My boobs are barely contained by the floral fabric, and the zipper…well…if it doesn’t bust open by the end of the night, I’ll be amazed.
I look down my body, searching for any sign of an obvious bump, but thankfully, the fabric is loose enough around my belly that nothing can be seen. Not that I’ve really got a bump. I just look like I’ve eaten one too many takeouts, which isn’t entirely untrue. But unlike my usual go-to takeout, what Everett has been sending me is healthy and perfectly balanced, so I’m eating like a queen.
I run my hand over my belly, wondering for the millionth time what I might look like in a few months’ time. I’m hopeful that, at some point, I might actually start to glow. That’s what’s meant to happen to pregnant women, isn’t it? Well, I feel anything but glowing. I’ve started feeling nauseous pretty much twenty-four-seven. Add that to the exhaustion that I can’t shakeand the emotional rollercoaster I’m constantly on, and quite honestly, I feel about five seconds from a breakdown at all times.
But despite being nauseous, I’m always hungry. No, not just hungry. Ravenous. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I’m constantly eating, but it never quite hits the spot.
I know the girls at work have started to notice that something is up. I’ve caught them watching me more than they usually would. And it would be impossible to miss that I’m always snacking on something.
But despite their obvious suspicion, I haven’t said anything, and they haven’t asked.
Tonight, though, I’m going to have to confess.
While it might be my life that is about to be turned upside down, I can’t ignore the fact that it’s going to affect all of them as well.
After applying a final layer of gloss to my lips, I pop the tube into my purse and slip my feet into my pumps. Just like my dress, they’re a little tight, reminding me I need to go ugly-shoe shopping.
Refusing to dwell on the situation, I check my rideshare app and head out.
I just walk through the front doors when my ride pulls up.
I climb in the back, confirm my destination, and then message our group chat to let them know I’m on my way.
As if they’re waiting for me, everyone reacts to my message as the car takes off.
I’m looking forward to tonight. We haven’t had a girls’ night since Sienna’s birthday. This one is going to be quieter, though. There will be no hockey, no players, no alcohol, and no clubs. We’re going for a nice dinner and then to the theatre.
Despite being confident that the girls will support me no matter what, I can’t stop the nerves from erupting in mystomach the closer I get to the restaurant. And as the driver pulls up outside, I’d be lying if I said my palms weren’t a little clammy.
I climb out with my head held high, telling myself that I’ll just walk in there and tell them. Easy.
But the second I step inside and see them across the restaurant, all my confidence shrivels and emotion crawls up my throat.
Please, God, no. Tonight isn’t the night for emotional outbursts.
“Hi,” I say to the host. “I’m meeting the girls at the back there.”
She leads me over, and the closer I get, the more my skin prickles with attention.
Sienna is probably busy categorizing all the changes in my body. But she knows. She understands. What are the others thinking?
“You look incredible,” Sienna says, pushing to her feet to hug me. “Have you sent him a photo? He’ll lose his shit,” she says just for me to hear.
“Absolutely not,” I hiss back as I hold her a little longer than necessary.
“Well, if you don’t, I will.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn as we part and I find my seat.
“We already ordered drinks,” Lessy says, happily sipping on what I assume is a pornstar martini. “So good,” she sighs happily.
My eyes drop to my matching cocktail, and I panic.
I can’t drink that.
I startle when a foot collides with my shin beneath the table.
I look up and find Sienna watching me with a soft smile on her lips. ‘It’s okay,’ she mouths.
