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“But those are so fucking good!”
“Pregnant women shouldn’t have too many bananas because it can cause high pulse rate, dizziness, or vomiting.”
“I’m already vomiting all the time!”
Jenni shrinks back into herself prompting Mom to deliver a loving pat to her lap as if reassuring the poor girl, it’s not her I’m pissed at.
And it’s not.
She’s actually…helpful.
Much more fucking helpful than the person I am actually pissed at which is the person who knocked me up to begin with!
Who climbed on top of me or behind me in our bed or over the balcony one lunch break or two a.m. conference call time and recharted my entire existence before abandoning me out in the middle of the ocean to survive on my own.
ForFederationsake, where is the emotional equivalent to the Coast Guard when you need them?!
All of a sudden, the doorbell rings, buying me an overdue moment of reprieve.
Knowing it’s probably Calen – who I bribed to attend the event with me by ordering him some very expensive surfboard wax – I helplessly grin over the reinforcement I know he’s going to be for team “No Pregnant Seahorse”.
The guy has my back.
Whether we’re on the water or on the shore, I know he’s here for me.
Where his allegiance lies.
It’s why he hasn’t complained once about the media implying that we’re together and why he hasn’t told me his thoughts on the father of my child.
That’s not what I need right now.
So, that’s not what he’s giving me.
Which is exactly what makes him a better bestie than J.T., who considers space to only be a thing of the final frontier.
Casually opening the door immediately reveals to me a not so casual sight.
In fact, it’s a sight I haven’t seen in what feels like forever.
Rather than rush to say anything, Wes allows me a moment in silence to drink in his signature, designer black suit.
The fitted black tee underneath.
It’s impossible to ignore his crisp white shoes that are making his matching pocket square pop.
His freshly cut hair and even fresher scented cologne both inform me of exactly how recent his transformation from unreachable alcoholic to apologetic asshole truly is.
And he is an asshole.
Regardless of the tears I can see struggling not to form in his mismatched gaze.
Gah, is it wrong to hope our son has that?
I say son because there’s no fucking way I’m having a girl.
I can’t have a girl.
I can barely have me.
