“Maybe focus on the life-changing toiletries next time and not the six extra bottles of travel-sized shampoo in your drawer.”
“Caleb and I like to mess around in there sometimes and pretend we’re at a hotel—sue me. Wait, this means the baby daddy is another friend of ours. Who is it?” She leans forward, her intense eyes attempting to pierce through my soul.
“A friend of Caleb’s that I hadn’t met before. Bo?”
“Who thefuckis Bo? Caleb doesn’t have friends I don’t—oh my god,” she gasps again. “You slept with an intruder!”
I glare at her. “Listen, he said he knew Caleb through a mutual friend and…” I feel guilty, knowing this is similar to how I’ve been identified in the past and not lovingthat fact, but itisthe easiest identifiable feature. “He has a prosthetic leg.”
“Wait,” she laughs dryly, “Robbie?”
“No!” I cry out. “The friend Calebwantedme to hook up with?”
“He’s going tolovethis.” Sarah beams. “I haven’t even met the guy.”
“I fucked a guy namedRobbie?”
“You’re having akidwith a guy named Robbie, babe.”
“Thewithpart is tentative.”
“You’re going to have to tell Robbie. You know that, right?”
“Stop calling him that.”
“You know you’re going to have to tell Bo,right?” Sarah says sternly.
“Yes,” I grumble.
“Soon?”
“Sure.” I throw my hands up before crossing them in front of my chest.
We both fall back into our seats, letting out a long breath at the same time. I stare out the moonroof and watch the withered, empty branches of a tree above us blow in the wind. We’re due for snow tomorrow, and yet my brain is stuck in July.NextJuly, that is.
“I’m due July twenty-fourth,” I say diffidently.
“We have plenty of time,” Sarah says, reaching across the centre console for my hand, tugging me toward her and lowering her head to my shoulder. I let my head fall on top of hers. Neither of us turns away from the view above us.
“I bet she’ll arrive August first,” Sarah says solemnly.
I admit, I had forgotten the exact day Sarah’s mom, Marcie, passed until Sarah spoke. I miss her almost every day, so maybe that one day in particular has lost all its meaning.
“Mom would love that day to be good,” she adds when I don’t answer. “She’d have loved to have a granddaughter to spoil.”
“I would love that too.” I kiss the top of her head. “But we don’t know if it’s a girl.”
“If it’s a girl, you should name her Sarah.”
“And if it’s a boy?” I ask.
“Sa-rah-yan,” she fumbles.
“Beautiful,” I say.
“We’ll call him Ryan for short.”
“Can you go home and get knocked up too?” I whisper, half-serious.
