Page 82 of Bound Hearts

She’s right. Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself to come up with a plan.

“We are becoming parents soon, and we have a marriage that binds us together. I think of all the things, and the only thing that goes on the list of anger is his lack of judgment. I mean, in an overview, it doesn’t sound that bad. Right?” I search between them for reassurance.

They look to one another for a clue, then both throw on smiles and make agreement noises.

“It’s just… fuck Foster. I’m smarter than all of this. I don’t let anyone step all over me, yet here I am with him, having had some bizarre secret over my head this whole time. A truth he didn’t tell me. A means to an end.”

Savannah fluffs another pillow. “We hate to admit it. All of us, because we are pretty kickass women, but these guys bring out our vulnerable sides. That’s kind of how relationships work. They’re like vampires who open a door to the part of us that we forget we have, then they suck the life right outta ya. Kind of romantic when you think about it.”

Scoffing a laugh, it makes a weird kind of sense. “That is exactly what Foster has done. Doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed with him about it.”

Elodie grins. “Very true. Annoyed is better than angry. That’s promising. Couples who are in love bicker, couples who are in trouble bitterly argue. What do you think he’s doing right now?”

Puffing out a breath, I can already imagine it in my head. “Pacing the penthouse with a glass of scotch because he feels incredibly guilty.”

She squeezes my leg. “See? Not so bad on the scale. Remorse, love, and a hopeful future are all promising.”

The corner of my mouth begins to stretch because, in plain terms like that, I agree, and it is hopeful. “They are. I’ll hold on to that when I can’t sleep tonight.”

Savannah hops up off the bed, satisfied with how their pep talk has ended. “Good. I mean, we’ll still be a little salty with him at the next friends' dinner, but only for you. You should get some rest. I don’t want to sound cliché, but you are kind of pregnant and need to rest and take it easy.”

Elodie gives me a pained look. “She’s right.”

I nod because I give up physically. I’m about to move, but then I notice that I’m tucked in amongst blankets and fluffed pillows.

“You guys literally put me in a cocoon.”

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Savannah chides playfully. “It’s called nursing you back to reality, and we wanted you to be comfortable.”

Elodie laughs and snatches a cushion away from the mountain around me. “Enjoy it while you can.”

As I begin to adjust, I do feel the haze of exhaustion hitting me. I don’t have much left in me to cry about. “Okay. Good night.”

“Let me know if you need anything, I’m here for you,” Savannah reminds me.

But no way in hell am I interrupting her during the night. I can only imagine what their newlywed phase is like.

“And I can take you to Foxy Rox tomorrow for tea,” Elodie offers.

Cynically laughing to myself, I appreciate her optimism. “I’m not an idiot. Foster is going to show up tomorrow,” I say drowsily.

I don’t need to guess or hope. He will. Foster won’t let this go. He’ll stand before me until I listen or talk it all through. He’s giving me the night to process, but tomorrow, he won’t be so patient.

Vaguely, I hear them chuckle as they leave, and my heavy eyes close.

The next morning, I told Elodie to spend it with her family and told Savannah to visit her aunt at her restaurant. I’d let her know if I hit rock bottom again. In the meantime, I’m sitting in Foxy Rox to reflect on my thoughts again. The playlist coming through the speakers is basically the perfect soundtrack to my current life. Mazzy Star and a bucketload of other songs that are mellow and nonchalant.

But the setting is perfect for being with myself, ensuring I’m in a clear mind to talk with Foster. We haven’t had any communication since yesterday, but we don’t need to. He’ll find me. That’s just how it works. Plus, it’s Everhope. Not many places to look.

I’ve been staring aimlessly at my chai latte for a solid ten minutes, as though words will appear on the foamed milk. Occasionally, I glance out the window at Main Street to see happy families enjoying their Sunday, mostly heading down to the park by the river as it is farmers’ market day.

The opening of the door and the bell dinging instantly grabs my attention, and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have a little hope that it was Foster, but it’s not. Instead, I spot Esme, my parents’ old neighbor.

She spots me, and her cheery smile is the opposite of my mood, but I’m not about to spill my current qualms about life.

“Hey there, I didn’t realize you were back in town this weekend.” She walks to my little table.

“Spontaneously,” I respond mundanely. She looks at me strangely, but I remember that I need to brush myself off as it’s a new day. “Uh.” I tuck some hair behind my ear. “Sorry. Pregnancy has been killing me on the sleep front.”