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“Our wedding.”
I can practically feel the color drain from my face. “Y-your wedding.”
I’m not sure why my body feels so cold and clammy all of a sudden and I really don’t want to unpick that particular knot right now.
“That’s why Vittorio stopped by the office today. He came to demand that Bee and I push up the date of the ceremony.”
I’m waiting for even the faintest sense of enthusiasm on his face, but there’s none to be found. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem very happy.”
“Would you be happy if some old mudak was calling the shots on your life?” he snaps at me.
I shrug. “I mean, I’ve dealt with it pretty well, all things considered.” The joke sinks in immediately and he offers me an impatient glare that has laughter snorting up through my nostrils. “You’re right; it’s not exactly the same. You’re not old.”
“Very amusing,” he mutters without cracking a smile. “By the way, the wedding will be on the tenth.”
“The tenth?” I gasp, all humor suddenly gone from the situation. “That’s less than a month from now!”
He nods. “You wanted to work for your salary. So—get to work.”
I place my hand on my stomach as he leaves. Life really is a cruel bitch, isn’t she? Not so long ago, I was planning on having a baby that belonged to my sister and brother-in-law.
Now, I’m planning a wedding for my baby daddy who just happens to belong to another woman.
At least things can’t get any worse.
36
WREN
There’s something otherworldly about Chicago in the middle of the night. Lines of brake lights in the distance like inset rubies. Golden pools of streetlights. Windows lit, windows dark, silhouettes shifting amongst the indigo shadows.
You can’t pick a wrong window to look out of in this apartment. But for my money, the living room has the best vantage point of them all. I load a plate with leftovers and settle into a seat on the floor so I can gaze out at all the lives unfolding around me.
I’m usually so exhausted that I sleep through the night without a problem. But tonight is the first time I’ve woken up in cold sweats, scared awake by a dream I can’t quite remember anymore.
Hence the mini-mountain of food in front of me.
“Doors closing.”
I sit upright, my mouth full of Häagen-Dazs. I so do not want to be caught snacking in the living room in the middle of the night by Dmitri. Quite apart from being embarrassing, I need some distance from him.
“Well, helloooo there!” a familiar voice croons.
I sigh with relief. “Bee. Where have you been?”
She rolls her eyes sloppily as she staggers in through the archway. “Out, Mom. Jeez.” She takes a very zig-zaggy route towards me, bumping off several pieces of furniture on her way over.
“You’re drunk,” I accuse.
She scrunches up her nose. “You going to punish me, baby?” she asks in a tone that is very confusing to me. Is it meant to be seductive or is it just coming out that way by accident and she’s too wasted to notice?
“Uh… no. Just asking a question.”
“Cookie dough!” she blurts in delight, dropping down heavily onto her knees in front of me. She slumps to the side, her shoulder coming to rest against the glass wall, then reaches a clumsy hand over to swipe a finger through the mound of cookie dough on my plate and raise it to her lips.
She’s wearing loud eye makeup in a glittery green and a sequined dress to match. What little fabric there is to the garment is strategically positioned to keep her more or less modest, though the nipple pasties are truly doing the Lord’s work.
Crumbs tumble onto the carpet as Bee runs another finger in the dessert and attacks the lump of cookie dough like she hasn’t seen food in months. There’s a franticness to her that unsettles me. Her drunken giggles masking something a little deeper, a little darker.
