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“I didn’t… we didn’t… Oh my God,” Naomi whispers, clearly taken aback by the situation.
“So is that what’s going on? That’s why Gina’s not answering my calls?” I ask her. “She thinks I’m in a relationship with Deanna?”
With a resolved sigh, Naomi nods. “But it’s more than that.”
For a moment, I feel a glimmer of relief, but it’s quickly overshadowed by worry. If that damn show has cost me the chance with the only woman I’ve ever truly loved, I’ll sue their asses—if I can. “What more? Is she with someone else?” I ask, bracing myself for the worst.
“No,” Naomi replies convincingly. “It’s just that I can’t tell you, although I think you should know.”
“Not with another man…” Deanna murmurs, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Can’t tell him, but thinks he should know…” Her eyes widen in realization, and she clamps a hand over her mouth.
I shake my head, still confused by the cryptic conversation unfolding before me.
And then Deanna blurts it out. “She’s pregnant, Randy!”
I’m stunned into silence. My hand instinctively goes to my chest as I feel a surge of sensations swelling inside—it’s akin to butterflies fluttering wildly within me.
Naomi raises her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I didn’t say it—it was Deanna,” she clarifies, gesturing toward Deanna. “Remember, if Gina asks, it wasn’t me.”
“I’m heading to her place now,” I announce, poised to rush out the door.
“She moved out,” Naomi blurts just as I’m about to exit. “And she’s not home right now.”
“Where is she, then?” I ask, my body tensing, ready to sprint off like the wind as soon as I know where to find the woman I love.
Chapter 20
He Loves Me
Gina
On mornings like this, I find myself questioning the decision I made about Rayna’s job offer. I proposed a similar arrangement to her as the one I had with Calypso: baking in her kitchen overnight following the podcast day and selling pastries during their morning rush. Unfortunately, even though this setup could potentially bring more customers to her business, she didn’t have enough staff to handle the increase. However, Rayna was open to the idea of gradually expanding her operations and wanted me to be a part of that growth.
She gave me a week to consider her offer, which I graciously declined after my graduation ceremony from culinary school last weekend. While my graduation might not have been as prestigious as Naomi’s law school, it held equal significance for me. Receiving my certificate and hearing my instructors call me one of their most gifted students brought a moment of clarity. I realized that I wanted to focus more on expanding the business that stemmed from the podcast.
My parents supported this decision wholeheartedly; my father even secured a new venue where I could sell my pastries that Monday. That place is Fannie’s Flowers, where Ms. Fannie is thrilled to host me. Since I’ve started setting up shop in her store twice a week, her florist business has flourished.
Now each episode night, I manage to catch four to five hours of sleep before waking up to bake into the early morning. After another quick two or three hours of rest, I load the baked goods into a van uniquely decorated to promote the podcast. It has images of the four smiling hosts on one side. Gina, the baker—me—delicately decorating a macaron, adorns the other side. This van, a thoughtful purchase by my dad, not only transports my pastries to Fannie’s Flowers but also shuttles podcast hosts to promotional events across town and throughout the state.
Yes, the ladies have become quite popular, and a significant part of their appeal seems to be linked to my participation in their conversations. My discomfort is evidently clear, and it turns out that older viewers enjoy seeing how uneasy the ladies make me. Apparently, those my age appreciate watching me stand up to them while being both respectful and assertive. However, I still try to stick to the baking, keep my head down, and stay out of the table talk as much as possible.
Oddly, at this very moment, I find myself distracted by their podcast topic, which is why I feel as though I want to be anywhere else but here. As I methodically measure flour and crack eggs, the conversation turns unexpectedly personal—Bree, Carrie’s unmarried daughter, is pregnant. I’ve always known that one day, a podcast topic might inch narrowly close to my own predicament, and today it is happening.
Here’s the situation as it unfolded a moment ago:
Joyce, never one for subtlety, blurted out, “Well, how far along is she?”
Carrie’s response came through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes. “I don’t know because she kept it a secret from us.”
Under my breath, I muttered, “Maybe because she didn’t want to be the subject of gossip.”
Unfazed by the tension, Linda, devoid of any tact, pressed further. “She hid it? Who’s the father?”
Now we’re engulfed in the prolonged silence that follows. Carrie seems to have shrunk into her chair. Despite being the one who brought up the topic, it’s clear she wishes it would disappear just as quickly, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other women.
“I don’t know,” Carrie finally responds, her voice low and her demeanor reluctant. “Apparently, she doesn’t tell me anything anymore.” Her arms are crossed tightly against her chest, her body language almost protesting her own words.
I can predict her next move, and sure enough, Carrie turns to me. “What do you think, Gina?”
