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“You mean you don’t want Tommy to know!” Miranda jumps out of bed, upset. "This is so fucked up. He’s been pining for you. Not eating or sleeping well for months, and you do this to him?"
She heads for the door, but I block her path. "Andy, wait. Let me explain."
"He deserves to know, Tilly." She’s angrier than I’ve ever seen her, and it fills me with warmth. It looks like Miranda and Tommy grew close in my absence.
"Grayson!" I whisper urgently and her face pales. We both know why I said it. Not telling Tommy was to protect him and the baby. What happened to Grayson is the example, the reason we are so afraid. By the look in her eyes, she understands. "I plan to tell him first thing tomorrow, I swear."
Her reaction softens as the words settle in. Before I know it, her face breaks out into a broad grin right before she wraps me in another hug. "He's going to be so happy!"
I'm not as confident. "You don't think he'll be mad?"
"Are you kidding? You should see him with TJ, he’s a natural and he loves you so much." Blankly, I stare at the far wall. Maybe two months ago, he loved me, but since he found me in that bar, can't say that I've felt that love at all. If anything, he's been distant and even a little aloof. "Are you okay?" she asks.
"Yeah, just tired. Let's talk in the morning," I suggest, climbing into bed beside her. Hearing more about how much Tommy supposedly missed me will only manage to upset me further and I’m way too tired for it right now.
Miranda faces me, her concern evident. I roll my eyes. "Stop staring, I’m fine."
"No, you aren’t. I have major twin sense going on. You're freaking out."
I turn away, seeking solace in the darkness. "Yeah, so I am. But you staring doesn’t help."
She laughs and turns away too, allowing me a moment of peace.
"Til?" she whispers after a moment.
"Yes?"
"I’m gonna be an auntie." Despite everything, I can't help but smile.
"Go to sleep, Miranda."
***
Waking up with a pounding headache, I realize I hadn't drunk enough water on the plane. My mouth is as dry as if I've swallowed a bowl full of sand. Creeping out of bed, I tiptoe down the hall, suddenly hit by a wave of heat—a side effect of the hormones, no doubt. Ugh. The hot flashes are by far the worst part of pregnancy so far, seconded only by the nausea. I’m already sweating and stop to strip off Miranda’s long-sleeve pajama shirt, trying to cool down. It’s the middle of the night, and though Mack's asleep on the couch, I know that my bra isn't any more revealing than my usual bikini.
In the kitchen, the sight of orange juice in the fridge is a siren call. I grab the jug, drinking straight from it as I stand in the glow of the fridge light. A little drips onto my chest, but I can't stop. It's so damn good.
Then, footsteps. Peering around the door, I see Tommy heading my way.
"Uh, sorry, I was just… I thought I heard something and wanted to check," he says, a chuckle in his voice.
"Is this funny to you?" I ask, one eyebrow raised.
"You shirtless, drinking orange juice from the carton in the middle of the night? Yes, Tilly. It’s funny."
I replace the jug and shut the fridge. "Happy to amuse you," I say, starting to walk away, but then a cramp seizes the back of my thigh, forcing me to pause and massage the spot. Did I say hot flashes were the worst? Because right now, I’m thinking it’s the random cramps.
"What's wrong?" Tommy's concern breaks through his earlier amusement.
"Just a little dehydrated, I think." He reopens the fridge, takes the juice back out, and fills a glass for me, which I quickly drink down. It's just as satisfying as the first drink, the cool liquid easing my dry throat. While I’m chugging, he rushes to the pantry and finds a banana. Oh god, that looks so good. When was the last time I had one? I have no clue, but I’m about to go gorilla on this delicious yellow fruit.
Like the monster I currently am, I rip it in half and chuck the peels onto the bar. Within seconds it’s gone. I recline in the barstool, thankful it has a plush back and close my eyes with a smile.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod, then burp. He laughs and my smile grows. How did he know what little man needed? Is there some sort of baby daddy ESP I haven’t read about?
"Can I feel?" His question cuts through the air, sudden and unexpected. "Sorry, that probably sounds funny. I just heard the bartender say you were, uh, pregnant, and now I can kinda see the little bump, but it still doesn’t seem real."
