With a huff of disagreement, Cass snuggles down deeper into the plush couch. “Every time I get a fleeting feeling of wanting to leave town, I get scared I’m turning into her.”
“You’re not,” I state matter-of-factly.
“You don’t know that. I could be.”
“If I’m a growly old farm dog, you’re a barn cat. If I keep feeding you, I doubt you’ll go anywhere.”
“You’re an asshole.” She kicks me in the thigh playfully.
Cass presses play, and we return to the show. Well,shereturns to the show. I’m having a hard time paying attention to whatever Courtney F. and Sara P. are bitching about when the most incredible girl in the world is sitting across from me. Instead, I watch her with complete adoration. One hand resting on the tiny baby bump while the other twirls a loose strand of hair. Some nights, I worry she’s going to pull her hair right out with the way she absentmindedly twists it around and around for the two-hour episode.
I’ve known her for so many years and wasted so much time not trying toknowher. Or letting her—or anyone—know me. I bared the heaviest part of my soul tonight, and nothing changed in the way she looks atme. She glances over at me from across the couch, and her eyes light up, a crooked smile traipsing across her lips. My only regret is not finding a way to be here with her sooner—years sooner.
11
Cassidy
21 weeks (baby is the size of a bottle of Sriracha)
“Cassie, I told you I have no issues shutting things down here for a few hours to come to the ultrasound with you.” My dad runs a rag across the smooth, wood bar top.
I hate that I’m lying to him but, for some reason, I can’t find it in me to stop. Hindsight is 20/20, and I wish I’d had the balls to confess that Derek isn’t the father months ago. Now the lying is so habitual, it honestly feels like it might never end. How can I possibly tell the truth when he’s finally stopped being disappointed in me for getting pregnant in the first place? I dread letting him down all over again.
We don’t talk about my pregnancy during open hours—I’m trying my best to keep it a secret from the rest of the town—but the hours before opening and after closing the bar are incredible. Dad tells me stories about when my mom was pregnant, we discuss baby names I like, and I show him photos of my nursery inspiration on Pinterest. Those moments feel like I’m experiencing the pregnancy I always assumed I would have—where there’s a husband, a dog, a beautiful home, and a planned baby. All the while, I’m lying to my dad and not giving Red the credit he deserves.
“It’s fine, honest. Shelby’s coming with me, and I promise I’ll come over first thing the next morning.” The last of the clean glassware stacked under the bar, I stand up with a groan. I have no clue how I’m going to make it through another nineteen-ish weeks when a half-shift at The Horseshoe sends blazing flames up my spine. “Besides, if you come, they’re going to think you’re my rich, old husband. I fucking hate when people think we’retogetherwhen we go places. Or,worse, they’ll think I brought my dad to the ultrasound because I’m a pathetic loser with no boyfriend. No thanks.”
“Alright, alright. I’m just excited. Uncle Pete gave me some long-handled massager thing for my fiftieth birthday. I’ll see if I can find it for you to help with the back pain.” He grabs a full tray of dirty dishes and heads toward the kitchen door. “And quit gallivanting around with Shelby all the time—you should be resting.”
I make a mental note to buy Shelb somethingreallynice for Christmas as a thank you. She and I haven’t actually hung out in weeks, but like a teenager, I’m using my friend as a cover for the fact I’ve been hanging out with a boy. Hell, I didn’t even do this when I was a teenager because I was painfully uninterested in any of the boys around here.
I’m aware this entire situation is stupid, given I’m thirty-one and pregnant. I could, and arguably should, come clean.
“We’re notgallivanting. There’s nothing to even do in this town, anyway.” I shake my head and slump onto my usual stool, stretching over the cool bar top until sweet relief hits my lower back.
Sweet relief, followed by an unusual sensation. I sit up straight with a jolt and focus on the bizarre feeling.
Did my stretching squish my belly in a weird way or something?
After a minute of nothing, it starts up again. I stare at the shelves of alcohol, listening to my dad run the industrial dishwasher for the last cycle of the night, and place a hand instinctively over my stomach.
Holy shit.The sensation’s like somebody poured a glass of champagne, bubbles fizzing and bursting in my lower abdomen. Blair’s basically my personal pregnancy tracker, filling me in on what to expect each week.And she informed me this would happen sometime around now, even with my anterior placenta. I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out everything except the ticklish, weird, beautiful feeling. When it stops again, I tamp the dampness from my tear ducts and pull out my phone to text the person I’m most excited to tell.
Cass:I just felt baby kicks.
Cass:At least, I’m 90% sure I did.
Red:Serious??
Cass:If not, then I just cried happy tears over gas.
Red:I hope that’s what happened
Cass:You would, asshole
Red:Only because I wanted to be there the first time
Cass:They’re too small to feel from the outside. You didn’t miss anything.
