Arrive by Nina Lane Page A

during your morning runs. I can’t get enough of them. Make a playlist of my favorite songs for us to take to the hospital. Maybe arrange for a few restaurants to deliver meals after the baby is born.”
    “That’s it?”
    “Oh, I’m sure there’s more.” She leans in to press her mouth against mine. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
    “You always do, beauty.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    ‡
    O LIVIA
    I n January, piles of icy snow line the downtown sidewalks, and the lake has become a skating rink surrounded by white-covered mountains. Hot-chocolate booths sit on the edges of the lake, which resembles a child’s spinning toy with all the skaters gliding in circles. Allie has banned me from the café—a dictate I didn’t protest with much fervor since I’m inclined to stick close to home these days.
    I’m almost two weeks late. According to Dr. Nolan, I’m one centimeter dilated. She’s had me monitored for two non-stress tests, which have indicated the baby is responding fine and the heartbeat is normal. She told me to try some home induction techniques and, if still nothing has happened in a few days, then we’d talk about medical intervention.
    I’m anxious. Not really nervous—at least, not as nervous as I was during childbirth classes—but I’m ready to have this pregnancy over and done with. Dean and I go for a walk around the indoor gym first thing in the morning. I’ve been exercising regularly throughout the pregnancy, but walking is also supposed to jumpstart labor. The other day Dean brought home two pineapples, claiming he read that there’s some enzyme in pineapple that’s supposed to “ripen” the cervix.
    Dr. Nolan also told us sex can induce labor, as apparently semen helps the cervix ripen, and an orgasm can start contractions. Dean is game to give this a try, but at the moment even the idea of sex exhausts me. I do agree to let him try nipple stimulation—mostly because all I have to do is sit on the sofa with my shirt and bra off.
    “The book says to roll the nipples between two fingers.” He reaches for his reading glasses, then pages through one of the many books on pregnancy and childbirth we’ve bought. “Though I read a few things on the internet about different techniques, like stimulating one nipple at a time at certain intervals.”
    “Dean. I’m sure one technique is as good as another.”
    “Okay, let’s try.” He puts the book aside and rubs his forefinger around my nipple. “The book says to pinch and roll them.”
    “Well, you are a pro at that.”
    He starts tweaking one of my nipples as if he’s turning a radio dial.
    Needless to say, I do not find this particularly arousing.
    He peers at the open book again, then reaches for my other breast and begins tweaking that nipple too. This continues for about three minutes. I watch him—a crease of concentration between his eyebrows, his dark hair brushing his forehead, his eyes focused behind his glasses.
    “Are you getting turned on?” I ask.
    “Not at the moment, no.”
    “Good. Because that would be weird.”
    “Yes, it would.”
    Tweak, tweak, tweak.
    “Do you feel anything?” Dean asks.
    “Nothing labor related.”
    Roll, rub, tweak.
    “So, uh, this book says you can also try sucking them,” Dean says.
    “I most certainly cannot try sucking them.”
    “I mean, I can suck them.” He glances at me. “Or will that freak you out?”
    “Not if it doesn’t freak you out.”
    “Actually, it might turn me on.”
    “Well, that’s okay, I guess.”
    He moves closer to me. We shift around to get into an optimal position before he puts one hand over my left breast and lowers his head to my right. Then he hesitates.
    “Dean, you’ve sucked them before,” I say, as if he needs reminding.
    “Okay, so… you know, stop me if this gets uncomfortable.”
    Turns out it’s not uncomfortable at all because his mouth is warm and wet, his tongue circling my areola, his teeth biting gently. I don’t become a