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“You look like someone just pissed all over your parade,” she says. “Come here to lick your wounds, big boy?”
I can’t even muster the energy to sneer at her. I just shake my head slowly.
“Must be girl trouble,” she sighs. “I can always tell. Or, is it boy trouble?” She arches an eyebrow.
She purses her lips when I finally turn my head to look at her, and drums her fingers on the bar. “Definitely girl trouble. What she do? Cheat on you?”
“No,” I tell the girl. “I fucked her, fell in love with her, and then told her she was worthless.” May as well have, anyway.
The brunette whistles, and finishes her drink.
“Wow,” she says when she puts the glass down. She stands from the bar, and the look on her face is a mix of pity and disgust. “I guess you deserve to be right where you are, then, don’t you?”
She walks away, hips swaying, and I can’t find a single fault in her assessment of me.
And I realize with a flash that I was never doing it for my father. That was only an excuse for my heart in case Janie didn’t want me.
Chapter 67
Janie
The launch party is looming ever closer, and between being torn up over Jake—no matter how many times I remind myself he’s not worth getting torn up over—and stressed beyond belief, it doesn’t occur to me to panic about the fact that I’ve started throwing up my breakfast until I’m a week late for my cycle.
Stress does that, though, right? Messes with your rhythms, makes it difficult for your body to regulate the heinously complex chemical cocktails it’s constantly shaking up. Right?
For that week, I can believe that. I’m short on tampons, so I even go and buy a variety pack. I’ve been late before, and it always arrives with a vengeance.
After the next week, I panic.
I’m on the phone making an appointment with a woman I never expected to see in a professional setting. My friend Annie is a doula, and I’ve referred lots of my own clients to her. She’s fantastic. She’s also a calming presence.
Almost the moment I walk in, Annie sizes me up like the village wise woman, both eyebrows raising just a hair.
I’m not superstitious, and I don’t believe in half the stuff she sometimes says, but that look makes my heart ache in my chest. “Oh, fuck,” I whisper. “Fuck, no…”
Annie winces, and comes to me, pulling me into a hug. “Come on,” she says gently, rubbing my back. “You’re fine. You’ll be just fine, okay? Come sit down.”
“I’m so stupid, Annie,” I mutter, barely keeping myself together. “I’ve been so, so fucking stupid.”
“Hush,” Annie says as she lowers me into a comfortable chair like I’m already eight months along. She speaks in this gentle, calming way she’s mastered from years of practice as she fixes us both a cup of tea—very likely something herbal and caffeine-free. Oh shit. How am I going to even live my life without four cups of coffee a day? For nine months?
“I’ll order you a blood test,” she says. “We don’t know anything yet, right?”
“What’s that mean?” I ask, and immediately regret it. “Sorry… sorry. I’m tense.”
“Take this,” she says, pushing a warm mug into my hand. “It’ll calm you down and it’s good for the… well, anyway. So… what happened?”
“Do I have to swear you to secrecy?” I ask, trying to make a joke.
Annie looks like I slapped her, though. “I would never—”
&n
bsp; “Sorry,” I say again. “Bad joke. I’m… not right, at the moment. Um… I met a guy, obviously.”
That, at least, gets a small chuckle from her.
“Jake Ferry… Reginald Ferry’s son,” I say, quietly, like there might be other people listening.
