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Nathan grasps my cheek and swipes his thumb beneath my eye, the rough texture of his skin grounding me. I cradle his hand with mine against my face. Giving it a squeeze, I let go. A single step out of his arms signals to him that he’s free to leave.
I hope he reads in my eyes that I’m going to be just fine. I have friends here and family to get involved. I’ll sleep much better at night knowing the truth is out in the open and the next move is his.
That doesn’t mean I don’t watch him walk out my front door for the second time today or sit by my window to see him drive off.
It means now that I’m alone, I let the tears fall completely. And once I’m done, I dry my face and take a shower, clean up myself and my space, and I call my other best friend over to pull me from my funk and keep me company.
I might pride myself on being strong, but strength doesn’t mean I have to go at this alone.
“You are a cruel human,” I grouse. Cami giggles at my forlorn gaze directed at her bottle of champagne.
“Who brings over a bottle of alcohol to celebrate a pregnancy? The guest of honor can’t even drink.” I curl the ends of my blanket tighter around my chest as I inject even more heat into my glare.
“Loads of people, that’s who. I didn’t get to celebrate my own pregnancy, so we’re doing this. I’m going to throw you a baby shower—Oh!” She leans over and tugs my arm. “We’re going to do one of those gender reveal parties!”
“Do you mean those tacky slogans like ‘Buck or Doe, We want to know’ because if so, the answer is … hell no.”
She snorts. “Not quite. We’ll keep it classy. I’ll buy some confetti cannons and order a special cake with pink or blue frosting.”
“I also don’t want any sort of cannons. Do you know how many people are injured at these parties? People have actually died trying to be creative. I’ll just find out at the ultrasound or, I don’t know, when the kid is born.”
Her scowl conveys upset. Either I’m ruining her grand plans or I said something socially unacceptable. At this juncture, it could be either, and I’m prone to both. My words reflect my sour mood.
“I hope I don’t have to tell you this more than once, but you cannot refer to your baby as the kid.”
“And so it begins.” My eyes roll without heat.
Cami takes a sip of her drink and glares over the rim of my glass. Not like I’ll be using it for the next nine months or so.
“What?”
“The mom shaming. Who cares if I want to call my kid ‘the kid’? It doesn’t even have ears yet. Or maybe it does, I don’t know. I haven’t read any baby books.” I flutter my hand between us. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m not going to ruin it from the womb because it doesn’t have cognitive abilities yet.”
She chugs the rest of her glass, and I’d laugh if I wasn’t so grouchy. My mood is in the toilet already, and I’m just at the start of this thing. This will be a hell of a long year.
“I’m not shaming you. I was trying to fill you in on some of the mom etiquette, but you’re absolutely right. You are who you are and always have been. Unapologetically Kiersten. Just do me a favor and promise not to join any mommy groups on social media.” She grimaces. “I don’t think they’ll appreciate your self-assuredness as much as I do.”
Halfway through her speech, I get up to retrieve a glass of water. Watching her chug champagne made me thirsty. The real reason is my eyes are watering, and that is just unacceptable.
I set my glass beside hers on my coffee table when I return.
“If I can handle being around Mimi for holiday dinners and her disapproval of literally every choice I’ve ever made, I think I can handle a group of internet moms. Speaking of Mimi, I need to tell my family. I’m thinking I should make a trip over Labor Day weekend instead of announcing it over the phone.”
Cami opens her mouth to respond as a chorus of knocks sound on my front door for the third time today.
“Uh-oh,” she says in place of her interrupted sentence.
“I think I know who that is. The question is why?” I toss my blanket back on the couch and answer the door.
“Nathan, hey. Come in.”
His mood has turned one-eighty from earlier and not in a good way. It precedes him into the house like a dark, insidious force. As I shut the door behind us, I brace for things to get ugly.
“Cami’s here,” I warn, in order to help him save face by not embarrassing himself in front of his friend.
He jolts, and his spine straightens. “Hey,” he grunts.
She’s up and moving around, returning her glass to the kitchen and gathering her things.
