“Women have had babies a lot younger. Yes, twenty-four is young, but you’re already maturing. Ever since you found out you were pregnant, you’ve changed, Fran. I have no doubt you’ll keep doing the work your baby needs you to do.”
Fran bobs her head. “I love the baby so much already.” She palms the small bump. “How is that possible?”
“Because even though you made a mistake, God can still bring good out of it. Life is always a blessing.”
She blows out a breath. “You’re right.”
“And stop doomscrolling. I don’t think it’s helping.”
A sheepish look fills her brown eyes. “I was looking at horror birth stories.”
“If that wouldn’t make anyone panic.” I feign a shudder, though I’m truly disturbed. Why would youwantto watch what could go wrong when you’re pregnant? Give me all the glow-up stories, thank you very much.
“Now that my hormones have leveled out, your turn.”
I bite my lip. “I’m worrying about my date and all the ways it could go wrong.”
Fran rolls her eyes so far I’m pretty sure she knows the location of the sun and moon right now. “You like him.”
“I do.”
“He likes you.”
I nod.
“Girl, the hardest part is over. Next comes chemistry.” She starts ticking off on her fingers. “Things you have in common, desire to make it work, and communication skills. And seeing how you two chat every day, I don’t think lack of speaking topics is going to paralyze you on the date.”
“But none of my past relationships have worked out. Isn’t that bad?”
Fran purses her lips. “If they worked out, you wouldn’t be mooning over Jabari. Your past relationships didn’t work out because it wasn’t the right person. No one keeps dating when they find the one. If they did, then they’re probably commitment phobic and shouldn’t be dating in the first place. Whichstillwouldn’t be a you issue.”
Isn’t that the core issue? I’m worried thatI amvery much the problem. Isn’t there a whole thing about the common denominator in a string of failed relationships? Isn’t that me?
“What are you really worried about?” Fran asks.
I pull at the edge of my cardigan. “I’m worried that he’s not really that into me. That I’m a substitute for what he can’t have ... hockey.”
Fran’s brow wrinkles. “That doesn’t sound like the way you think at all.” Her head tilts to the side. “In fact, that sounds a lot like something Jackie would say.”
“She might have said something to that effect.”
“What. Did. She. Say.” If Fran were a cartoon, steam would be blowing from her ears. If she gives that look to her future offspring, that kid will stay in check.
“This morning she called and asked why we’re friends. So I explained again that Jabari needed someone in his corner. I guess she saw his statement on social media, so she told me I was nothing but a replacement for hockey.” Even now my throat tightens at the memory.
I’ve never thought of our friendship as a substitute, but now that’s all I can think about.
“Get behind Val, Satan,” Fran’s voice booms.
I stare at my baby sister, then bust out laughing. Soon, she joins in, and we’re slumped in our seats, tears pouring down my face.
“Oh my word,” I wheeze through laughter.
“I’ve always wanted to say that,” Fran admits. “But seriously”—she wipes her face—“Jackie is being her stereotypical prima donna self. If she can’t have Jabari, then she wants him to be miserable.”
“But she has Isaac.”
“When has Jackie ever wanted for anything? She probably hates Jabari just for not choosing her.” Fran shakes her head, then mutters under her breath, “Spoiled rotten.”
