Penny:Might as well.
Blakely:You’re seven months pregnant, right?
Penny:If you say this has to do with my pregnancy, I’m going to slice you with a rusty knife.
Blakely:You’re seven months pregnant, which means you’re entering the third trimester, and your patience is going to continue to shrink until nothing is left.
Penny:My patience level is fine. I’m just asking him to stop being so goddamn nice. He doesn’t even like me, Blakely. I said that in a hissing tone. If he loved me, then sure, dote on me all you want, but he’s making me believe he’s this nice guy, and then what happens when I have the baby? Huh?
Blakely:He’s a nice guy. We established that. And I do think he likes you. He just doesn’t know how to say it, so he’s showing you instead.
Penny:You realize how completely useless you are at the moment?
Blakely:Wow . . . welcome to the third trimester. I hope Eli is mentally prepared.
Penny:Ugh . . . I’m sorry, okay. I just . . . I can’t stop thinking about how he’s doing all of these nice things, but why? Why bother?
Blakely:Because, sweetie, like I said, he likes you, but he doesn’t know how to say it, just show it.
Penny:It’s slowly eating away at me. I can feel it. The angst of it all. I don’t want him to do nice things for me. I want him to love me.
Blakely:It takes some people longer.
Penny:Or maybe, Blakely, he just doesn’t like me like that, and all of this has just been a way to stay closer to the baby. And get laid very, very often.
Blakely:Do you really think he’d do that?
Penny:I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that with every day that goes by, I’m growing more and more irritated, more angry . . . and more sad.
Blakely:Penny, please don’t be sad. Give him time.
Penny:Hard not to be sad when all I feel like is an incubator. Someone he can have sex with. And of course, the means to an end.
Blakely:Do you need to meet up? Should we go somewhere to talk? You don’t sound great.
Penny:I’m fine. I’m going to take a bath. I’ll talk to you later.
Blakely:Penny, don’t shut down. Please just talk to me . . .
* * *
“You look hot,”Eli says as he comes up to me in the kitchen and places a kiss on my shoulder.
“I’m wearing a five-year-old sports bra and underwear. Explain to me how this is hot?”
He pauses mid-kiss to my neck and pulls away. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” I snap at him as I shove a brownie in my mouth and walk to the living room.
“I’m smart enough to know when a woman says fine, she doesn’t mean it.” He joins me in the living room and sits across from me on the coffee table.
Mouth full of brownie, I grip my large stomach and say, “This looks hot to you?”
“Babe, you’re easily the most attractive woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“Oh, yeah, sure . . . okay.” I roll my eyes and reach for the remote, but he stops me.
“There seems to be a problem, and I’m not positive what it is. Mind if you help me?”
