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I had gone home and tried to find an outfit that didn’t make me feel like a whale. Now wearing it, I found myself at a cute Italian restaurant just outside of town.
I sat by the front door, nervously chewing on my lip as I waited for Brenna to show. She told me to meet her just outside the door and text her the moment I arrived.
I held my clutch in front of me, nervous energy running through me. I was still a bit put off by the whole running into Brenna and her wanting to be my friend after fifteen years thing, but I would get past it.
The doors swung open and out walked Brenna in her raven-haired glory. It really was unfair that she’d been beautiful as a pre-teen and was even more gorgeous as an adult. What happened to that adage of the pretty ones turning out to be the ugliest after school was over?
“Come on in. I have a table already.” Brenna smiled and held the door for me, allowing me to step into the restaurant before she moved in front to weave the way to the table.
I should have followed my gut when I felt the telltale signs of something being wrong the moment I left the mall—and Brenna—yesterday.
Because just a few tables away, a few feet in front of Brenna, was Conor.
I stopped dead in my tracks and, whether it was hormones or just me, felt tears build up behind my eyes. I was so fucking naïve.
Of course she didn’t want to be my friend. She stopped wanting to be my friend in middle school when I was too fat to hang out with her. When she was getting all the attention from boys and I was in the middle of my extremely long awkward phase.
Was her inviting me tonight her being facetious? Was she being rude and wanting to point fingers at me? What the hell was her goal?
The buzzing in my head didn’t allow for me to hear Brenna address the table but the moment Conor’s eyes met mine across the short distance, my stomach truly dropped to the floor, my clutch following shortly after.
With a red face and burning eyes, I knelt down the best I could with my slightly protruding belly, and picked up my clutch. I stood as gracefully as I could in the black pants and flowy shirt that did not hide the evidence underneath and, with a swallow, made myself face Conor.
Made myself face the father of my child.
