I close my eyes and send up a quick prayer for Emily. There’s no doubt that she’d do what she says. My mom isn’t a helicopter parent, but she’s also not afraid to call people out either.
After I swallow over the dryness in my mouth, I re-open my eyes. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“It had better not. You remember how I threatened to take your friends’ birthday presents back if they stopped being friends with you, right?”
“Yes, Mom.” I chuckle remembering her smart mouthed comments to my friends when we were younger.
Her chin tips out. “She has apologized for how she treated you, right?”
“Yes,” I groan as I sink into the cushions. Maybe moving back was a bad idea. My mom’s lectures held less bite on the phone with her two hours away. “I wasn’t behaving any better than she was.”
Whack. She uses the back of her hand to flick my forehand with one fast swipe. “You need to apologize to her. I didn’t raise you to be a dick.”
“Hey.” I shift backward, putting additional space between us. “I’m a police officer.”
“Too bad. I’ll call Chief Carter and see if he cares if I backhand my son for being a jerk.” Her eyes danced with mischief as she sasses me.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and launch to my feet. “I have apologized to her, and I feel like we’ve moved on from the past. But now, I need to get dressed and stop by to see her. We didn’t make plans to see each other tonight, and I need to rectify that.”
“Ah-h-h.” She clutches her hand to her chest. “That’s so sweet. As long as she’s good to you, I’m totally onboard with this relationship. I think you two were destined to be together, and it’s disappointing to know that you could’ve both worked it out sooner, and maybe that whole incident at Jolie’s could’ve been avoided.”
At the mention of my ex-roommate, my back bristles. The last thing I want to think about is her choosing someone else over me.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Emily
This is stupid. It looks like a family of five spoiled children brought home their Christmas presents from grandma’s house.
I spin in a circle, taking in the bags and boxes I picked up at a local store. Yes, I needed an infant car seat which I still need to adjust and install, and I needed diapers, baby shampoo, those cute little wipes for boogers that aren’t any different than diaper wipes except for the price, and other supplies. But did I need a sound machine?
It’s not like I couldn’t use my phone for white noise. Nor did I need the ten outfits with matching hats that were on clearance. I slide my hand through my hair. She’ll live in onesies.
I cross my arms over my chest and sigh. I shouldn’t do this. I’m going to get my heart broken. The second I hold this baby in my arms again, my ovaries are going to finish snapping, crackling, and popping, and I’m never going to recover.
I’ll take what I don’t need back. I shove the box with the infant car seat at the front door and heap another five bags on top and around it. That’s better. The car seat, I need. The rest, I’ll put in the car to take back to the store.
I wipe my hands together and stare at the bag with the floral pink dress and matching headband inside of it. It’ll look super cute on her. The pink color will show off her tan complexion.
I snatch the outfit out of the top bag, march to the pile of supplies remaining on the sofa and shove it into the diaper bag.
How about the dress with the yellow flowers? And the noise machine?
No. It’s thirty days at the most. You don’t need it. But…. I gnaw on my bottom lip. What if I have a baby someday? Then I’d already have everything I need. That answers that question.
I also need one of those strollers that you attach the car seat onto. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.
After I grab everything from on top of the car seat box, I drop the bags on the sofa with the remaining items that had made the first cut.
When the doorbell rings, I stop mid-step. Is this a sign?
Yeah, it’s a sign that you’re unstable.
I trudge to the door and peek through the peephole. Jake. My heart leaps into my throat as my gaze rakes over him. God, he’s devastatingly handsome, and I’ve worked all day, stopped by my mom’s house, and shopped for four hours.
I raise my arm and sniff. Passable. Barely.
The baby. Shit. What do I say to him? My heart pangs in my chest. This could be the last time I see him for several weeks. It’s not like he’s going to want me to bring a baby to his place or listen to a crying newborn if he comes here.
