The Real Deal

“Hold on,” I say, and grab my phone to enter their preferences, from the “Can you please see if they have a pink drink like a Unicorn Frappuccino?” per Emma to the French roast, 127 degrees, from Jeanie to the mocha chai latte for Tess, who holds the baby as she gets a pedicure. Only my mother has an easy request—coffee, black.

I leave the salon, drop my shades on my eyes, and imagine I’m a secret agent. I don’t want anyone to recognize me. That probably sounds more furtive than need be. But my errand is personal and private. I pick up the pace, my flip-flops slapping against the sidewalk, my heart sprinting as I race-walk to the redbrick building near the drugstore. I go inside and march to the counter. Ten minutes later, my transaction is complete, and I stuff all the evidence inside my bra, then dart to the coffee shop.

If anyone asks why the coffee mission took a little more time than usual, I’ll say the line was long for caffeine.

Unfortunately, it is.

I tap my heel and watch the clock, and soon I make it to the front, where I place the order. As the teenage barista whips up a collection of beverages, I fire off a text to Theo.




He doesn’t respond instantly, though I suspect that’s because he’s on the open water, those strong muscled arms rippling under the bright afternoon sun as he reels in a huge fish. My stomach flips at the image. I don’t even like fish, but rampant lust is making me think dirty thoughts about Theo as a fisherman. Go figure. Two days with him, and I’ve got it bad. I’m so going to break my diet. I’m going to chocolate-cake my way through the next few days.

“Here you go, and our best attempt at a Unicorn Frappuccino, but we have to call it a Unicorn Frapperino for trademark reasons,” the barista explains.

“As long as it tastes pink and glittery, you can call it a sock, for all I care,” I say with a laugh.

She knits her pimpled brow. “I don’t think a sock would sell well.”

“Good point,” I say, then slide my shades back on and gather the cardboard trays. With one in each arm, I head to the door, pushing it with my butt. Once I’m outside, my gaze drifts to the docks. I wonder if Theo has returned. I wonder if he caught anything. I wonder if he even enjoyed this afternoon with the guys. Fishing doesn’t seem like his jam, but I hope he had fun.

When I return to the nail salon, a wave of nervousness washes over me as I think of my plan. My stomach flips and flutters with trepidation. I drop my hand to my belly to try to settle the worries. My mother waves her copper-colored nails in front of a small fan and roams her eyes over me, narrowing them when she sees my hand on my belly. I frown and turn away from her.

As I dole out the drinks, handing the Frapperino thingie to Emma, who’s now listening to Katy Perry in her earbuds, judging from the words she’s singing along, I take a thirsty gulp of my iced vanilla latte. When I hand a black coffee to my mother, she arches a well-groomed eyebrow and says in a clear voice, “Are you pregnant, my little puppy?”

I nearly cough all my iced beverage on her. “Are you kidding me?”

“For a moment, you looked like you just rode a Tilt-A-Whirl. You set your hand on your belly as if you had morning sickness.”

I roll my eyes. “That’d be kind of impossible, Mom,” I say sarcastically, because—hello?—I haven’t had sex in a year. “You need to have—”

I stop talking before I slip up.

My mom arches a brow once again, hunting for the hole in my words. “The only way that would be impossible is if you’re not sleeping with someone. Are you having sex with your boyfriend? You’ve been together for six weeks. That seems a reasonable time frame for sexual relations, doesn’t it?” she asks, like the prosecutor she once was. Yep, this is my mother. She’s never met a question she’s afraid to ask.

I groan as the red heat of embarrassment spreads across my cheeks. “You’re really asking me if I’m sleeping with Theo?”

Tess cracks up from her pedicure perch, and the sound of her laughter surprises me. So do her words. “Mom, have you seen him? He’s the hottest thing ever to show up in this town. He’s also about ten thousand times hotter than any guy April has ever dated. Of course she’s tapping that man. I bet she’s tapping him all night long.”

Yep. It’s official. The red color in my cheeks has entered the beet zone.

“And, yes, that’s why I asked. You’ve never brought a man home before, so I thought perhaps you might be pregnant. Plus, things seemed a bit intense between the two of you,” my mom says, as if this were now a simple, logical conversation. “And you were quite insistent on sharing a room with him.”

“And you’d be fine with this?” I ask, incredulous. “You’d be fine with me being pregnant?”

“I’m an open-minded woman, and you’re twenty-eight. Why on earth would I be upset? But does that mean you’re pregnant?” she asks, her voice dripping with hope.

Oh my. My mother wants this. She’s champing at the bit for a bun in my oven.

And I’m going to enjoy bursting her bubble. “What I was going to say before is that to be pregnant, you’d need to have unprotected sex,” I say, staring pointedly at my mom. “And obviously, I’m not going to have unprotected sex, since I don’t want to be pregnant.”

Katie chimes in, all redheaded bawdiness in full force. “Protected or unprotected, tell us more. I’ve always suspected guys with ink are great in bed.” The woman painting sapphire blue on Katie’s toes stifles a laugh. “Am I right?”

Silvery-haired Carol weighs in from her spot next to my mom. “Now, now. This is getting personal. It’s only reasonable that the woman who brought home the total hottie should keep all the juicy, wonderful, delicious details to herself.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “You’re a bunch of dirty girls, you know that?” I bring the straw to my lips and down a cold drink of latte.

Katie raises a hand, owning it. “Guilty as charged.” She glances at Tess. “Besides, did you see how April looked before the Hula-Hoop event?”

Tess waves her manicured fingers at her hair, then points at me, all while balancing the baby on her leg. “You had that tousled look.”

I flash back on my first email with Theo. Just wink, and leave the bathroom during the reunion with tousled hair. The JBF kind. I wish that were true. Great, now I’m jealous of my fictional sex life. The same fictional sex life that my family members are envious of. But then again, my hair was messed up from that hot little grind-me-good session on the bed. I nearly squirm just thinking about it.

Katie claps and wolf-whistles. “I knew it. I called it. Inked men for the win!”

“Did ya?” Tess prods me. “Did you have a quickie? A little Hula-Hooping before the Hula-Hoop?” Her voice lowers as she mutters, “I haven’t had that in ages.”

I roll my eyes, sidestepping my sister’s admission for the moment, since defending myself is more vital. “Just so you know, ‘Hula-Hooping’ isn’t a euphemism for sex.”

“So you did have sex? Or did you have a euphemism?”

I hold up a palm. “Not going to answer.”

“Did you do it in your mom’s golf cart?” Katie calls out.

“No, we did it in Tess’s car,” I tease.

Tess’s eyes light up. “Hey, don’t give me ideas. That’s where we used to—”

“Katie, Tess,” my mother chides; then she turns to me, crisply rerouting the conversation. She’s undeterred by the naughty brigade. “What I meant was simply that you seemed under the weather, and perhaps a bit nauseated. I experienced early morning sickness when I was pregnant with Mitch and Tess and you. And that’s why I asked if you might be in the family way. There’s nothing wrong with being unmarried and pregnant. We’d be thrilled for you. You could even come home and raise the baby here.” My mother waves her fingertips in front of the fan, waiting for my answer.

My jaw clangs to the floor. I stare at her. She can’t really be serious? But judging from the expectant look on her face, she is. She wants me to move home so badly that she’ll happily slide from setting me up with local dudes to building out the nursery for the baby I’m not having?