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“I wanted to see how you were.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “What’s going on?”
She looks nervous as she steps from one foot to the other, shifting her weight a little. “I wanted to ask you not to mention the pregnancy thing to my family.”
“I wouldn’t,” I assure her, wondering when she lost faith in my ability to keep her secrets.
Her parents still don’t know about the little butterfly tattoo she got on her hip her senior year in high school, just like I’ll never forget the creaminess of her skin when she pulled her shorts down to show me. It’s right in that spot that would never be seen unless she was completely naked. Even her bathing suit covers it up, something I’m a little ashamed to know.
She nods in my direction, relief washing over her before turning back around and guiding us into the house.
We settle around the table after Adalynn and I set the plates, napkins, and silverware out.
I know it’s more me than the food that makes the chicken taste dry and flavorless in my mouth. In all the years he’s been grilling, Charlie has never ruined a piece of meat he’s cooked.
After dinner, Adalynn suggests my house for a change, but I decline, reminding her that she has to get up earlier than I do. It makes sense for me to go to her place, so she can go to bed sooner. In all honesty, I need to be able to escape if it gets weird like it did last week.
The day after she got annoyed with my lack of help with picking out a donor, things were right back to normal. I’ve seen her a half dozen times since then, and the subject has never been brought up again.
So I don’t know why I ask her about it nearly the second I walk into her house.
“What?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Did you decide on a donor?”
She frowns at me when I step around the corner.
The girl isn’t a fan of people yelling from two different rooms to have a conversation.
If you respect someone, you face them when you speak,she has said so many times.
“I figured you didn’t want to talk about that.”
I don’t, but I can’t keep going without knowing what her decision is.
“You’re my best friend. Of course I want to know what’s going on in your life.”
She frowns, and it makes me wonder for a flash if the referral of her being my best friend is what’s causing her such a reaction. Madison Kelly, her female best friend from school, recently moved back home, so maybe I’ve been demoted.
I stand a little taller, ready to take the correction even though the thought of it makes part of me die inside.
“I did pick a donor.”
I tilt my head to the side when she doesn’t give further details.
“Who?” I ask after a long moment of silence.
“I picked the grandpa.” Her lips curl up in a smile. She’s so damn cute I just want to kiss it right off her lips.
“Number sixty-four ninety-two,” I say.
“You remembered the number?”
I shrug, wondering if she’s going to figure out that there’s a reason that guy sounds a lot like me, one I haven’t been proud of since I walked into that clinic in Houston so many years ago.
“Have you considered not using a donor?” I ask when she starts to look like she isn’t going to let me off the hook without answering her question.
“There isn’t exactly a line of guys waiting outside my door to jump my bones,” she mutters, her eyes downcast on the watermelon she’s cutting up.
