“We really shouldn’t laugh,” Bailey says, wiping her cheeks that likely ache as much as mine do from smiling so hard.
“Laugh at what?” Forest asks, holding the door open for us.
“Nothing,” Bailey says, then pats Forest’s arm as she passes, giving him a sympathetic smile.
Forest’s brows crease when I pass him next. “What’s the joke?”
“Don’t worry about it, Big…Dawg,” I tell Forest, which makes Bailey snort unladylike and cross her ankles. The other customers at the deli turn toward us and the scene we’re making.
“Seriously, what’s so funny?” Dad asks, joining us in the long line to place our order.
Bailey waves her hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s really not that funny.”
My humor immediately fades when Forest saddles up beside me and places his hand on my lower back. I move away from him to stand with Dad, hooking my arm in his, perusing the menu that I already know by heart.
Try as I might to avoid sitting next to him, Forest outmaneuvers Dad and Bailey, claiming the seat beside me at the black booth as we wait for our sandwiches and soups to be delivered. While Dad talks to Bailey about the companies she and Isaiah are researching to have a pool added to their backyard, Forest drops his voice to ask me, “Did you get it?”
“Yup,” I snap, all too aware of the lengths of our thighspressed together. I scoot closer to the pony wall that separates our booth from the one opposite, and I tug his jacket—which, I was right, does smell amazing—tighter around me like a shield.
Forest blows out a long, relieved sigh.
It makes me want to cry.
“You all right, honey?” Dad asks me, doing a double take.
I give him a flash of a smile before looking away, my attention caught by a group of women seated at two tables pushed together. Most are holding a small child on their laps. The others are keeping an eye on the infants sleeping in their strollers, probably hoping the noise in the bustling deli won’t wake them. Some kind of Mommy and Me group. Maybe that’ll be me, one day, far, far,farinto the future, with a man who would be thrilled to have a child with me. I push my sandwich away; my appetite vanished.
Toward the end of lunch, tension mounting on my side of the booth, Dad says to Forest, “We’ve reserved the neighborhood pool pavilion for Autumn’s birthday in a few weeks, since the heat is supposed to hold out. We’re going to Bailey and Isaiah’s house afterward for cake and all that, and we’d love to have you join us.” Dad looks at Bailey, then me. “Right, girls? I bet the kids would have a blast.”
“The more the merrier,” Bailey says genuinely.
“Then we’re hosting Thanksgiving at our place,” Dad says. “You’re more than welcome to come too.”
“Wow, yeah, that would be great,” Forest says enthusiastically, pushing his empty soup bowl to the edge of the table for our server to pick up. “It’s been a long time since we spent Thanksgiving with fam—” Forest clears his throat. “With anyone.”
Bailey crosses her arms over the table. “What about your parents?”
Forest tugs his collar. “My dad passed away when I was ten from a heart attack.”
Dad tuts when Bailey and I both give him a long, hard look. He doesn’t take his health as seriously as he should.
“Then it was just my mom and me ‘til she passed right after I graduated high school,” Forest says.
My heart drops, and Bailey’s chin quivers when she says in a rush that grows more hysterical, “Oh god, now I feel even worse for laughing at you. I’m so sorry. It was awful. Just awful, and immature, and horrible, and mean, and it’s not even your fault, and we shouldn’t have done that. Please, I hope you can forgive us.” Then she slaps her hands over her face and sobs into them. Dad hurries to squeeze her against his side, letting her cry on his shoulder.
Forest goes very still and remains that way until it’s time to leave, then drags his feet behind us on our walk back to the firm. My heart aches, jittery with guilt and the need to explain myself when we get back to the office. Since we took our lunch early, we return as most of the other employees are leaving for their breaks. Forest is almost a full ten minutes behind me when he finally makes it into our office, shutting the door behind him.
He kicks the toe of his shoe against the carpet, ducking his head with his hands in his pockets. “So you and Bailey were laughing at me.”
Choked up at his dispirited expression, I whisper sincerely, “Yes. I’m sorry.”
He nods, approaching my desk. “What was the joke?”
I shrink into myself. “We ran into each other at the pharmacy. She caught me taking the pill. Guessed that it was because of you. And I—” I wince, biting my bottom lip.
He quirks a brow up. “You what?”
“I kind of told her you had a, uh…” I hold up my pinky finger. “A small dick and were a one pump chump,” I finish with a squeaky rush. “I’m so sorry. It was a dumb joke that I took too far.”
