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I took the seat next to her, gathering her hands in mine. “You know, when Dylan and I were preteens, she used to say, ‘I’m not like other girls. I’m worse.’ We used to laugh about that. But what she meant was, she always stood her ground. Whether Tucker is a lesson or her forever, she will make the right decision. I know this in my bones. Social constructs mean jack shit to your kid.”
“Cal! Language.” She squeezed my hands in hers. “Anyway, how can you be so sure?”
“Because you make really smart kids, Mrs. Casablancas.” Lovable too.
After convincing Zeta to go get some rest and promising to call her if Dylan needed anything, I knocked on my best friend’s hospital door.
“Whoever comes in better not be the person who impregnated me,” she moaned.
I pushed the door open, bearing burgers and fries from Jack in the Box, and flowers. Dylan was on the bed, barefaced, with dark circles under her eyes. There was a see-through plastic cart with a bundled baby next to her. The baby appeared much smaller than Dylan’s still-huge tummy, further supporting my speculation she had been carrying triplets.
“How are you feeling?” I leaned down to kiss both her cheeks. She snatched the burger and fries from my hand and ripped into them with a feral groan.
“Hungry. Tired. Hurting all over.” She paused to swallow a huge bite of a double-patty cheeseburger. “You also brought sweets, right?”
I silently held up a plastic bag laden with chocolates.
“Good. I need you to give me a baby-wipe bath, straighten my hair, and help me put on some lashes.”
“Getting ready for a hot date?” I snickered, trying to push my own romantic woes out of my mind.
“Kieran texted. He’ll be coming to visit me tomorrow,” she said in a rush, adding, “and don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen between us. It’s just nice to have someone around who doesn’t see you as a baby-making machine that also bears the technology to make sandwiches. I know I should be trying to salvage whatever I have with Tucker, or at least break the news to him before I move on, and yes, I also know that falling in love with a soccer player is the worst idea a new single mom could have. I just don’t want to hear about it right now.”
She was clearly overwhelmed and hadn’t completely comprehended her change of status.
“I promise I’ll make you look so hot, Kieran’ll weep horny tears.” I shoved the flowers into a nearby vase. “Can I look at the baby first?”
Dylan paused for a second, gulping. “I mean…if you must.”
I rounded her bed and peered into the little basket. And…wow.
The baby was a Winston Churchill dead ringer. The round face, downturned lips, and receding hairline. A tuft of black hair covered the back of her head—and portions of her forehead. She had many chins, and no eyelashes at all.
“She is horrid, isn’t she?” Dylan sighed in contempt. “I can’t believe it. Tuck had one job. One. To give me a cute baby. Of course he screwed it up.”
“Dylan, what are you talking about?” I rushed to the baby’s defense, a wave of protectiveness coursing through me. “She’s totally adorable.”
“No, she isn’t. And she has no interest in my breasts either. It’s all so horrible.” Her chin wobbled. She dumped the half-eaten burger on her belly, the lettuce exploding everywhere like confetti. “And I can’t even rearrange my pillows because my C-section is killing me and every slight movement makes me feel like my upper and lower body are hanging together by a thread. And someone must be cutting onions here, because…because…” She fanned her fingers over her face. “Ugh.”
I silently rearranged the pillows behind her back, then wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re overwhelmed right now, and for a very good reason. Breathe. Rest. Don’t worry about a thing,” I suggested. “Give yourself some grace and time to adjust to your new status.”
“It would also honestly help if she didn’t look like an old, misogynist congressman.” She used the foil sheet covering the chocolate to blow her nose, still crying. “How’s my brother, anyway? Is he better?”
Oh, crap. “You mean, like, physically?” I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Making a speedy recovery. I’m telling you, this hospital? Top notch.”
Her sobbing stopped, and she narrowed her eyes at me. “Cal.”
I bit down on my lower lip. “Hmm?”
She thumped her head against the pillow, immediately wincing. “Aw. Seriously, abs? I wasn’t even using you!” Her head twisted back to me. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t want to bother you with my problems right now.”
“Bother away. I have a feeling you’re going to give me a good reason to take some of my existential anger out on you.”
Fair enough. “He confessed his feelings for me.” I swallowed. “And I…let him down. But”—I hurried to go on in my defense—“I never told him I was looking for a relationship. Not once. I was very clear about that, I swear.”
“God. I really should hate you.” She used her thumbs to wipe off her tears, and I shriveled inside myself. “For what you are putting him through. I knew he was still in love with you. I just thought you’d grown up and were finally giving him a chance. It’s partly my fault, that it happened again. Thing is…” She closed her eyes, looking exhausted. “Even though I’m gutted that you broke his heart again, I can’t even be mad at you properly because I can’t afford to lose you again. You’re a terrible love interest. Seriously. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend. One star.”
