Kate sat next to me and started on the pants. I had grown out of almost all my clothes by now, so much so that even my stretchiest yoga pants were uncomfortable, but I didn’t know where to start with maternity shopping. Plus, I kept seeing posts about maternity clothes being a scam, but what else was I supposed to do? Maybe I could invest in some muumuus, I could wear those after giving birth, too.
I’d done a cursory Google search for maternity clothes, which led to all my social media ads being of the sort. There were a lot of cute items, but not a lot of cute items that fit my lifestyle. Like, if I was a mommy blogger micro-influencer, I could get a slew of adorable dresses, but it was the middle of winter, and I onlywent out once a week, if that. Generally speaking, I worked, hung out with Kate, and participated in my dad’s bowling league (he had to give me one of his old bowling shirts since mine was too tight now). Sometimes Josie invited me out with her friends for karaoke or the movies, but even those activities didn’t warrant dressing up.
I read an article that said I should get at least two pairs of maternity jeans and five shirts. Black leggings, too, and a fancier dress in case I have to go to a wedding. The article also talked about blazers, layering, something calledruching, and the brands I should go to if I wanted to be “pregnancy chic.” I wasn’t even regular chic, so I probably didn’t need to start in pregnancy.
It all sounded expensive, and I only had a few more months of this. I could swing it, my savings were steadily growing, although not as quickly as I would have liked, but I had a hard time spending when I had a ticking time bomb in my stomach ready to wreak havoc on my finances. Mom or Dad would help, but I hated asking. They were already so generous, and asking them to go clothes shopping with me would not be a point in favor of my mission to show that I was a responsible adult, responsible enough to be a mother.
“Can I borrow these until they fit you again?” Kate held up my favorite black jeans, high waisted with flowers embroidered on the ankles. I looked longingly at them but nodded.
“Someone should be wearing them,” I said.
I’d go shopping next week. The thought of going into a mall was dreadful, but maybe it wouldn’t be that busy if I went early enough. Maybe the middle schoolers wouldn’t be out in full force yet, and I could shop in peace. Or maybe Costco would have something? Costco has good clothes sometimes, and not that expensive. I’d try there first.
“Knock, knock,” Barry said from my bedroom doorway, and Kate and I both yelped. Barry jumped, too, and dropped the paper bag of burritos to the floor, a little container of red chili rolling out but not spilling open.
“Holy shit,” I exhaled. I put the pair of panties I’d been folding beneath my leg. There had been no way to hear him walk in over the hideous song playing on the Bluetooth speaker, a misstep on my part. Kate tapped at her phone until the song turned off, and then it was just the three of us and Junior meowing at Barry’s feet.
“Dinner?” Barry asked.
CHAPTER 8
WALK-UP OUTFITS
Kate called just after six the next morning asking if I could cover for someone at the building on Fifteenth Street.
“Carpet day?” I groaned.
“Yeah,” she said. “Two people called in. I can drive you.”
“Give me twenty minutes.” I hung up and blinked in the darkness, trying not to fall back asleep. It wasn’t until I moved to sitting on the side of my bed that I remembered Barry was in the basement, probably trying to sleep in on his Saturday morning. I changed into clean yoga pants and a Harvey sweatshirt before tiptoeing to the bathroom to wash my face.
When I came out, though, I was startled to find Barry asleep on the couch, one leg curled toward his chest and the other hanging off the arm. The bed hadn’t been a success after all, it seemed. Junior, a traitorous thing, slept on Barry’s washboard of a stomach.
I tried to move even slower, taking big steps toward the kitchen to get one of the yogurts from the fridge and my water bottle. My coat was hanging from the back of the chair by the couch, and it was a loud puffy material, so I’d have to be careful not to swish around in it too much. Junior watched me with his head down as I passed into the kitchen.
It was still dark, so I used my phone’s flashlight to navigate, filling up my bottle with tap water after retrieving a yogurt and a spoon.
“Hannah?” Barry said from the couch. I remembered the last time I’d heard his voice so syrupy sleepy like that, right in myear in his brother’s sunny New York apartment when he’d said, “I’m so glad you’re still here,” and pulled me against him. Scotty had gone out with someone after the show, which left his apartment empty for us to canoodle all morning.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah?”
“What time is it?”
I looked at my watch. “Six twenty.”
“Oh.” I saw Barry’s head look around the mostly dark living room. “Where are you?”
I turned on the kitchen light, and he shut his eyes at the brightness for a moment before adjusting. His cheek had a red crease on it from the pillow, and I could just make out the tops of his shoulders over the couch.
“Why?”
I couldn’t help my laugh. “Why am I awake? I have to work.”
“So early,” he said. “So early.”
I didn’t tell him that six a.m. was two hours later than my usual starting time at the practice facility; this was sleeping in.
“Yeah,” I said instead. “You go back to sleep, I’ll be done in a few hours.”
