Jane laughs again, but the sound isn’t pure happiness. Somewhere in there, I detect a sliver of sadness.
“You said your friend was in Brighton recently?” Jane asks, the sadness now gone.
Addison brings the phone closer to me, urging me to speak.
“Hi, Jane. This is Brady. I’m the one who’s guilty of bragging about your bakery.”
“Well, thank you, Brady. Word-of-mouth does seem to be the best form of advertising. When were you in?”
“About eight months ago. My friend just finished building a cabin there. He and his…girlfriend live there.” I glance at Addison. Did she notice the change in my voice at the reference to Lennon?
“Are you talking about Finn?”
I grin, the pleasant, surprised feeling of knowing the same person running through me. “Yes, exactly. Finn has been my best friend since I was a kid.”
“He’s probably one of my best customers. If he’s not in here for his uncle, he’s in here getting something for his girlfriend. She came in with him yesterday. They’re just about the sweetest couple I’ve ever seen, and she’s finally showing.”
Showing?Showing what?
Addison’s eyes widen in alarm.
My mind scrambles, trying to understand, and then the fog clears and the meaning of Jane’s words click into place. Lennon is pregnant.
An uncomfortable tingling sensation starts in my chest, blocking any words from exiting my mouth.
“I bet she’s just the cutest,” Addison says, her tone not giving away the worry in her gaze as she looks at me.
“Yep,” Jane agrees happily. “Well, listen, I have to get back to what I was doing. You use that recipe, and call me when the competition is over. I’d like to know how it works out.”
“Will do.”
Addison says goodbye and hangs up. She’s quiet. I’m looking down, studying my hands as they rest on my thighs, the light skin a contrast to the dark blue of my shorts.
How can Lennon be pregnant? I know how, buthow?And why haven’t they told me yet?
I know the answer to that question. Telling me isn’t something either of them are looking forward to. I know them well enough to know they’d rather bury their heads in the sand than face me and tell me something they know will upset me.
“Brady?” Addison’s voice is cautious. Her hand snakes its way over my thigh and onto my hand. Her fingers slip into the empty spaces between my fingers. Her hand is warm.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
It’s hard to choose from all the emotions floating inside me, but there is one feeling that dominates. “Confused. I should feel blindsided, and I do, but I’m not devastated. I’m shocked, but it doesn’t hurt like I’d thought something like this would.” I shake my head, sighing. “Maybe moving on is supposed to feel like this. Surprising, but not painful.”
Addison’s free hand touches my head, her fingers running through my hair and down my neck like a trickle of warm water. I turn to look at her. Beautiful Addison, so gorgeous both inside and out.
“I understand.” Addison’s fingers reach for my hair, retracing the path, stroking me.
I look into eyes that hold empathy. “You do, don’t you?”
She nods, and it’s right now, in the cab of this used truck that still smells like its previous owner, that what I felt for Lennon turns opaque, the way a memory should.
Here is Addison, sitting beside me, living, breathing, giving me her next steps.
And here I am, wanting to give her my next steps too.
19
Addison
