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When I judge that she is ready to listen and I have the guts to tell her, I adjust our position until Tasha is leaning her head on my shoulder instead of being half in my lap. “Do you remember my promise?” It seems the most logical place to start. Jumping into the deep end a
nd flailing in my attempt to learn to swim was always my style. Beck had been there to grab me and swing me up onto a raft for a gentler approach then. He isn’t here to save me this time, but I know he’ll be waiting with food and hugs inside when we’re ready.
Tasha sits up, jarringly fast, and narrows her eyes. “A promise? I don’t… What did you—Oh my God!” she exclaims as the memory hits.
The fact that she hasn’t noticed the engagement ring is lucky, and I could smack myself for forgetting that detail when I climbed. I hide my hand in my lap, readying myself for that reveal too. “I’ve been seeing your dad.” Admitting it to her seems easier than facing my father, despite my anxiety. “We didn’t plan on it, and I tried to stop seeing him so I could keep my promise to you.” My voice shakes, but I press on. “We slept together before his trip.” When she looks at me incredulously, I fake a smile and nod. “Banged the boss on my first day of work. Go me!” I pump my fist in the air half-heartedly and follow it with a sigh.
“There’s more, Tasha. I’ve been on the pill since high school. You know that; you were there when I got my first prescription.” I stop, unsure how to say the rest.
“Oh, boy. I think I know where this is going.” There is pain in her voice but also love.
I open my photo album on my phone, swipe back to the right picture, and hand it over to Tasha. It’s displaying the picture I’d taken of the positive test just a few days ago. “I found out the night of my gallery, after Beck took me home from the frat party. I’m pregnant, too.” She stares at it, unspeaking. “Say something.”
“Does my dad know?” When I nod, she asks if he knows about her. I nod again. “You promised!” Her accusation stings.
“I know, and I kept that one. I swear I did!” I promise. “Jean overheard us on the phone.” I tell her about Jean attempting to blackmail me into staying away from Beck. That leads into the public relations disaster at the party. I finish before telling her about the engagement.
She is tense beside me. “Is that all?”
Pinching my lips together, I shake my head. Using my best infomercial presenter voice, I say, “But wait! There’s more!” I hold out my left hand. “Your dad asked me to marry him. He proposed at the party after Jean told everyone about me being pregnant.” With Tasha stunned into silence, I launch into the story about the ring and the kitten, and even how he’s promised I can have a cat in the office, but maybe we should get one for the house instead if she doesn’t mind. I’m rambling to fill the space, waiting for a response.
“You’ve known you’re pregnant for a few days now and didn’t tell me?” Her chin tucks down into her chest, and I watch her chew on the inside of the cheek. It’s a bad habit she hasn’t lost despite her mother’s constant scolding as a child. “Why did you wait?”
“I felt so awful about breaking my promise. It was the only vow you ever asked me to make, and I broke it. I tried to stop everything. I didn’t want to do anything to hurt you, to hurt our friendship, but—” I stop myself from asking if she’s looked at her dad. I know that won’t go over well. “We kissed in the garage that day you got a call from Chris, and it was the best kiss of my life.” I know I’m smiling like an idiot in love when I talk about kissing Beck. “And then I tried to stop things when your dad hired me to work at Huntsworth, but we were talking up on the roof, and there were stars and good food, and it was so easy to forget that he was my best friend’s father and not just an amazing man who is as attractive inside as he is outside.
“Beck is brilliant, kind, funny, and caring.” I don’t talk about how good he is at sex; I can already imagine the face she’ll make. “We realized we were in love somewhere along the way, no matter how much I fought against it. And then Jean outed us to everyone, and your dad proposed to me. I don’t know if that was the plan, but he had the ring. Have you seen a more perfect ring?”
Promising me she hasn’t, Tasha asks me the hardest question of the night. So far at least. “Would you have told me if I weren’t pregnant too?”
I honestly don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have told anyone until I started to show. Putting it to words, I know the rambling must be obnoxious, and my attempt at an explanation falls apart somewhere around my sixth apology. “I’m sorry. I’m a bad friend,” I finally end with. “You told me you were pregnant the day after I found out. You needed me. I couldn’t do more to stress you out.
“You’re my best friend, Tasha. I love you. I hope you’ll still be my friend after this.” We’ve weathered so many things, and I need her in my life. I need my best friend for getting through pregnancy and a wedding. “I need you, Tasha. I want you to be my maid of honor when I get married. And I want us to raise our kids to be not only family but friends, too. Please tell me you can forgive me.” I can barely understand my words through my tears.
