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I watch her face closely as a multitude of different expressions flicker across her features. Anger, sure. Surprise, absolutely. Stubbornness, well, it is Luce.
“Fine. Sit.” She motions to the chair with a jerk of her head, conceding this round to me.
“Gracias,” I say, trying to imitate an Italian accent as I drop into the seat with more grace than I feel, watching her closely. Our eyes clash, green on blue, a silent battle of wills that I’m determined to win.
She finally cracks the smallest, tiniest semblance of a smile. “It’s ‘grazie’ in Italian. gracias is Spanish,” she huffs. “But you didn’t come here for language lessons, or to make me feel bad for turning the tables on you. So talk.”
“Well,” I say, twirling my hair around my finger. “I got tired of entertaining your neighbors by sitting on your doorstep and decided to let myself in so you can yell at me.”
Scoffing, she takes a step closer. “Yell at you?”
I nod eagerly. “Sure, buttercup. Let it all out. Tell me how shitty a friend I am so we can move on.”
She gasps, and I know I have her when red blossoms across her cheeks. “What the actual fuck?” she shouts. “Is this just a game to you? I bet it fucking is. You keep disappearing like being a friend is just a part time gig you can sign up for if it suits you. And then you sit there… smiling. Why the fuck are you smiling at me, Abigail Rosie Wilson?”
“I can’t help it,” I laugh. Explaining that I’m not laughing because it’s funny, but because I’m relieved is hard. “It’s just… you’re yelling at me.”
“And you’re happy about that?” she asks incredulously.
Nodding, I gesture between us. “You don’t get upset with people you don’t care about, buttercup. It’s like a twisted version of a love language.”
Her posture softens, and I know we’ll be okay when tears well in her eyes. “You can’t keep doing this to me,” she sobs, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Not when I need you the most. Or when I… I went to visit you at the apartment, but it’s clear you don’t live there anymore. And you didn’t even tell me.”
Unable to keep my tears at bay, I let them fall as I hug her back. “I know, I know.” I really don’t have anything else to say right now. “Wait, what do you mean when you need me the most? Is everything okay with you and Sawyer?”
Her bottom lip is trembling as she inhales a shuddering breath. “I might not be able to have kids,” she admits on a broken whisper. “I’ve been… we’ve been seeing experts. I didn’t go with him to Canada because I’d just gotten the answers the day before. It’s me, I’m the problem.”
I hold her as she lets it all out, her body shaking with heartbreaking sobs and hiccups. I run my hand up and down her back. “Hey, stop that, Luce,” I soothe. “You’re too stubborn for anything to stand in your way. It might take longer, but… you’ll be a mom one day.”
When we pull apart, she nudges me into the living room where we settle on the couch and order breakfast from a small bakery that’s apparently to die for, at least according to Luce. As soon as the food arrives, we dig in, and she watches in horror as I demolish half the food in the time it takes her to finish one doughnut.
“Jesus, Gail,” she laughs. “Isn’t your baby daddy making sure you’re fed?”
I furrow my brows, momentarily confused by her question. Then it comes rushing back, all the things I have to fill her in on. Shit, I feel really bad discussing this when she thinks she isn’t able to have kids. Fucking timing.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Right, about that…” I throw myself head first into everything she’s missed.
When I reach the part about Soren and Mickey being the mysterious men from Cupid’s Court, she whistles. “Damn, I feel like I should have known.”
“Right?” I agree on a laugh. “I mean, the signs were there, I suppose. But I really had no clue.”
She nods. “How did they take the news that one of them is going to be a dad?”
“They… umm… took it okay, I guess,” I say. I don’t want to lie to Luce, but at the same time I also don’t want to tell her everything. It’s not because… shit, actually I don’t know why I’m holding back. It just seems too private to share, like I’m betraying the guys. “No, they took it shitty. But we’ve worked through that.” There, no lie, but also not the full truth.
“Okay,” she says, not looking too convinced. “I get that, Gail. When Sy and I first got together, I was manipulating him, and he was a dick. So I can only imagine how Mickey and Soren reacted.”
I really, really hope she can’t imagine.
“I’m living with them now,” I rush out, eager to move the conversation along. “The owner of Cupid’s Court wants me to live with the guys until we get the result from the paternity test. ”
“Wait… say that again?”
Sighing, I explain about our doctor’s visit, the man—the owner—and the threats because everyone apparently thinks I spread my legs all willy-fucking-nilly. “So until we have the results confirmed, I have to live with them.”
“Christ!” Luce sighs, rubbing her temples. “And when will you know?”
Smirking, I explain, “I’ll be thirteen weeks on April first, but I asked to have the appointment scheduled to the second—”
