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Bob grew up in a restaurant. It’s a key tenet of his identity, in fact. He can work a grill. He can empty a grease trap. He can most certainly stand on his feet, all day, and do the hard work of operating a restaurant.
He’ll be damned if he can’t do it while enormously pregnant, too.
“Bob.”
He pretends not to hear, the first time. He already knows Linda is peeking through the service window at him, and if he answers she’s just going to fuss over him. Something that’s been making Bob almost irrationally annoyed, lately.
“ Bobby . I know you can hear me.” He winces. Caught. “That’s the oldest trick in the book, you know.” Linda keeps talking as she comes around into the kitchen to join him. “Used it on my parents all the time. Pretend to do the dishes, so you can’t hear ‘em over the running water–”
“I am doing the dishes,” he grumbles. He can feel Linda watching him and wishes, for once, that she didn’t know him so well. Which is a stupid thing for him to wish for. Hormones are really stupid. He gives his head a little shake.
Linda lets out a wooshy sigh, confirming that she’s seen through him. Her tone is gentler when she says, “You gotta get off your feet, hun.”
She’s not wrong, and that’s the worst part. His feet-ankles-knees-hips-back are killing him. But: “It’s still early. I can’t make you run the restaurant by yourself.” Not that she couldn’t. She knows how to hustle, and she’s great with the customers. But it’s the principle of the thing—Bob is a restauranteur. He can work in his own damn restaurant.
Linda leans into his space so he can see her skeptical expression. She’s trying (and failing) to raise a single eyebrow. “C’mon, are you really gonna tell me your feet don’t hurt?”
Bob huffs, exasperated, and shuts off the water. “Everything hurts, Lin. That’s pretty much the entire point of being pregnant.” He grabs a hand towel and aggressively dries his hands. Wrists hurt, too. Why do his wrists hurt?
“You’re just grumpy because you haven’t had a break all day.” Linda says it with total, easy confidence, like it’s all very simple. “You haven’t been able to sit–”
“Or sleep for the past week. Or keep food down.”
Linda nods. “Right. Hurling and not sleeping is a full time job, so maybe–”
He can see where this is going. “No.”
“–we close up a little early?” Linda’s taken on a wheedling tone. “I’ll close up shop and you can put your feet out.” She tilts her head, her eyes big and imploring. “Maybe?”
“No, Linda–” Bob wants to do dishes again, just for something to do with his hands. Instead he goes to clean the grill. Every step he takes he’s aware of how ridiculous he looks, and he can feel Linda watching him closely, like he’s a toddler let lose in a restaurant kitchen and not a grown man who knows about grill safety. He actively tries not to bristle. “We can’t close up early. We’ve barely had a dozen customers today, and babies are expensive, and restaurants are expensive–” He scrubs at the flat-top so vigorously that he discovers he’s experiencing elbow pain. Elbows . “–and you should worry about that, instead of babysitting me all day.”
“Hey,” Linda says, a warning with no real heat behind it. Bob presses his lips together tight, and then his eyes. He’s tired. It’s only just starting to hit him how tired he is. Linda comes to his side, gently rubs his back with one hand. “It’s been a long day,” she says, gentle.
Bob takes a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. “Yeah.” His voice only barely cracks. Linda doesn’t push it, just keeps rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles, leaning her head against his shoulder. She has so much more patience than he gives her credit for. He genuinely can’t imagine how she does it. “Thanks,” he mutters.
“Don’t mention it,” she says lightly.
Bob clears his throat. “I’m just… tired.” It’s easier to say when they’re like this, side-by-side, so he doesn’t have to look her in the eye: “I’m kind of… useless. Right now. And kind of… really pathetic.”
Linda sighs. “Oh, Bob.” Her other hand finds his and squeezes gently. “You’re not useless! Or pathetic. I mean, come on! You’re growing a whole new person in you. A human being! And they’re gonna be a mix of both of us.” She presses her face into his shoulder, just for a second. He gets it—it’s overwhelming to think about it. “That’s the most incredible thing a person could do,” she says firmly, and it would be really easy for that to feel hollow, but she says it with complete sincerity, even awe. “And you’re running a restaurant on top of all that? Cooking up some great burgers?”
