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“Guess so.” She offered a little shrug, throwing the door to her room open. Holy crap. Row really did gut this place and redo it. It looked fantastic. All pastel colors, throws, and decorative pillows. The room Dylan had dreamed about when we were teenagers. The room she deserved. “Though I’m not so sure how much of it is Tuck wanting to be with me and how much of it is Tuck not wanting to die at the hands of my cranky brother.”
“Your brother is frightening,” I admitted, looking around in astonishment. “But I don’t know anyone who’d agree to spend the rest of their life with someone they don’t love just because they’re afraid to get punched in the face.”
“You haven’t met Row’s punches. Tucker has, and he is not a fan.”
“Still…this must be exciting for you.” I mustered a smile. I was excited about her having a baby; I was not excited that she was still with Tucker.
“The new construction is supposed to house Tuck, me, and the baby.” Dylan fell to her bed, sighing miserably. “The deed is gonna be in Mom’s name, so Tuck won’t get any greedy ideas after we get married. Guess Row wanted all of us together somewhere pretty and new so he wouldn’t have a guilt trip when he leaves again.”
“You’re getting married?” I whispered.
Dylan nodded miserably. “Tuck popped the question.”
“Aww.”
“…after Row almost popped his knees.”
“Oh. That’s…sweet?” I remained standing, waiting for an invitation to sit down.
If Tuck had two brain cells to rub together, he knew Dylan was eons above his league. Unfortunately, I seriously doubted those two cells were in existence.
“I mean, you’re engaged! Having a baby! Getting a new house!” I threw one hand up excitedly, hoping my fake enthusiasm was contagious. “My only achievement in the last five years is staying alive, and even that was purely accidental.”
“Thing is…I’m not sure I want to share this magnificent new house with him. Or if I want to share anything with him at all. Other than the baby, of course, which I don’t have a choice about. We’ve been together for five years…” Five years. Sweet Jesus. “But he also has a terrible temper, is about as intellectual as an expired bag of trail mix, and we can’t agree on anything other than the indisputable fact that the worst LaCroix flavor is cherry blossom.” Heavy silence fell between us before she added, “Plus, what if I don’t want to live in a big, fancy house in Staindrop? What if I want to live in a small, cool apartment in Boston? Or go back to being a PA in Greenwich?” I didn’t even know that had happened. “I feel like all my decisions were made for me the minute I got pregnant. People who are trying to take care of me are actually suffocating me.”
She was making a snow angel over her unmade bed, staring at the ceiling hollowly.
“Is Tucker really that bad?” I whispered.
“Dude, the worst. He has no sense of humor either. Before he went off lobster hunting, we attended a twenty-four-week ultrasound checkup, and when we were in an elevator full of people on our way to the sonographer, I asked him very loudly, ‘So when are you going to tell your wife about us?’ and you know what he did?”
I pressed my lips together, stifling a laugh. Dylan was so fantastically herself, it sometimes took my breath away. “Peed his pants cackling, as he should?”
“You’d think so, right? But no. He got all mad and started yelling at me that I was immature and too much to handle. What does that even mean?” Her eyes—a shade darker than Row’s—sparkled with unshed tears. “Shouldn’t the person you love be the perfect amount for you?”
Well, I’m no expert in love, but I think that if someone loves you the way you deserve to be loved, they could never get enough of you.
Rage scorched through my body. Dylan was clearly unhappy, and that made me want to use Tucker’s arteries as shoelaces. The jerk.
“Dylan…” I cleared my throat. “You should do what makes you happy.”
“I know.” She worried her lip, sitting upright. “But Chris Hemsworth is married. And lives in Australia. I’m not built for long distance, Dot.”
That made both of us laugh somberly.
“Hey! At least you got a baby out of it!” I reached to rub her belly with my free hand, which looked like a prosthetic glued onto a supermodel’s body. “You’ve always wanted a baby, and you gotta admit, this is so much better than stealing one.”
“Not if you have to push it out of your body. Plus, if I steal one, I can have my pick.” She pouted.
“Hmm.” I pinched at my puckered lips. “You have a point. If only kidnapping children wasn’t illegal and stuff.”
“Oh, Cal, what have I done?” Dylan moaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Tuck and I are the least compatible people on earth. We both come from families of giants. I’m only thirty-three weeks along and the baby is already, like, five pounds. It’s going to come out your size.”
“Hey, I’ve been told I’m pocket-sized.” I swatted her knee.
“For an adult.”
“That’s a very big word for what I am.” I was torn between being devastated for her and happy for myself that we seemed to be friends again. “So…why were you with him? Before the pregnancy, I mean.”
