draped over my face, my other hand cradling my belly where the twinge of pain remained. My muscles tighten briefly, and I let out a quiet groan just as Noah reenters the room. I move my arm away from my face and take the glass of water he offered, thanking him before taking a few tiny sips and putting it down on the nightstand.

"You doing okay?" "Yeah," I nod lazily. "It's going away. I just needed to rest for a minute," I reassure him. He pulls his lips to the side, a look of doubt strewn across his face as he places his hand on my bump, rubbing slow circles against it. "Alright, if you say so. I don't want you painting anymore though, okay?" "Noah, please, I'm fi—" My face contorts and I let out a hiss. "It's just a cramp," I tell him through gritted teeth. "Liv," he says my name warily. "You don't think you're going into labor, do you?"

My heart jumps into my throat, my eyes flashing to Noah's as panic starts to creep in. I can't be going into labor; I still had 5 weeks left to go.