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I kiss him, love spreading through my bones like wildfire. He gives me one last look, then, phone already to his ear, I watch his broad-shouldered form jog toward his truck. Keena follows at his heels.
“Oh my God.” Fallon peers at me through the screen door. “Is he always so rigid?”
I smile. “Uncompromising.”
“Look at that stance,” Fallon says, propping open the door for me. “He’s going full Liam Neeson.”
I choke out a laugh. “Stop checking out my fiancé’s ass.”
“Gross,” she says.
Her nose wrinkles as a white police cruiser pulls up alongside her street. Police lights flash blue and red. I roll my eyes. Davis works fast.
“Double gross. Topper’s here,” Fallon says, and I know she’s thinking of that time he got Gak in her hair in third grade. “It’s the fucking Keystone Kop cavalry.”
I follow her inside and back into the kitchen. We say goodnight to our father and finish cleaning up. Hunger pains get the better of me, and I make a cheese plate and popcorn. Fallon brews a pot of tea, opens a bottle of wine, and after changing into terry-cloth shorts and hoodies, we plop onto her big couch, cozy in blankets and a pillow fort.
At a rising swell of nervousness, I remind myself it’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re safe. Davis is out there slaying dragons and savings babies and I’m warm and safe with my sister.
“We haven’t done this in years.” At Fallon’s eyebrow raise, I elaborate. “Girl talk.”
She yawns, takes a sip of wine. “More like baby talk, but I’m okay with it.”
I stare at the hoodie stretched tight over my stomach. My son is coming soon. A thought that once filled me with terror is now the brightest light in my world.
With the cheese knife, Fallon scoops brie onto a crisp cracker. Her unbound caramel hair waves around her shoulders. “For your shower, I was thinking the arcade, pizza, and dessert. We can get a cake from Costco.”
I scoff. “That’s like eating radioactive plastic.”
She nudges me with her foot. “Snob.”
“I can—”
“No,” she interjects. She clicks her tongue at me like I’m one of her nags. “You’re not making your own cupcakes, Dakota.”
I laugh and chop a wedge of cheddar. “What about games?”
“Games?”
“You know, baby games?”
She wrinkles her nose, then groans. “I’m not good at this shit.”
“Bulls, not babies.”
“Right,” she says, a glint in her hazel eyes.
Tonight, for the first time in a long time, we’re back to how it used to be. How it should be—sisters.
I sip my tea and sit up against the cushions. “What about boys?”
She shakes her head. “What about boys?”
One of my brows wings up. “Are we going to be real or bullshit?”
She groans again. “Ugh. I hate it when you use my threats against me.”
“Your new guy…you like him?” I ask as I finish the last of my tea.
