“Yeah, Paris romance, Irish Hugh Grant!” Clare reinforces.
“I’m not having this discussion in a bridal shop.” He tucks his phone into his pocket and stands, pointing my phone’s camera at me and fulfilling his duty as the official FaceTimer for the first time in the past hour. “You like that one?”
“I don’t know.” I turn to the side and attempt to flatten my stomach. The endo belly is real. “What do you think, Clare?”
“Ignatius needs to trim his nose hairs. You turned the camera to face you again, bud.”
“Oh, shit, sorry.” He fumbles.
“Ah, much better,” Clare says. “Oh, hmm. The cut is flattering, but I don’t know about that color. I think Holly wanted a dustier rose. What does Maria think?”
“She’s pulling some more dresses, but I like it. It hides the bloat and is pretty comfortable.”
“Yes! That material is great for that. Holly and I also decided on chiffon dresses to hide the baby bumps a bit.”
A large, strangled cough rattles Eli’s six-foot frame.
I still. “I’m sorry, your what?”
“Oh, that reminds me. We’re going to throw a dual baby/bridal shower for her, I know that’s a little bizarre, but we wanted you there for both. When is your flight home?” Clare continues to prattle off questions, probably on some laminated checklist, oblivious that I’m learning there will be baby bumps to hide for the first time.
My heart hammers against my chest, pumping heat through my veins in a wild panic. Oh hell, why didn’t I figure that out sooner? They went from engagement to a wedding date in three months, for heaven’s sake.
“I—” I attempt to steady my erratic breathing as my airways constrict to a thin, barely navigable passage. Well, at least I’ll test drive the panic attack features of this dress. “I haven’t purchased my plane ticket yet.”
“Oh, well, no worries then. Let me know when you do so I can send out those invitations.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Speaking of, do you want your name on the invites too? Like should we both host the shower?”
“Uhm.” Placing my hands on the back of my head, I pace the length of the platform, attempting to give my lungs the space to breathe.
Eli lowers the phone.
“What am I saying? I’m sorry,” Clare continues, I assume catching on. “Of course you’ll host it with me. We can talk theme later—”Or not.“But actually, Paris is perfect. It works for a bridal shower and a baby shower. Maybe you could grab some souvenirs for decorations and prizes? I swear to god, Ignatius, keep it on her beautiful face.”
I could speak up, but causing more of a scene in this public space while entirely overwhelmed and wheezing doesn’t exactly appeal to me.
“Sorry, my arm’s tired.” He offers me a lopsided smile, and the usual shimmer in his bright green eyes slowly fades.
Maria marches in, arms full of dresses. “I found some more—oh, dear, what happened here?”
“Found the dress, I think,” I choke out, forcing an unnatural upward curve of my lips.
Eli clears his throat. “Oh, shoot. Clare? Evie’s battery is wicked low. I’ll have to let you go.”
“Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
“Everything’s fine. The little shit doesn’t charge her phone. Really going to die—bye.” He hangs up, handing me the phone.
“Clare’s pregnant?” I manage through warring emotions.
“Ugh, yeah, she is.”
“And Holly too?”
“Yeah.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “Clare was first, but Holly and Caleb apparently liked the idea of having a cousin their age.”
