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“It’s okay, you and Jasmine both. I’m not her biggest fan, either. It’s hard because she’s my mother, you know?”
“I can’t imagine how difficult that must be. At the same time, this is the second time I’ve had to come to get you because she made you cry. I think she deserves someone to tell her to fuck off.”
“I can’t say that! She’s still my mom! I wish I could talk to her. She doesn’t even know I’m pregnant!”
“Well, how did she miss that one?” Sebastian exclaimed.
“Industrial aprons and rage are a potent combination.”
“Fair.”
“And when I think about it, I’m not even sure if I want to talk to her about being pregnant. She’d probably shame me for having morning sickness and tell me I’m pregnant with twins because I’m extra slutty or whatever demented slut-shaming logic winds its way through her skull,” I said bitterly. Again, I hoped Sebastian would make a joke to lighten the situation, but he looked at me with heartbreaking puppy-dog eyes instead.
“I’m so sorry, Rebecca,” he said. I knew he was serious because he used my full name. He hadn’t called me Rebecca since Napa.
“For what? She’s not your mother,” I snapped. I felt a twinge of regret. I grabbed his hand, “I’m sorry. She just gets to me sometimes.”
“That’s okay. You can talk to me. You can always talk to me,” Sebastian said firmly. I felt a swell of gratitude. One of the most surprising parts about marrying Sebastian was the fact that I was marrying into his family. While my mother had no idea about my pregnancy, Olivia and Lorraine called to check on me at least once a day. It was like I gained a whole new support system in addition to the one I already had. Part of me couldn’t wait for the babies to get here because I was pretty sure they would be the most loved children in Boston. I couldn’t wait for them to grow up differently than I did— surrounded by people who were ready to talk instead of stuffing their feelings deep down.
By Friday night, I still hadn’t heard one word from my mother. I tried to push my anxieties away and focus on my Bachelorette party. Jasmine had been dropping increasingly cryptic hints all week, and I was genuinely excited.
I rode the elevator up to my apartment at seven on the dot. When I unlocked the door, I was accosted by a cloud of hot pink confetti. The kitchen island was covered in every kind of candy imaginable: marshmallows, sour belts, licorice, tiny bowls full of Reese pieces, peanut butter cups, skittles, and popcorn. Hot pink balloons spelled out “BECCA’S BACHELORETTE” as they floated toward the ceiling.
“Surprise!” Jasmine hollered, pulling me into a hug. She handed me a pink silk bundle.
“Go change into your PJs,” she instructed.
I walked into my old bedroom and unfolded the bundle to reveal a pair of pink silk pajamas with “Bride” embroidered on the back. They were adorable. I slipped into them and smiled as the elastic waist settled onto my bump. To my surprise, the top buttoned with ease.
When I walked back out into the living room, I noticed several of my sorority sisters wearing pajamas in the same shade of pink; it was precious. Although I should have known better, Jasmine never passed up an opportunity to coordinate an outfit.
“And this too,” Jasmine said, placing a tiny headband that looked like a veil on my head.
“This is adorable! Jazz, when did you do all of this?”
“Today, when you were at work,” Jasmine said. I hugged the rest of my sorority sisters and settled onto the couch, tucking my feet underneath me. My sorority sister, Allison, handed me a bowl of popcorn. I rested my head against her shoulder.
“It’s good to see you,” I hummed. Allison worked as a paralegal for Simon’s firm. She’d recently cut her long, blonde hair into a blunt bob that resembled Anna Wintour’s and framed her large, blue eyes.
“You too! You’ve been busy!” She gestured toward my bump, and I laughed.
“Yeah, between these two, tourist season, and the wedding next week, I would lose my head if it wasn’t already attached to my neck,” I said.
“I don’t blame you! That’s so much!”
My other sorority sister, Maeve, settled on the couch next to me.
“So when’s the baby shower?” She asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. We were interrupted by three quick knocks on the door, “Pizza’s here!”
I shot a look at Jasmine. “Please, please, please tell me you didn’t hire a stripper,” I begged. The last thing I wanted was a lap dance when I was four months pregnant.
Jasmine grimaced. “I didn’t. Go open the door,” she sounded defeated.
I got up and opened the door to reveal Sebastian wearing his set of pink silk PJs and carrying several pizza boxes.
“Hi, babe! What are you doing here?!” I asked, giving him a quick kiss as I grabbed a pizza box off the top of the pile.
