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I hum, absently flipping without really looking.
Cass nudges me. “Look at the cribs. Like any?”
When I flick to the appropriate section, the prices make me balk. “I guess.”
“What kind did August have?”
“He didn’t. Couldn’t afford a crib so he slept in my bed with me.”
Smooth skin creases with a frown. “Your parents—”
“—were very busy ignoring August’s existence,” I finish for him, candid and emotionless like the situation calls for. “Don’t look at me like that. We were okay. We had everything we needed. I don’t think I would’ve been able to sleep without August right beside me anyway.” I don’t think I did anything without him in arm’s reach for the first year, maybe more, of his life.
“Do they know you're pregnant again?”
“I imagine John told them.”
“They haven’t reached out?”
“Nope.” And I don’t expect them to. We’ve barely spoken since I moved out of their house, and I doubt another unexpected, unmarried pregnancy will be the thing to reunite us.
It’s clear from Cass’ face that can’t quite wrap his head around that, and I get it. If things were swapped, if I had his family and he had mine, I’d be confused too.
Cass doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t question further. Silently, he takes the booklet from me. With hands not all that much steadier than mine, he flips to a dog-eared page. Shows it to me as he taps one of the circled cribs. “I like this one.”
Exhaling slowly, I nod. “Me too.”
I don’t have to see his grin to feel the weight of it. “I’m gonna get it.”
“Okay.” I don’t have it in me to argue—or maybe, for once, I don’t want to. Slumping sideways, I lean my head against the tub, the warmth of his forearm only a breath away. “Thank you.”
When he waves off my thanks, I note something new about Cass; for all the thoughtful things he does, he really is averse to being acknowledged for them.
* * *
The next day, Cass takes me shopping.
“Your clothes don’t fit right,” is his explanation, and I almost get self-conscious, assuming he made that observation all on his own before I remember ranting those very words at him yesterday. It was a moment of weakness; I should’ve known better than to confess needing anything to a chronic giver.
“I don’t need anything new.” I can’taffordanything new. I’ll just do what I did last time; work my little fingers to the bone and alter what I already have.
Ignoring my protests, Cass uses the arm around my shoulders to steer me into the nearest store. “You’re about the same size as Amelia, right?”
Three months ago, maybe, before I gained a baby daddy and a personal chef in one fell swoop.
Undeterred by my silence, he starts pulling things at random, holding them up against me before either shaking his head and replacing them or nodding and tossing them over his shoulder. “Cass, stop.”
He shushes me gently.
“Cass.”
“I’m busy, my love.”
“Oh my—”
“Can I help y’all?” My mouth snaps shut as my gaze lands on the saleswoman wandering towards us just in time to catch her polite expression change. “Holy shit,” she whispers, eyes going wide. “You’re Cass Morgan.”
My fake boyfriend pastes on a good-natured smile. “I am.”
