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On Thursday, we boarded a plane back home, and even though I dreaded meeting my parents, relief washed over me. The minute we got back to the mansion, I entered my room, collapsing onto the four-poster bed. Exhausted didn’t begin to cover what I was feeling. My lungs screamed in agony from all the dancing, walking around, and…well, let’s just say that having sex on cold tiles wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had. I practically felt the mucus covering my airways. And while I needed to book an appointment to see Dr. Hasting as soon as possible, I couldn’t leave here before the wedding.
As I rolled to the side of the bed to text Elle and ask how her flight to New York went (she had to skip the wedding for a family event), my older sister threw my door open and dashed in like a storm.
“We need to talk.”
I turned around, sprawled on a throne of puffy, colorful pillows, and the hurricane in her eyes calmed once she saw my wet cheeks and red eyes. Her face twisted in worry. That was Millie for you. Even when I acted like a brat at her bachelorette party, she still melted under my cold flesh.
I patted the empty side of the bed in silent invitation. To the place where we sat, where we laughed, where we cried, and stared at glow-in-the-dark stars and made crazy plans. I waved the white flag. In return, she stepped from her position—not outside the room but not inside, exactly, either, then closed the door behind her.
Cough-laughing, I bowed my head down.
“Then let’s talk, sister.”
“I never meant for you to find out this way. Ever,” Millie said, her arms behind her head, staring at the ceiling.
My face was buried between her chin and armpit, and from that angle, I could see the blue vein that popped inside her cleavage, running through her left breast, as her body prepared for breastfeeding.
“But I couldn’t exactly mention it to you in passing, either, and we both know why. Daddy is on your case, Mama is crazy-scared now that she knows that you’re alone in New York, and the last thing I wanted was to put more pressure on you. Bad call, I know, but only because people found out way sooner than they should have thanks to my morning sicknesses and tendency to go green every time I smell coffee.” She took a deep breath and rubbed her cheek against mine.
“Gladys and Sydney found out a week ago. I was going to tell you before the bachelorette party, but then you outdid yourself with the Vegas trip and we never got the one-on-one time.”
“I work with babies,” I pouted, hugging a pillow to my chest and pulling at a loose thread. “You could have told me this in passing. I still would have been nothing but ecstatic for you. Why would you assume differently?”
She gulped, looking down to the space between us.
“Because, Rosie, love and passion are the two forces that can drive a person into madness, despite their best intentions.” She turned around to face me, tucking a hand under her ear. “And you are passionate about motherhood. I didn’t want to throw it in your face along with this wedding, and the lavish ceremony, and whatnot. This is weird for me, too, okay? I’m not used to having it easy in life.”
I pulled her into a hug, sniffing her neck, the scent of the cherry blossom perfume she always used. She smelled like home.
“I’ve never been so happy about someone else’s fortune,” I said, each word light and easy, because it was the truth. “And get used to all this goodness, because you’ve definitely earned it fair and square. Now, tell me everything. How far along are you?”
“Nine weeks.” She bit the corner of her lip, sliding a hand over her flat stomach. “The smell of coffee makes me throw up, and the thought of bacon sends uncomfortable shivers down my spine. Oh, Rosie, and my boobs. They hurt so bad. All tender and huge. Which only makes Vicious even more fascinated with them.” She rolled her eyes and snorted out a laugh. “They say the first trimester is the hardest, and it’s a breeze from there on.”
I spared her the stories of the young mothers I worked with, and how the real work started when the baby was out, and hugged her, entwining my legs with hers.
“How do you tolerate me, dude? Seriously. I’m, like, the worst person in the world. I acted like a spoiled brat all week just because for a few, miserable seconds, I felt what it was like to be you. Not the center of everyone’s world.”
“Jesus. Rosie, it’s no big deal. You were a little quiet in Vegas, but…”
“No, Millie, it’s not just this,” I muttered.
