The doors slide shut.
I lean back against the elevator wall and let out a slow breath.
Huh.
What a nice girl.
With more than enough time before pickup, I decide to stop by my best friend Simone’s house. Growing up, I spent more time there than I ever did at my own, not that my parents noticed.
We were never very close.
Simone’s parents, though? Her dad walked me down the aisle.
They’re supposed to be on a cruise, but judging by the sharpgo awaysnapped from behind the door when I knock, I’m guessing they’ll be back sooner rather than later.
Using my key, I let myself in.
And immediately come face to face with something no one ever wants to see.
My best friend, flat on her back on the sofa, surrounded by fast-food wrappers and an empty ice-cream carton.
Knowing better than to comment on nutrition, weather, or life choices to a heavily pregnant woman, I quietly take a seat beside her.
“How you doin’, buddy?”
She glares at me over the curve of her stomach. “How did you do this. Twice.”
“I’m sensing hostility,” I say gently.
“I am so uncomfortable,” she snaps.
I try to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “If women told the truth about pregnancy, humankind would cease to exist.”
She snorts, rubbing her stomach.
I consider pointing out that I did tell her everything.
But she’s suffering enough.
“Where’s the father-to-be?” I ask, standing to gather the wrappers.
“Sleeping,” she grunts. “I couldn’t stand his breathing, so I came out here.”
“Ah,” I say. “A classic.”
She eyes me. “Did you hate Logan too?”
“Oh yeah,” I say immediately. “Whatever you’re feeling now is nothing compared to how much you’ll hate him during labor.”
She smirks. “Is that why you threw a juice box at his head?”
“I asked for water,” I say defensively. “He brought me apple juice.”
She laughs, then groans, clutching her side.
“God,” she mutters. “Please tell me this ends.”
“It does,” I say softly. “And then you get to raise a baby with a West.”