“I don’t think they’re much better than ‘pretty good’.”
“ Great , Bobby, they’re great.” She headbutts his shoulder-gentle, still, as if she could bowl him over. He is admittedly a little unbalanced these days. “I think you should give yourself more credit. For the burgers and for the pregnancy thing.”
Bob sighs. “We can’t pay the bills in great burgers, Lin.”
“Forget that,” she says, waving his concern away. For once, he lets her. “Look, we knew it’d be hard. We knew money would be a little tight.”
“Really tight.”
“Sure.” She turns him to face her, adjusting his apron. “But we also knew we would make it work, no matter what happened. And we’re making it work, right?”
Bob can’t help but smile, just a little. It’s nice to feel optimistic about something. “Right, yeah.”
Linda nods, satisfied. “ Right . But if you drop dead from exhaustion, all bets are off. I’m running this place into the ground, you hear me?”
Bob snort-laughs. “Yeah, Lin, I hear you.”
“I’m serious. I can’t do this by myself.” She takes on a solemn look. “I’ll start serving rock-hard patties and garbage fries.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Garbage fries?”
“Yeah, you know.” Linda waves a hand. “Garbage fries.”
“Like fries that belong in the garbage, or fries made out of garbage, or…”
“That’s not the point,” she says quickly. “The point is, the restaurant goes under without you, and then I’m living in a cardboard box.”
Bob snorts. “Okay, point taken. I’ll… try to give myself more breaks.”
“Good,” Linda says, and she goes up on her tiptoes to meet him for a sweet kiss. When she pulls back she’s grinning, with a playful gleam in her eye. “Besides, you gotta take care of yourself! For Bob Junior’s sake.”
Bob physically recoils. “Nope. Do not. Don’t say that, don’t even joke about that.”
Linda laughs. “Fine, fine. We’ll call them Linda Junior.” She squeezes his hand. “So… closing time, alright. Then bed? Get you off your feet? I’ll even get you whatever horrible thing you’re craving.” She tries (and fails) to waggle her eyebrows at him. It’s adorable.
He raises an eyebrow (showing off, a little). “Really? Because last time you made one of my cravings for me, you almost threw up. Like a lot. And I did throw up.” His lips press together tightly at the unpleasant memory. It makes him nauseous to think about. And he’s just generally nauseous, from the whole pregnant thing. “Like a lot. From listening to you gag.”
Linda huffs, defensive. “It was gross, Bobby. It was really gross. Those are flavors that should never be combined. But I’ll still do it for you again.” She tilts her head. “Because I love you,” she says, like a reminder, like she thinks he may have forgotten.
“I love you too,” he says, reflexively, and he loves that she makes it so easy. “Bed sounds… really, really nice. And I’m, uh, not craving anything. Right now. So you’re off the hook.”
Linda sighs in audible relief. “Oh thank god.” She winces, looking guilty. “I mean, I would!”
“I know,” Bob reassures her.
“ But it was really gross and I hope you never make me do something like that again.”
“Yep, got it.”
As promised, Linda closes up the restaurant, giving Bob a head start to slowly make his way upstairs to the apartment. And it’s nice to be off his feet, and it’s nicer when she comes up to join him, guides him to lean against her shoulder. It’s nice to listen to her talk as she holds him close, and it’s nice when she’s quiet, too, and they can sit there in comfort. The three of them.
He can’t fall asleep for a long time that night, because his feet are swollen and his chest hurts and he’s too hot. But Linda is curled up against him, snoring away, and their baby kicks inside him, and it’s okay. He puts his hand on his stomach and forgets about how awkward the size of it is, how he can’t wear any of his favorite shirts and how his apron fits him all wrong. Baby Belcher is in there; they kick against his hand like they’re saying hello, and he thinks and hopes the thought somehow gets through to them: It’s all worth it. All of this is worth it to meet you. Then he reaches to put his hand on Linda’s shoulder—it’s about the closest he can get to cuddling right now—and finally, he can close his eyes and drift off to sleep.