“Get yo ass in here, white boy, and put this thing together,” D’Andre snaps. “This is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous?” Tucker stops next to me, and I take the opportunity to lean against his legs. Even kneeling is hard when you’re toting around an extra thirty pounds. “We took it apart. How can you not know how to put it back together?”
D’Andre repeats his earlier excuse. “I’m an accounting major.”
Tucker rolls his eyes. “You got an Allen wrench?”
“Are you mocking us right now?” I grumble. “I don’t have any wrenches, let alone ones with names.”
He grins. “Leave this to me, darlin’. I’ll get it fixed up.”
“I want to help,” Hope volunteers. “This is like surgery, except with wood and not people.”
“Lord help us,” D’Andre mutters.
“Come on.” Carin tugs on my arm. “Let’s start washing some of this stuff we bought.”
With a boost on my ass from Tucker, I get to my feet and waddle after Carin.
“How does it feel to not be waiting tables?” she asks as we make our way into the laundry room.
“Weird. It’s hard finding a job for three months that doesn’t require some heavy manual labor. I went to a temp agency to see if they had anything for me, but they weren’t hopeful. Apparently pregnant women aren’t on the top of the candidate list.”
“So Tucker’s really not going back to Texas?”
“Nope. He wants to stay close to the baby.” I grimace. “But his mom…he’s so close with her. I think there are problems there.”
“Oh Lord. You don’t want to mess with a southern boy’s mama,” Carin warns. “I’ve heard endless complaints about grits from Hope.”
I have too. Still, what are my options? “So I should leave Harvard and move to Texas?”
“No. Just eat your grits. Whenever she offers them to you. No matter how sick they make you.”
“That’s morbid.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do about the baby when you’re in class?” she asks as we load the washing machine.
“I don’t know yet. Harvard doesn’t offer day care. I’ll try to find an in-home care provider, I guess.”
Thinking about all these issues is stressing me out, but I don’t want to complain about it too much. Carin and Hope are already feeling guilty about not being able to help out more, but fuck, they have their own lives to worry about.
“What about your grandmother?”
“God. You should’ve seen her face when I asked. She told me she’d already raised one kid—” I point a thumb at my chest, “—that didn’t belong to her, and she wasn’t raising another one.”
“Harsh.”
We move into the kitchen and start in on the baby bottles. “Harsh but true. I can’t dump this load on her.”
“What about Tucker?” Carin shakes out a clean bottle and sets it in the dish rack.
“What about him?”
“He’s the dad. He has to help. You can take him to court and force him to pay you child support.”
My jaw drops. “I’m not going to do that. And he is going to help.” I pause. “As much as I’ll let him.”
Carin makes a disgusted noise. “You’re so stubborn. You don’t have to do this all on your own, B. You make it sound like he’s just along for the ride. What’s going on with the two of you?”
I pick up one of the clean bottles and twist a nipple, trying to imagine myself holding the baby and feeding it with one of these. “He never intended on staying here. He’s just here because of me and the baby, and I feel like I’m ruining his life.”
She scoffs. “He was part of this too. You’re not the Virgin Mary. There was no immaculate conception.”
“I know. But I still could have gotten an abortion.” Honestly, that’s a thought that weighs on me every minute I spend trying to figure out how I’m going to make this all work.
“But you didn’t, so stop looking backward.”
“I know,” I say again.
“You have feelings for him.”
I busy myself with finding a place for the clean bottles and other baby gear. “I like him.”
“You can say the other L word. It won’t kill you.”
Annoyed, I glare at Carin. “Like you’re any better, Miss Commitmentphobe. Since when have you run around telling guys you’ve hooked up with that you love them?”
“Never, but I’m not afraid of it like you are.”
“I’m not afraid of it.” Am I?
She rolls her eyes.
“Whatever. It’s irrelevant, anyway. Tucker’s in this because he’s in love with the baby and that’s good enough for me.”
Carin opens her mouth to rebuke me, but Tucker strolls into the kitchen before she can get a word out. “Ready?” he asks me.
I flick a gaze toward the microwave clock. Crap. It says we have about twenty minutes before class starts.
“Yup. You guys are going to have to leave,” I tell Carin. “Tuck and I are going to a breathing class.”
She raises a brow. “For what?”