She hugs me, pulling me tight to her chest, and it’s her turn to rock us as we embrace. The treehouse’s boards creak beneath us, and we freeze, hugging without movement. “It’s okay, Lia. It’s not like you’re moving away and leaving me here. You are my best friend forever. That is always and forever.” She looks at my dress. “That better not have come out of my closet. The lace is frayed from climbing up here, and you smell like my dad’s cologne. I don’t want to think of you getting laid by my dad while wearing my dress. That is too gross.”
Assured it is my own dress, not one that is borrowed, Tasha hugs me again. “I didn’t plan on falling in love with Chris, but I did. I understand that we can’t choose who we love. And I understand hiding things because we’re scared about how people will react. Is my dad mad?” she asks.
Thinking of his reaction at the party, I try to figure out how to explain his thoughts on the situation. “He’s shocked, but he isn’t mad. He is sort of too excited about me being pregnant to have anything make him mad. Except for Jean,” I correct. “So, if there’s anything else you want to spring on him, now might be the perfect time. You could finally fess up about the nail polish stains in the formal living room.” They had to get the square of carpet cut out and replaced because Carrie had refused to get a rug to hide it.
“Do you think he would accept me moving in with Chris?”
I rest my head on hers, coconspirators of the future. “The house is huge. I could move in, and Chris could move in, and we’d still have room for two nurseries and more.” We muse over the weeks and months to come, sharing our experiences with morning sickness we had longed to talk about. After so many years of sharing everything, it is lightening, an unburdening, to open up to Tasha without a filter on my thoughts.
An hour or more has passed when she starts giggling. “Lia, does this mean I have to call you ‘Mom’ now?”
I make a face, wrinkling my nose. “I’ll make out with your dad in front of you anytime you do.” It’s a threat that will be a pleasure to fulfill. “We should go back to the house. Your dad is getting you a taco pizza.”
I text Beck, letting him know we’re on our way to the house, and he writes back immediately for us to take our time and be safe. It’s weird not hiding the smile his text gives me, and I take a moment to let it all sink in. I’m marrying Beck and having his baby. His daughter is my best friend and going to be the maid of honor—or matron of honor since she’ll probably get married sooner than we do. My father isn’t disowning me, but I am getting Jean out of all our lives. I can’t help but do a happy dance once I’m back on the ground.
Tasha bangs her shoulder into mine as we walk, head down as we try to keep to the beam of light made by the lantern she carries. “I was wondering if you would mind, or think my dad would mind too much, if I invited Chris here. He should probably be part of any discussions that take place.”
“I’m good with that. I think it’s a great idea. Just, Tasha,” I say, “Chris isn’t allowed to call me ‘Mom’ either. I will kick him in the junk for getting my best friend pregnant. He didn’t even ask my permission before doing so. How rude!”
We giggle for most of the w
alk, and Tasha lets us into the house through the back-porch door. “Dad’s home. I can smell the pizza.”
Beck’s sitting up on the kitchen counter, long legs almost all the way to the ground, and I cross the room to him for a kiss. It’s short and sweet out of respect to Tasha, but no less warm. “Lia,” he breathes against my neck. “Your brownie pizza is in the warming tray, and there’s ice cream in the freezer in case you want it.” Beck peers over my shoulder at Tasha, and I turn to see her staring at her feet. “How are you feeling, Tasha?”
She shifts back and forth, fidgeting beneath his stare. “A little hungry but fine.”
They keep to this banter of small talk until I can’t take the tension anymore. “Okay, you two. Beck, she’s your daughter. You know she’s pregnant. You still love her.” I point to Tasha. “And, you, this is your dad. He still loves you and isn’t mad. He even got you your favorite pizza. Now, hug it out so we can go eat. I’m hungry.”
Epilogue
Beck
I pluck at the sleeve of my tuxedo jacket, wondering if the color is what Lia envisioned when she told the tailor “I want him in midnight blue, not cornflower blue or sapphire, and definitely not navy. Midnight.” She was slightly over two months along at that point, far less miserable than she is now. She had returned the first two fabric samples with a politely worded note for him to try again. If this didn’t meet her expectations…
I guess that’s what happens when you propose to an artist.
She designed her wedding gown down to the tiny flower ribbon things she wanted sewn onto it. As long as Lia is happy with everything, I will be. I am ready to start our forever; the details are minor to me. It seems like the past six months have been nothing but wedding plans, and I’m glad that today means I don’t have to answer another question about which type of fork I like better or what pattern I want on the plates we are renting from the catering company. There are reasons I give a theme to a planning committee and then let them have their way with the parties at work.
