“Why would they think you sent yourself flowers?”
“Because that’s what I told them when they asked who they were from. I am panicking. Can you hear that I’m panicking? Because I am. I haven’t told them about the baby yet and then all of a sudden, while I’m trying to enjoy freaking Ben and Jerry’s and watch a movie to get my mind off the fact that I miss your company, my parents come barging in with your flowers. Eli, this is not good. They’re going to be able to smell it.”
“Smell what?”
“My pregnancy,” I hiss again. “Keep up.”
“Uh, I’m still trying to comprehend that you hate the flowers but miss my company.”
“I didn’t hate the flowers, but I have ice cream on my shirt. I didn’t think I’d be seeing anyone. If I knew I’d be entertaining tonight, do you think I’d be doing it so unpolished? At least I would have put some ChapStick on or something. But then they stop by, unannounced, and I have ice cream on my shirt.” My throat chokes up as tears start to form. “I don’t want my parents to see me like this, a frozen dairy treat stuck to the fabric threads of my shirt, telling them self-love stories of how I enjoy my own damn arms wrapped around me so much that I send myself flowers. It’s not a good look, Eli.”
“Okay, slow down for a second. Did they actually see you hug yourself?”
“THAT’S what you’re going to pull from what I said? What is actually wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to help. Maybe, just be cool, you know? Try to act like everything is normal. Or tell them about the baby. It might help.”
“Tell them that I’m pregnant and have no intentions of getting married to the man who inserted the baby?”
“I didn’t insert—” He lets out a large sigh. “Listen—”
“And what if they ask about the sex of the baby or the name. For Christ’s sake, Eli, we are naming our child Peggy Leggy or Johnny Jim Hornsby. They’ll commit me to an insane asylum.”
“They’re not going to commit you to an insane asylum. They won’t even know unless you say something and only say something if you’re ready. How long will they be there?”
“At least through to the third game of the series.”
“Okay, so I’ll be back. Why don’t you just hang out with them, have fun, and when I get back, we can tell them together so I can be there to support you and field questions.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course I would—”
The closet door opens, revealing my parents. Arms crossed, nostrils flared, they stare down at me with twin glares that I can actually feel my skin start to melt off my body.
“Uh, can I help you?” I ask them with a forced smile.
Dad holds up a book. “Why do you have this?”
My eyes narrow in on the pregnancy book I’ve been reading.
Oh, God.
That’s more revealing than a damn man sock!
“Uh, Eli, I’m going to have to call you back.” Before he can say anything, I hang up and slowly extract myself from the closet.
Okay, don’t panic. This will all be okay. You’ve gotten pretty far on the whole loving yourself lie, so why not stretch it out a bit? They don’t know what’s going on with your friends. For all they know, it could belong to someone else.
Like Blakely.
YES!
It belongs to Blakley. She’s in a relationship. She’s sexually involved. She’s the perfect scapegoat.
“It’s Blakely’s,” I shout and then turn to face my parents, whose arms are still crossed. “She left it here at my apartment the other night. Yeah . . .” I slowly nod. “Poor girl is knocked up, but you know, at least she has Perry, right?”
“Call her,” Mom says.
