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Despite my relief, I don’t have it in me to admit I never had one. Not really. Not one that was actually for me. My parents have always been of the ‘children should be seen, not heard’ mindset, and that didn’t let up for something as silly as a birthday. By the time I got out from under their thumb, the occasion was tainted, any want for a celebration of my own eviscerated. Only an intense urge to always give August the very best birthdays a kid could ever dream of was left behind. “I just needed a minute.”
“A break from the attack?” My head lolls to one side, finding a soft, sympathetic smile. “Sorry. They all kinda bombarded you.”
“They’re really nice.”
“You sound surprised. What, you thought they were gonna be mean to you?”
A joke that’s not quite a joke comes out before I can stop it. “Isn’t that what family’s for?”
His smile dies. “Not this one.”
I hum. Repeat, “that’s really nice.” Wonder what that’s like.
Cass shifts and his hand slips, and I swear fingertips graze my hair for a millisecond. “I take it you’re not close with your family.”
Instinctively, my nose wrinkles. “Understatement of the year.”
“Is that why you moved?”
I sigh. Slump. Jerk when the back of my neck touches a forearm. Think fuck it, whatever, and relax back against a soft seat, a warm limb. “Yes and no, I guess. Maybe if I was closer to my parents, I would’ve stayed but I doubt it. I stuck it out for long enough, y’know?”
Dark brows pinch with concern, and I instantly regret my word choice. “It was that bad?”
I worry my bottom lip as I ponder a response that won’t inspire a) pity, b) judgment, c) guilt, or d) all of the above. “It wasn’t great,” is what I settle on—boom, door number four swings open. Damn it. “But it wasn’t, like,awful. I liked it being just me and August. We were happy when it was just us.”
This time, I definitely do not imagine the pull of my hair being twined around a finger. “And now?”
“We’re very adaptable.”
“Hm.” Cass hesitates. “And John?”
Fury, bile, and some very rude words claw their way up my throat. “John was never in the picture.”
“Biologically speaking, he had to be.”
“I don’t think thirty seconds really counts.”
Cass winces, tilting his head like he’s listening for something. “I think I just heard him crying all the way from Texas.”
I laugh and the noise relaxes me, makes me slouch a little more, my cheek meeting warm skin as my neck gives out. “I think his fiancée is probably the one crying.”
“Fiancée?” Again with the frowning. I’m tempted to warn him of the dangers of frown lines but honestly, he could use a few. They might make him look a little more human. Less oppressively perfect. “He doesn’t look at you like he’s got a fiancée.”
“How does he look at me?”
“Like he wants to fuck you.”
“He does not.” Unless we’re talking metaphorically.
“Trust me, he does.”
“And you’re an expert in the matter?”
“I really don’t think you want me to answer that.”
Frown again,I silently beg.Please. Stop looking at me like that. I’m already pregnant. Relax.
I look away first.
