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She glanced back up at me timidly. “No, it’s nothing. It’s not my place.”
I laid my forearms on the counter and leaned forward. “Girl, now you have to say it.”
She remained silent for a bit, her expression pinched. “A lot of women wait until they’re well into their second trimester before they announce, before they start shopping.” She looked down at the clothes.
I screwed my nose up. “Why would they wait?”
She looked slightly uncomfortable as she cleared her throat. “To be safe. Most of the danger is gone after the first trimester.”
“Danger?” I repeated.
She nodded. “Pregnancy loss, unfortunately, is most common in the first trimester.”
I nodded slowly in understanding, a pit opening in my stomach. “Oh, okay. Totally get it.” A slightly uncomfortable silence overtook us.
That locked box in my mind rattled. It was my duty, in order to safeguard my sanity, to keep it closed.
“I completely understand why women would want to be safe, keep it to themselves. But I’m not exactly known for playing it safe.” I waved away the thought. “And I don’t live my life under the expectation that the worst is going to happen. Life is going to happen, no matter what. The only thing I can control is my attitude.” I rolled my eyes. “Corny, I know, but it’s served me well thus far. The amount of times I thought I was going to be stuck in a Saudi palace or in a harem on a superyacht in international waters… That shit for sure could’ve gone bad. But it didn’t. So … yeah.”
I’d been so proud of my positive attitude then. Not proud, I was a fucking maniac about it. Clinging on to it for dear life. Because I’d had to. If I’d loosened my grip, even a little, I would’ve let that dread in. That cold knowing. The words that I’d heard in Romania.
What a wonderful job I did, telling myself I’d forgotten about them completely. Dismissed them entirely.
What a fool I was.
I hated that woman, the one who bought all the clothes in front of me. Despised her with a hatred I hadn’t thought I was capable of possessing.
Only for a second.
Then I made a plan.
I was wearing Chanel.
It only seemed fitting.
Although some people might’ve considered it a crime to fashion to stand so close to an open flame while wearing vintage Chanel.
Such things didn’t really worry me anymore.
I’d dumped everything into the large fire drum I’d had delivered. It had arrived in under an hour. The things you could get in LA if you were willing to pay. Yasmin hadn’t noticed all the commotion because she was baking brownies in the kitchen. Yasmin baked when she was worried, stressed or upset. Dealing with me, she had to be all three. Plus, she knew my weakness for her brownies, so it was also probably part of a larger effort to get me to consume more calories.
So she didn’t come out until I was standing in front of the fire drum with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a lighter in the other.
Zoe and Stella arrived as she walked toward me, faces pinched in concern.
“Wren, what are you…”
Her words cut off as she got close enough to see what was in the fire drum. What was in a pile beside me because there wasn’t enough room.
Clothes.
Baby clothes.
Thousands of dollars’ worth of them.
It was selfish of me to do what I was doing. I could’ve donated them to women in need. But I wasn’t really in a selfless state of mind. I was purely focused on getting them out of the house.
“I need it gone,” I stated quietly. “I need it all gone.”
