The band shifts songs.
Someone nearby drops a crate of apples and swears loudly enough to make half the square laugh.
Normal.
Everything normal.
Until I turn slightly to reach for another paper bag and feel a sudden warm rush between my thighs.
I freeze.
The bag slips from my fingers and lands on the table.
Millie looks up immediately. “June?”
For one horrible, suspended second, I don’t move.
Because I know what’s happening.
Or I think I do.
My breath catches high in my chest.
“Millie,” I croak.
My voice makes her put down the tape dispenser very, very carefully. “What is it, June?”
I look at her.
Then down at the wet patch on the ground by the feet I can’t see. Then back at her.
In a whisper that somehow still feels too loud, I say, “I think my water just broke.”
Millie stares at me.
I stare back at her.
The whole world tilts.
Then she makes a sound I’ve never heard from another human being in my life, somewhere between a shriek and a battle cry.
“Oh my goodness.”
Immediately, three things happen at once.
The tourist couple backs away like I might explode.
Millie vaults around the side of the table.
And the men seem to have a sixth sense, because they all three come charging towards me.
“I don’t know if it actually did,” I say too quickly, panic hitting me in a wave so hard my hands start shaking. “Maybe I just… maybe I spilled something or…”
“June,” Millie says, gripping both my arms. “Did you spill something?”
“No.”
“Then we are not doing denial right now.”