“You came.” Longer hair—this is Cash.
“You sent a car.”
He smiles, and fuck, it travels straight to my core. The weakness is all in me, I realize. Perhaps I should’ve brought Ariel with me after all, but it’s too late now.
“We wanted to make sure you got here okay.” Still Cash.
His brother is watching me like I’m an apparition who can walk through walls and appear unexpectedly at any time to spook him.
I’m wearing black pants and a short-sleeved plum-colored shirt, standard café uniform, but the apartment is starting to feel like a sauna. The city skyline outside the windows is hazy with a mist that I didn’t see descending from inside the chauffeur-driven car. The coffee aroma is making me feel nauseous.
The room spins. Voices fade in and out of focus like they’re speaking through a faulty mic. When I open my eyes, I’m lying on the couch with a cushion under my head, and Cash is kneeling beside me, holding my hand.
I think it’s Cash.
“Thank fuck.” He glances at his brother, whose face appears beside him. “You’re awake. You fainted. We’ve called the paramedics.”
“No.” I try to sit up. The world is still tilted at a strange angle, and I rest my head back against the cushion in case I slide over the edge and disappear. “I don’t need paramedics.”
“We need to get you checked out.” Bash speaks now. “Make sure that you and the babies are okay.”
Babies?
It takes a couple of beats for me to remember that I’m pregnant, and my heart starts pumping blood around my body along with a healthy dose of guilt.
“I’m fine.” I dig deep and produce a small smile. “Just hungry.”
They both blink at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. Their eyelashes are thick and dark; women would pay regular money to have lashes like these. The green of their eyes reminds me of the woods near my childhood home on a summer’s day when the sun is glinting through the treetops. And their smile…
“You’re hungry,” Cash repeats to make sure he heard me correctly.
“When did you last eat?” Bash asks.
“This morning.”
“She needs food.” Cash doesn’t take his eyes off me. “And coffee.”
“No coffee. Caffeine isn’t good for the babies.”
“No coffee.” I can imagine Cash making mental notes, storing them up for future reference. “Water?”
“Scrambled eggs?” Bash adds.
“Can you add cheese?” The room is gradually settling back into the right shape, but I’m enjoying the panic in their eyes too much to sit up.
“Is that a craving?” Cash asks.
“Pickles are a craving.” Bash kneels closer. “Do you want pickles with your scrambled eggs? I can send down for some?”
“You can send down for pickles?”
I know they are wealthy. I mean, you don’t get to buy a hotel and casino on a barista’s wages. But sending down for pickles drives that realization home with a bang. If I want pickles I walk to the bodega on the next block and hope that they have a jar on the shelf. I don’t have pickles at my beck and call.
Maybe this is new information for them also. Neither of them has spoken.
“I don’t need pickles.” I sit up and they give me space although their hands hover, ready to catch me if I faint a second time. “Cheesy eggs will be fine.”
“Cheesy eggs coming right up.”
