Page 48 of Kicking Up Dust

“Just for his lack of confidence in me, he’s paying for my massage too.”

TWENTY-FIVE

BLAIR

The mall is a lot less busy today than it was yesterday, which is odd to me. In California, there didn’t seem to be any “not-busy” days. Just busy and busier.

June must’ve called ahead to book our massages, because when we get there, she simply tells them our names and we’re taken straight back.

I try not to moan, or make any noise at all while the massage therapist works out all of the tension in my body, excited to be able to lie on my front again thanks to this special table they have with a cut-out for baby bumps. The last thing I want to do is moan and remind June of this morning’s awkward conversation and the things she overheard. I’m still so embarrassed, I could melt into a puddle and die. I’ll have to tell Colt he’s not allowed to touch me ever again while we’re living in the Big House.

After the massage, June shoos me out to wait in the mall while she uses Colt’s card to pay, obviously not having the same reservation with swiping it as I seem to. I’m not sure if I want to know how much I just cost him. I swallow down the feeling that I’m racking up favors, that he’s going to want to cash in on them and I’ll have nothing to give him in return.

“Now then,” June says, popping up behind me out of nowhere. She hands me Colt’s card back. “Cinnamon bites now or later? I’ve gotta remember where the baby store is in this mall.”

I smile at her no-nonsense approach to mall-going.

“It’s up here, around the corner,” I tell her, having spent quite a while there the day before.

“Oh, perfect. Let’s go there first then, since you just ate breakfast not long ago. Sound good?”

I don’t remember my parents much anymore. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but I think that’s just because the memory starts to fade after a while. I can’t remember what my mom smelled like or sounded like. I don’t have any memories of what she looked like, though I’ve seen her in pictures, alongside my dad, and my mind has made those into false memories for me.

I’d like to think, if my parents were still alive, they’d probably be just as doting as Colt’s mom is. But if my parents were still alive, I wouldn’t have ended up in foster care, which means I wouldn’t have ended up at Berkley on a foster kid scholarship, and I wouldn’t have met Stephanie and Chelsey, and we wouldn’t have gone to the rodeo, and I wouldn’t have run into Colt and gone back to his motel room, and I wouldn’t have baby bear in my stomach currently kicking the hell out of my ribs.

I can’t fathom a world where I don’t have her, where I don’t have Colt, so it’s gotten easier to not constantly wish my parents were still alive, as of recent.

But I’d be lying through my teeth if I didn’t acknowledge that at this moment, June feels like a stand-in mother for me. A woman concerned with when I eat and making sure I’m comfortable, trying to avoid conversations that may embarrass me, and doting on me with sweets.

“Blair?” she asks, snapping me out of it. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, with a small smile. She reaches out and thumbs across my cheek. I’d been crying without realizing it. I sniff. “Just… remembering my mom.”

“Oh, honey.” She pulls me into the tightest hug I’ve ever been in, and that’s saying something considering Stephanie’s mom also gives really incredible hugs. “I’m sorry your mama isn’t here for this, but I’d love to be the person you come to when you need something she would normally give you. Love, hugs, a good talking-to, a smack with the dish towel… anything you need.”

I laugh as I pull back, wiping away my tears. “Thank you, June.”

She starts to say something and then hesitates, perhaps rewording it in her mind before she finally gets it out.

“If you ever feel comfortable doing so, it’d warm my heart to hear you call me Mama. Not because I want to replace yours, but because you’re so important to me, Blair. You’re giving me two of the greatest gifts ever.”

“Two?” I assumed she was referring to her first grandchild for one of the two—Colt had told me how relentless she’d been about begging the boys for one since their dad died.

“Yourself and that grandbaby, of course,” she says, pushing my hair back away from my face. My stomach twists and I press my lips together, looking down at the floor. Despite years bouncing from family to family during my childhood, I don’t think I’d ever been a part of one that considered me a gift, save the one I was born into.

She doesn’t wait for me to respond—doesn’t expect a big “thank you” or a grand gesture—she just hooks her arm in mine and heads toward the baby store, rattling on about all of the things she wants us to get. I say a silent prayer for Colt’s bank account.

Colton is all for the little shopping spree his mother and I went on with his card until he sees the pregnancy pillow. Rather, he liked it in theory, but not in execution.

“Would you prefer I go sleep in my bed instead of yours?” I finally snark, tired of his pouting.

“No,” he grumbles petulantly, sidling up to the back of the pillow as much as he can—which wasn’t much, hence the pouting. We’d taken to just sleeping in his bed most of the time, since I fall asleep watching our show in here more often than not anyway. Plus, cuddling was usually nice.

When your cuddle partner wasn’t whining like a child, that is.

Unfortunately for Colt—but very fortunately for me—when I woke up the next morning, I wasn’t anywhere near as achy as I’d been the past several mornings, so the pregnancy pillow would indeed be a permanent fixture in any bed I was sleeping in.

Whether that was my bed or Colt’s remained up to him.