“Oh my god,” she said after she inhaled it. “That’s so good. You’re going to make someone a wonderful partner someday.”
I frowned.
“I’m already a wonderful partner.”
She made a dismissive gesture and gave the mini lasagnas a longing glance.
“You know what I mean. Your forever guy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Beau. He treats me fine.”
“‘Fine,’” she repeated. “Do you hear yourself? Anthony treats me like I’m the center of his world, and I do the same for him. Just because Beau doesn’t beat you doesn’t mean he’s right for you.”
She gripped my hands solemnly.
“You deserve better than a guy who’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with that, but he’s dimming your light. You used to be full of excitement and life, and now you’re barely going through the motions. Life is passing you by.”
My hands went cold at her words.
“I’ve held my tongue for a long time because you’re an adult, but I can’t stay silent. If you want to be a mother, you need to get on it soon. This pregnancy is harder than last time because I’m in my thirties, and we’re the same age.”
I froze. We’d never talked about my growing urge to be a mother. It didn’t consume me the way it did some women, but it took up an increasing number of thoughts.
“You’d make a wonderful mother, Dani,” she continued as if she hadn’t dropped a bomb in my lap, “but I’m not sure about Beau.”
“Beau’s a good guy,” I insisted faintly.
“I’m not saying otherwise,” she placated me. “But I don’t think he’s the person you want to tie yourself to for the rest of your life. Do you want to marry him?”
I panted as if I ran three miles. Her words echoed my secret fears.
“I don’t have to get married to have a kid.”
“Married or not, the father would have a say in how your baby grows up. Do you really think he’s father material? If something happened to you, is he the person you want to raise your baby? Are you willing to let him belittle your child the way he does you?”
He said I was too sensitive. I needed him to manage my finances and make the decisions because I was too scatter-brained and bad with money. He reminded me regularly that, without him, I’d be living with my parents in my thirties. I had a handful of part-time jobs, while he had a career and a home.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” she begged. “You’re unhappy all the time, but you put on a smile anyway. When was the last time you painted?”
I glanced away.
“I’ve been working a lot. I’m always the first person they call at the Tavern when they’re short-handed like tonight.”
I sounded defensive.
“I’m sorry to bring this up when you have to go in on your day off, but I worry about you. Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not. I’m just not in a position to deal with this right now.”
“I’m sorry again.” Her tone was gentle. “You’re the best woman I know, and you deserve better than fine.”
My throat closed up. Vanessa continued as if she hadn’t upended my life.
“Just because Rosa and Sam were unlucky in love doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
I smiled faintly at her reference to the 150-year-old local legend of Rosa Delgado and Sam Thornfield. Vanessa was obsessed with the tragedy. Many of her photographs told a visual story of Rosa and Sam’s ill-fated love and heartbreak.
“You know who’d make a great dad?” Her voice was deceptively casual, and it set off my internal alarm. “Jacob.”
