"I don't want it to be like this either, but the baby's here and there's nothing I can do about it."
"I didn't say it was your fault. I'm sorry—I just got so caught up with wanting you. I didn't mean to make things hard."
Claire leaned into him, closing the distance between them. "It's not your fault, either," she said. She'd gotten just as caught up in the moment as he had.
He backed away from her with a sigh. "And I'm guessing you're going to tell me it's not fair to blame the baby."
Claire swatted him. "Now you're being ridiculous."
He flinched like she'd stung him.
"Come on," she said. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Okay. I mean, I get it."
Amy peeked around the paper-machè tree. "Well, there you are." Her voice was louder than it needed to be, and her eyes looked funny.
Are they drinking already? And if they are, why hasn't someone at least offered me some?
Not that she really wanted to be drunk, but her insides were all knots and edges, and it was getting worse by the minute.
"Come on." Amy reached out and caught Claire's hand, pulling her past Matthew. Out on the dance floor, the sweet strains of the ballad had long since died away, replaced by a fast song. "My feet haven't gone numb yet, which means it's still time to dance!"
Claire followed Amy's bouncing curls, infected by her good mood. They danced until Claire's neck was damp with sweat and her toes thrummed from the pain of her pinching shoes. It seemed like only a few minutes later when Matthew dragged her over to the side of the room and told her they should think about leaving.
"Why?" Claire asked.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed her the time. It was already a little after ten. The naming was less than two hours away, and by the time they said good-bye to everyone and got to the woods, it would be at least eleven thirty. With a disappointed sigh, Claire nodded and looked around for Emily, who'd disappeared a good twenty minutes earlier.
"I'm going to go find Emily and tell her I'm sick," she said.
"Good luck with that," Matthew said, shifting back. Behind them, Claire spotted Amy frozen in place, watching them intently. There was something sharp in her eyes. Something . . . almost vindicated.
Claire gave her a pitiful smile—an I'm-feeling-reallycrappy smile. Amy's expression turned to concern, and Claire waved her off. With a shrug, Amy went back to the dance floor.
Claire put a hand over her middle and faked a stomach cramp. She hoped her dance sweat would pass for sicknesssweat. She finally saw Emily in the far corner, talking intently with Randy. Claire limped over to her.
Emily immediately frowned when she saw Claire. "What's going on? Why do you look weird? Are you okay?"
Claire bit her lip. "I-I don't know." She swallowed. "I think dinner might have . . . it's not sitting right. My stomach is really funky. Matthew and I are going to take off so that I can rest for a little bit." She didn't want to bail on Emily right away—it would be easier to pretend that she needed to be sick enough to rest and then claim that it just got worse, once she was out from under so many watching pairs of eyes.
"But you're still coming to my house, right?" Emily's face had gone tight. Desperate. It hurt Claire to look at her. It took the shine off her perfect evening. Lying to Emily—hurting Emily, even if it was only to protect her—was everything that Claire hated about living a double life.
"Are you kidding? Of course. I'm sure I'll be fine in an hour, but the idea of beer right now . . ." Claire twisted her mouth, hoping it looked as though she was fighting back a wave of nausea. "I just need to go get some fresh air and rest for a few minutes." She reached out and grabbed Emily. "You know I'm dying to come to your party," she said. It was true, and her voice rang with the honesty of it. Of course, she wouldn't go to the party—couldn't go to the party—but she desperately wished that she could.
"Okay," said Emily, her face brightening. "Go and rest and I'll see you there. Tell Matthew I said he'd better nurse you back to health hella quick or he's going to have me to answer to."
Claire laughed, hoping Emily couldn't hear the nerves in the sound. She didn't need a reminder of the sort of awkward position she was putting Matthew in.
"I'll tell him," she said, heading back through the dance floor with her arm still wrapped around her middle.
She and Matthew worked their way back through the crowd. Claire did her best to look sort of tired and ill as they said their good-byes. When they finally made it out into the parking lot, the November air felt fantastic against Claire's skin.
Chapter Seventeen