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“I assume you got what you were looking for,” she said, pulling on her coat.
I turned to see Dan’s retreating back and looked at Tracey. “Sure, yeah.” I pulled out my phone, preparing to call a cab.
“Come on, you. Let’s get you to the airport. Seems you have somewhere to be,” she said.
* * *
My second flightof the day wasn’t as peaceful. I was tired and cranky and sure that my little nugget wasn’t too happy either. But we landed safely in Seattle and I rented a car. It wouldn’t be too far of a drive—thirty-five minutes, tops. I pulled over several times, making it a longer drive, but my energy wasn’t what it used to be.
I pulled up in front of a simple-looking home. I double-checked the address Dan had written and frowned. Dexter, for all his money, could’ve afforded something nicer. Still, this was normal. It was just a house to him. I got out and knocked—aware that, while I emptied my bladder less than thirty minutes ago, it was time to go again.
The door opened and there was Rachel, all smiles, with an ugly-as-sin apron on. I shook my head. Nothing was wrong with her apron. I was dealing with my chronic jealousy. But still, I was wondering whyshewas the one to answer the door.
“Noa? Hi.” She offered her hand and I took it.
“Where’s Dexter?” What I really wanted to ask was what the hell she was doing there. But I stopped myself. I wasn’t in the best shape to get into it with Rachel, and I didn’t want to spend the night in prison.
“He’s at work. Do you want to come in? He should be here in about an hour, and I know you’re coming from Seattle.” She stepped aside, and I let my nosiness get the best of me.
“Sure,” I said. I’d left my carry-on bag in the rental. I jangled the keys nervously and walked in.
Immediately, I knew Dexter didn’t decorate this space. It was too plain and impersonal, and nothing here looked like anything he would pick out. Pictures of him and Phoebe were scattered throughout the space, and when I caught one of him, Phoebe, and Rachel, I wanted to smash it.
I reined in my annoyance and turned to her. “So…where’s Phoebe?” I wanted to start a conversation since I was already there, and I honestly missed the kid.
“She’s at daycare. I was in the middle of making a pie for Dexter. He adores my apple pie.”
I looked around. That partially answered what she was doing there, but I still wanted to know why. And why she looked so comfortable there, in the place Dexter had once practically begged me to come to.
Regret slithered up my spine, and my lips moved on their own accord. “Why?” I wanted to slap my hands over my mouth and simultaneously cover my ears.
Because the look on her face—that embarrassed happiness—told me she was about to pull the pin from a grenade and toss it right at me. It was then, when she tucked her hair behind her ear with her left hand, that I saw the ring on her finger. I was sure she’d done it on purpose, but I couldn’t even hate her.
Bitch.
Well, I could a little.
I held on to the nearest chair, supporting myself. If I passed out, she would win.
She’s already won.
I eyed her finger again and blinked back tears.
“I live here now. Dexter proposed and, well, I said yes. So, I think the real question is, why areyouhere?” She was talking lightly, as if she were trying to make a child understand something incredibly easy for an adult to grasp.
I looked into her eyes, and I got it.Thiswas Rachel. She was the sweetest bitch there ever was.
I wanted to tell her I was there because I was carrying his child.Hischild. Not some child I roped him into adopting. I wanted to fight dirty and tell her he would never love her because he was made to love me. I wanted to tell her no illegitimate child would change that. But I loved Phoebe, and despite her not being his biologically, she was his in the most important ways. And I refused to fight for a man who’d taken off his gloves and gotten into another ring with another woman. I was left standing alone, as usual. Except I had my nugget.
I turned on my heel, not looking back. I walked out of Dexter’s house, and I prepared myself to live a life without him in it.
Noa
My belly was cute,I decided, as I looked at it in the mirror. The breezy shirt I wore over it kept me from feeling like I was being sucked in by a cotton death trap. It was summer and the sun was shining, despite my wishing for rain. My air conditioner was on low, keeping me comfortable above the somewhat warm Seattle streets.
My showcase had gone without a hitch, and I made Miranda a lot of money. She claimed it was never about that, but I felt I was a better artist when pregnant. Or maybe when I was emotionally destroyed. One of those things had me painting like my life depended on it, which it sort of did.
I didn’t attend the showcase myself, something people whispered about for weeks. I couldn’t face questions or speculation. So, I stayed inside, too afraid of what a nice jog would do to my nugget who’d grown more and more into a small turkey. I was nearing the seventh month, and I avoided so many things I did during my last pregnancy. I sat when I was tired, I ate healthy, I got rid of my cell phone. I kept the gender a secret.AnythingI did during the last pregnancy was off limits. I hadn’t even set up the nursery yet and yelled at Miranda when she tried to.
