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I'm still mulling this over when my desk phone rings. I sit up straighter, expecting somebody to chew me out for wasting work time; that’s what guilt does to a person. It rings a second time, meaning the call is coming from outside the office. No chance of getting chewed out.
Tatum's number flashes across the ID. My stomach starts to churn while I reach out with a shaky hand to pick up the receiver. “Hey, What's up?”
“I...” Her voice is soft, low. “I'm sorry I've been such an asshole all week.”
“You haven't been an asshole. Just quiet.” Honestly, she's been avoiding me, but I'm trying to be understanding. “I'm not going to force you to see me or talk to me.”
“I know. But I'm sorry, and I wanted you to know that. I've been thinking a lot this week, and I guess getting so upset on Sunday was childish. I'm sorry.”
She has no idea how much I've wished to hear her say that. Aside from worrying about what Dad will think, her opinion has weighed heaviest on me. While Callum and I lie in bed talking about baby names, preschools, and colleges, there's always that twinge of guilt in my mind. The guilt of knowing Tatum is under the same roof we are, being miserable while we’re so happy. Callum told me he tried to talk to her but, as I expected, she put up a brick wall between them.
“So long as you don't hate me.”
“I told you before that I don't,” she reminds me. “I meant it. I just needed time to figure out my feelings. And I guess I can accept having a brother or sister. It might even be fun.”
“I sure need you,” I whisper, blinking back tears. My emotions are all over the place lately. I guess I have to learn to get used to it while my hormones rage. “I can't do this without you. I'm scared and excited and worried and overwhelmed.”
“I'm here,” she assures me. “I can't wait to spoil that kid rotten. Can you believe it? A big sister, at my age?”
“That is sort of funny. Who knows? Maybe you'll find the right guy soon and have a baby, too. Their aunt or uncle will barely be any older than they are.”
“Girl, slow down. Not everyone is in a hurry to birth children.”
“I wasn't in a hurry,” I remind her. “Believe me, I didn't plan this.”
“I know. Sorry, that came out the wrong way. How about we go to dinner tonight and talk about it, and I can start planning the baby shower.”
“Pump the brakes!” I'm caught between laughing and crying out of sheer relief. “There's a long time to go before we even have to start thinking about that.”
“Do you think the best, biggest baby shower in the history of the world can be planned overnight? Get real. I'll meet you in the parking garage of your job at five with a choice of themes, colors, and menus.”
The thing is, I wouldn’t put it past her to do something like that. There are tears of relief welling in my eyes by the time I hang up. I didn’t know until now how scared I was that she wouldn’t come around. I feel whole again with the Tatum-sized piece of my heart back in place.
Before I forget, I send Callum a text to let him know.
Me: Guess what? Things are good with Tatum – she wants to go to dinner tonight, so I’ll see you when we get home. She seems happy!
I know how much it’ll mean to him, seeing that. Outsiders would never guess there’s a big heart beating under that cold exterior. He might not always know how to express himself, however he loves as fiercely as he fights. Maybe more so.
Excitement for the future leaves me smiling like an idiot. I can’t wait to get home tonight so we can celebrate.
“Five o’clock on the dot.” Tatum grins, and I find her leaning against my car when I step into the garage. It’s mostly empty, a mute testament to the way the entire building cuts out early on Friday. Everybody except me. “Bad girl. You must’ve left your desk a minute or two early.”
“Nobody’s around to care.” And I spent the past few hours willing the clock to move faster so I could see my best friend again. It took sheer willpower to stay in my chair as long as I did.
“Where do you want to go for dinner?” She pushes away from the trunk, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head. Her flowered sundress tells me she isn’t expecting anything fancy, but then again, neither am I.
“I’m up for anything.” Dinner’s not the important part. We could go to a drive-thru, so long as she talks to me.
“Maybe Italian?”
“Sure. Two cars?”
