Before I can ask how she knows he’s a teacher, he says, “Love it. Middle schoolers aren’t as awful as everyone makes them out to be. Hormonal, yes,” he chuckles, “but they’re beginning to form their own thoughts and opinions, and I like cultivating their young minds.”
“He’s being modest,” Cam interjects. “He’s in the running for an open principal position.”
“What?” I home in on the man across the table. “Since when?”
He dips his chin, smiling shyly. “I had a meeting with the board yesterday. I should hear back soon.”
A round of “that’s wonderful” and “congrats” circulates the table, and a sense of pride swirls around my heart.
“Millie, what about you? Any new auditions?” my dad asks.
“Hey, did I tell you Dr. Parsons is retiring?” Asher jumps in, saving my ass.
Thank you, I mouth to him.
Ezra’s questioning gaze burns against my skin, but I keep my focus averted.
“What? He’s been the camp doc since the beginning.”
“I know.” The crease between my brother’s brows has gotten deeper since I last saw him. “Oh, that reminds me.” He turns to Cam. “Millie mentioned your sister is a doctor.”
“She is,” he replies. “A family physician, actually.”
“She wouldn’t want to come work for me, would she?”
“She’s working for a private practice, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” Cam pulls out his phone, and the two exchange numbers.
Ezra ties his hair into a bun, still balancing Bea on his lap. When she notices, she asks him to put one in her hair too.
“What’s it called?”
“What do you mean?” He gives her a curious smile.
“My daddy does piggy tails and bear ears. What’s your hair called?”
He grins. “I’ve never heard of bear ears. You’ll have to teach me someday. But my hair is called a man bun, I guess.”
She straightens, her face breaking out in a wide smile. “Then I want a man bun too.”
As the group dissolves into laughter, the most adorable moment plays out in front of me. Ezra pulls an extra hair tie from his wrist and proceeds to collect Bea’s hair into a man bun.
“Tell me you’re not ready to have his babies,” Joey chirps.
I shooed everyone else out of the kitchen so I could wash the dishes and have a moment to myself, but Joey refused.
“I—I don’t.” There’s no use lying; she knows me too well. But I can’t even think about having Ezra’s giant babies with the doctor appointment I’ve yet to mention to anyone looming over me.
Before I left the hospital in Hawaii, I scheduled a follow-up appointment with an ob-gyn in New York. I fibbed to Ezra and Asher about it because they’d hound me for answers if they knew. If the news is not good, I want to receive it privately.
One look at my best friend, though, has me spilling my guts. I detail just how sweet—albeit possessive—Ezra was when I had my transfusion. How the doctor suspects endometriosis. Andhow I went down a WebMD and Google rabbit hole that led to the potential infertility.
“Oh, babe. You must be so scared.” She hugs me close.
It takes all my strength to hold back the waterworks as I squeeze her in return.
“When’s your appointment?” she asks, holding me at arm’s length. “Do you want me to come?”
“No, no. You’ll be in London.”
