An upbeat tempo pumps through the lobby’s speakers while I stare ahead at the front desk where the staff talks to each other in low tones with carefree expressions.
“I’m tough, Rich. Your baby is really, really tough,” I murmur to myself before power-walking up to the front desk and flinging my Neverfull on the counter.
I huff out a dramatic breath as a young brunette gives me a gentle smile.
“How can I help you, sweetheart?” she asks.
“Hi…” My eyes float down to her name tag while I grab the sides of my head. “Gianna. I…cannot believe what I just did.”
Her overly arched eyebrows wrinkle as she leans on the counter. “Everything okay?”
“Well, I went over to the Galleria…”
“Uh-huh…” She nods, eyeing my empty hands.
“I went to pick up a bag at Louis Vuitton that my husband asked them to hold for him when he stopped in on Sunday after getting in from the airport, and I…I think I dropped my key card somewhere back at the mall.”
“Oh! I’m sorry that happened, Ms…” Her eyes graze my empty ring finger.
“Boyd—Mrs. Boyd.I also left my ring up in the room with my husband—hopefully.”
She chuckles. “It happens to the best of us.”
I laugh back, grabbing my flat stomach.
“I hope I’m not being too forward, but are you by any chance expecting?” she asks. “I can recognize pregnancy brain a mile away.”
“I know I shouldn’t say just yet…but yeah. I’m eight weeks along and I don’t know how I’m functioning.”
“Uh-huh. Classic pregnancy brain.”
We lock eyes and I mimic her laugh even though a bitter taste coats my mouth.
“How many do you have?” I ask.
“Two. So I am well-versed in pregnancy brain.” She presses a key on the computer. “What’s the room number, or has that disappeared somewhere between pregnancy cravings and nausea?”
“It is definitely somewhere in the pits.”
She holds up a finger. “No worries at all. Just give me your first name and I can pull up the reservation that way.”
I sigh. “You’re going to hate me.”
“I promise I won’t.”
“It’s a long story and I know you’re a busy gal, but?—”
“I’m never too busy to hear from another mama bear.”
“Well, my…my husband’s a football player. This is his bye-week, but he had to fly into town because of an unexpected death in the family. Last night I flew in to surprise him with ultrasound pictures from the appointment he missed.” My voice cracks. “He gave me his spare key card. So I…I actually won’t be on the reservation.”
Her blue eyes light with that sparkling glint I’ve grown to hate. I see the moment she connects the dots between the last name I gave her and “football.”
“Oh!” she gasps. “You’re…you’re AJ Boyd’s wife. You should’ve said that. Let me get you from down here.”
She taps the computer’s mouse, then clicks around on the keyboard in a flurry.
Afterward, she picks up the phone sitting on the desk. “Let me just call his room to confirm a few details.”
