AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I can’t suppress a sniffle. “Do you think I could be the right girl?”
Bailey munches on her cookie, looking pensive.
“Actually,” she says, gesturing at me with the half-eaten treat, “I have noticed him acting differently for a few months now. He’s a generally a happy guy, but the hospital takes a lot out of him, and I know he was really lonely, especially when I moved out to live with Christopher. All of a sudden, though, he seemed so much more positive. He was lighter, and more carefree than I had ever seen him. He laughed and goofed around more, and it was almost as if he’d grown younger by ten years. I kind of wondered if he had met someone, but he didn’t say anything, and I don’t like to pry. But now that I know he was with you…” She smiles at me, and I smile back, albeit tearfully. “I think you might have been the cause of all that happiness, Kara.”
Hearing Bailey say that makes me want to cry again, but my red eyes seem to have produced their quota of tears for at least the next week. I am incredibly grateful for my empathetic, understanding best friend. I wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’s right, and that I misunderstood Rick’s reaction. Maybe our love and connection was so strong that he might be excited to have a baby with me. Could that really be true?
“Bailey,” I say, after a few moments of nibbling at our cookies and drinking our cocoa. “Do you think I should tell your dad?”
She doesn’t hesitate for even a moment.
“I do,” Bailey says firmly, reassuring me with conviction in her eyes. “Absolutely. He’s an honorable man. He would never ask you to get rid of the baby, or kick you out for being pregnant. Trust him. Trust your love. And trust me. Okay?”
I take a deep breath, hesitate, and finally nod.
“Okay.”
Suddenly, I have a new path. I know I’m going to tell Rick about my pregnancy, but I’m still scared inside. Despite Bailey’s reassurances, what will the man I adore say when he finds out I’m carrying his child?11RickAllow me to set the record straight: I don’t hate my ex-wife. I don’t even dislike her, not that much. We were just two puzzle pieces that didn’t fit, but were jammed together for a while before we admitted defeat. Perhaps it was my fault, or hers; more likely, our failure as a couple was due to things we both did, or didn’t do. Whatever the truth, it’s been over for a long, long time now.
But as we sit down at a table in a quiet Mexican restaurant, I am remembering some facts about Angela that bug me.
Fact one: she’s rude to waiters.
“Hello? Yes? You didn’t bring me the margarita I asked for. Half and half on the rocks. You know what that is, don’t you?”
I smile apologetically at the waiter as he bows nervously before scurrying off. No doubt, he’ll spit in Angie’s margarita in the back before serving it to her.
“It’s only been two minutes,” I say to her, taking a quaff of my Corona. “And you’re already on them about a thousand different things. Give them a chance.”
“But they remembered your beer,” Angie pouts. “They should have remembered my drink, too.”
We regard each other in silence, like two boxers sizing each other up before the bell dings. Angie has Bailey’s dark curly hair, although hers is cut to her shoulders. There’s a streak of silver at the front, which isn’t unattractive, although there is a certain Cruella de Ville aspect to it. Her eyes are bright green, a jade hue that used to fascinate and enthrall me. But now they just look calculating and beady, like a bird’s eyes. She’s still a beautiful woman, though. That’s impossible to deny.
Fact two: my ex is passive aggressive.
“Thank you,” she says to the waiter when he brings out her margarita. She takes a sip of it. “But this is just strawberry, not a half and half.”
“Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. Do you want me to go replace it?”
Angie sighs unhappily. “No, I guess I’ll just drink this one. That’s fine.”
It’s clearly not fine. I roll my eyes and smile tightly at the waiter again as he walks away. I vow to leave extra tip to make up for her behavior.
“You like strawberry, too,” I remind her, as she takes a large sip of her margarita. “It can’t be that bad.”
“I know. But it is not what I ordered. There’s a difference.”
“Right.”
We sit in silence again. God, I should have never agreed to this. Angie came into town to visit Bailey. Her husband, Mike, is on a business trip, or else he’d be here, too. We don’t get together every time she visits, but to keep the peace, we occasionally share a meal. It’s an uncomfortable experience every time, but it makes Bailey happy, so we continue the tradition. I wish Mike or my daughter were here though. This would be so much easier. In fact, I don’t know why I’m sitting here without Bails. Where is our daughter? Suddenly, my phone rings, and I pick up.
