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“But—”
“Bye.”
Only when I shove him does he actually obey, shuffling down the hallway with a face like a slapped ass, leaving a cloud of awkward silence in his wake. Never one to enjoy the quiet, I break it first. “You were twenty-seven when we met.”
“You’re not familiar with birthdays?”
“I’m not familiar with yours.” I nudge her gently. “C’mon. You’re already having my child. You can tell me your birthday.”
When she does, my mouth drops open, something outraged ready to spill out, but Sunday cuts me off. “Don’t start. I already got a slap on the wrist from Luna. What is it with you guys and birthdays?”
“We like presents.” And we love each other almost as much as we love ourselves. “I would’ve gotten you something.”
“I didn’t get you anything.”
I flick my gaze to her stomach. “Yeah, you did.”
“Fuckin’ cheesy.” Her eyes roll but her lips stretch in a smile, and mine are just starting to follow suit when she asks, “Who’s Penelope Jacobs?”
Awkwardly clearing the sudden itch in my throat, I gesture towards the elevator, following close behind when Sunday starts towards them. “Luna’s sister.”
“You dated Luna’s sister?”
I wince. “Not exactly.”
Understanding is quick to dawn on Sunday’s face. “Ah.”
“It was years ago.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” A finger jabs my ribs, the elevator button its next victim. “I’m just surprised Luna let you live.”
“It was touch and go for a while.”
Sunday tips her head back and laughs, and in the brief absence of her eyes on me, mine roam.Appreciate. I realize, as I take in bare legs that are deceptively long for someone so short and the sliver of freckled midriff exposed by a tiny tank top and the denim cutoffs clinging to full hips, fuller thighs, that I don’t feel the frustration I usually do when I find myself admiring Sunday. I’m not pissed off by how fucking pretty she is. And maybe that’s why I feel compelled to tell her, “You look good.”
To her credit, she hides her surprise well. Her embarrassment, too, a wrinkle of her nose the only tell that she doesn’t accept compliments very well. “Don’t tell me I’m glowing. I think you’re the only person left in Sun Valley who hasn’t told me I’m glowing.”
I wait until we’re in the elevator, until the mirrored doors close and reflect a face I know is about to turn my favorite shade of pink, before grinning. “You’re glowing, sunshine.”
* * *
I leave the hospital with a fresh sonogram and a tiny heartbeat ringing in my ears.
Not a word the ultrasound technician said was audible over the sound of that heartbeat. It wholly consumed me. Thumped to the rhythm ofmine, mine, mine.
I was vaguely aware of Sunday watching me the whole time. Of either me reaching for her or her for me or both reaching for each other and meeting somewhere in the middle, fingers intertwining. Of me ducking down without taking my eyes off the screen and brushing my lips against the back of her hand, a silent thank you for the flickering blob squirming around in her belly.
For about an hour, there was a calm comfort between us. A… I don’t know. An ignorant bliss, I guess, where we only focused on that wonderful little blob.
And then, the appointment ends. The real world seeps in. Sunday wordlessly follows me to my car—some kind of unspoken agreement dictates avoiding hers like the plague. We sit in thick silence that goes on for too long before Sunday works up the nerve to break it.
“So, the fake dating thing.” I hold my breath as I glance at her, watching her smooth her palms down her thighs, cup her knees, nervously tap her fingers. “How does that work?”
It takes me a while to think up an answer that isn’twell, we fake date.“We have a couple options.”
“Lucky us.”
“We can imply we’re dating, and that we have been for a while. Be subtle and strategic about it without directly addressing anything.” Simple and effective but in my opinion, leaving way too much room for interpretation. For speculation. “Or we come right out and say it. We can still be vague about the timeline but I release a statement saying we’re madly in love, respect our privacy, please don’t call the mother of my child a gold-digging whore.”
