Page 52 of The Trouble with Flings

“See? You’re not done with him.”

“I know, okay?” I admit. “I’m the worst! I get it. I’m horrible, because his texts make me so happy, I want him to find someone great and to be happy, but I can’t let him go.”

“But don’t you see?” Mia says gently. “You’re that great person.”

I sigh and stare at her. “I love you, but I’m too tired for this. Please stop.”

“Fine.”

I gather the outfits and take them behind the curtain.

She’s quiet for exactly four seconds. “How’s the Launchpad project coming?”

“Really well, actually,” I say, as I change into a sage-green dress with a sweetheart neckline and a fitted bodice. “Didn’t I tell you about the donation that came in a few weeks ago and covered the replacement cost of the computers?” As I say it, I remember telling Fitz about it over text, and realize I must’ve forgotten to tell Mia.

“No! That’s amazing. I guess all that fundraising paid off.”

“We got lucky. The kids are really pumped this year. They’re coming up with incredible ideas,” I say, struggling with the zipper on the dress. I really need to stop going to the bakery on my way home from work, but it smells so good when I walk by.

“That’s fantastic.”

“Thanks. Can you help me with this zipper?” I step out from behind the curtain.

Mia’s eyes go straight to my chest. “Holy boobs, Jen.”

“Ugh. Tell me about it. It’s winter. You know I always gain a few pounds from comfort eating. I’ll lose it by April.”

“I’m not judging the comfort eating, I’m just…” Her gaze moves over my chest again. “Those are not your normal winter boobs.”

“They’re rebelling against my bakery stops.” I grab my boobs. “They hurt. I think I have to invest in bigger bras.”

Mia moves behind me to zip the dress. “So, you’re tired, your boobs hurt, and you’re gaining weight.” She zips the dress and says, “Have you peed on a stick?”

I stare at her like she’s lost her mind. “I’m on the pill, remember?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I look in the mirror at my boobs coming out of the top of the dress, and a flash of panic hits me. “Mia, I am not pregnant. I’m on the pill,” I say again, as if saying it twice makes it even more effective. “I’m tired because half the school has a bug and I’m probably getting it, and I’m gaining weight because I’ve been eating nonstop.”

“When was your last period? Wait, you said you were due to get it New Year’s Eve. Did you get it? Was it normal?”

“When’s the last time my period was normal?” I snap. “You know they’re always barely there.” My mind traipses back to the last time I was supposed to get my period, but I’m too rattled to think clearly. I can’t be pregnant. I don’t even want to have kids.

This is just Mia being Mia, getting me caught up in one of her frenzies.

“Jen—”

“Stop. I’m not getting caught up in one of your crazy what-ifs. I’m going to try on another dress,” I say, ending the conversation. “Can you unzip me?” I close my eyes, silently willing her not to start up again.

Mia hesitates, then she unzips it and says, “Try on the blue one.”

Six dresses later, she didn’t say another word about a possible pregnancy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. We settle on the emerald-green dress, and as we put on our jackets, Mia says, “Where should we go for dinner?”

“I’m too beat to deal with people.” She carries the garment bag, and I grab the vase. “Would you be up for takeout?”

“That depends,” she says lightly. “Are you okay with Mediterranean?”

“Sounds perfect.”