“Doggy style for sure?”
“Yes, but stop reminding me!” I cry good-humoredly. Then I close my eyes and spread my hands open on my abdomen savoring his baby inside me. “There’s truly something extremely sensual about being pregnant by him,” I admit. “I’m so hyperaware of my body, how it feels, how it is changing for this little baby. I feel my ribs and hips expanding to make room for it, my breasts changing, all of me . . .” I sigh, then turn my head and stare at my best friend. The only one who ever really “got” me until Remy. The only one who likes me in any form I’ve come. “Mel, I can’t lose this baby.”
The smile she had been wearing vanishes, and she squeezes my hand over my still-flat abdomen. “You won’t. It’s Riptide’s baby.”
“We didn’t know there was a pity party here, but we’re glad we didn’t miss it!” says a male voice from the open door.
Sniffling, I lift my head to see my best male friend, Kyle, in Dockers and a polo shirt, standing right next to Pandora, her dark hair held back in a careless knot that sends spikes out of her hair everywhere. “You’re preggo?” she demands.
“According to tons of lab work and pregnancy tests, yes. But my body still hasn’t gotten the complete memo, aside from the throwing-up part.”
Kyle heads to my desk and flips the chair around, and Pandora jumps on the bed with shoes and everything, her leather jacket suddenly all I can smell.
“Pan-Pan, I don’t really feel like your vibe is babyish enough for Brookey, so you sit over there.” Melanie pats her side so she gets me all by herself, but Pandora reaches over me and shoves her playfully.
“Shush up, let me hug her.”
Pandora looks at me, with her dark eyes and dark lipstick. People don’t know that goths are extremely sensitive people—at least, Pandora is. You turn goth for a reason. I think she’s just naturally dramatic and angsty, and it was all after some asshole broke her heart. It’s a miracle, Mel says, that Pandora didn’t turn lesbian.
“You okay?” Pan asks, and before I can nod or speak, she pulls me into her leather jacket, and I feel Melanie snuggle my back too. Melanie can’t ever resist a hug. She even says hmmm.
“It’s gonna be all right, Brookey,” Mel says. Then she adds in my ear, “I promised your man I’d take care of you. He asked me to make sure you were not alone, were well fed, and taken care of. Riley told me he and Pete will need a daily report from me so they can keep Remington appeased, and he also told me you’ve been puking and that your baby daddy wants you to fucking eat!”
I groan in protest and ease away from their hug. “I’m all right. When I get hungry, I’ll eat something. If my body wants food, it will tell me. Guess what hunger was designed for?”
“We don’t care if you want to eat or not. We’re your man’s minions on a mission, and we already got you something, in memory of old times,” Kyle informs me as he gets up from the chair and returns with a Jack in the Box bag. That instant, I vividly remember how these three dopes teased Pete and Riley before in the drive-through, ages ago, the night Remington hired me. And I think of that fateful evening, and how he’d already changed my life without me even realizing. All my feelings crowd around my chest, and as Kyle brings over the bag, a surge of nausea overtakes me.
“Get that out of here!” I plead as I pinch my nose, which only alters my voice to the ridiculous. “I’m not doing so well with certain smells. Plus I need veggies for this baby. I need folic acid and calcium—stuff that shit doesn’t have, I guarantee. What kind of friends are you?”
He laughs triumphantly. “We knew you’d say that or you wouldn’t be you, so the Jack’s for us. We got you something else.” He leaves the room, then returns and reveals a brown bag from Whole Foods. “Likey? You wanna talk about good friends now?”
I toss him a pillow. “Bring that over!” I peer into the bag and spot a turkey wrap, the kind I like, and suddenly my friends’ gestures and support enfold me like the hug they just gave me, snug and tight.
“You guys are so good to me,” I say, setting the bag on my nightstand.
Melanie tugs my ponytail. “Have you noticed you’re mush now?” She squeezes my arm and when my little bicep responds to her, she amends, “Uh, on the inside.”
I burst out laughing, then close my eyes and see blue eyes, spiky hair. I want to squish him so hard, but he’s so far away. I wrap my hands around his baby instead. Then I look at my phone. Remy isn’t as dependent on phones and Internet as other people are. Neither am I, but now I’m clinging to my phone as my thread to him. He’s not even the type to text, but I don’t freaking care. Call me tonight if you want to?