"Buck up," Libby jokes. "There's no excuse for a meltdown, even in your condition."
"She's such a drill sergeant," Bailey says. "Just wait until you're pregnant and I force you to shop for hours in the dead of winter."
"Who says I'm ever having a baby?" Libby asks, her tone one of horror. I hear her camera click, and I don't even open my eyes to see if she's taking more humiliating photos of me.
"If you keep taking photos of me looking like a beached whale, I swear to all that is holy you will never live to carry a baby, Libby," I threaten.
"She's serious, Libbs," Bailey warns.
"Don't worry," Libby says, her camera directed at Bailey. "I was taking photos of the other sexy future-mama."
"Oh, no," Bailey says. "Don't even get any ideas. Kate, tell her I'm not cut out to be pregnant. All of the morning sickness, ugh."
"Don't forget the heartburn," I say, opening my eyes. Libby sits down beside Bailey on one of the sofas, her leg crossing lazily over Bailey's legs, her camera in hand, giggling as she snaps a selfie of the two of them.
"And the heartburn," Bailey says, pushing the camera away as she laughs. "Stop photographing this, Libbs. And don't think I haven't realized that you're already mentally marking this in your head as the day you convinced me to have a baby."
"No, this is the day we see Kate's gorgeous wedding dress on her," Libby says. "Speaking of that, where's the wedding dress girl? And our champagne?"
"Don't rub it in," I say.
"Sparkling juice for you," Bailey says, then groans. "God, that sounds just awful. We should abstain from our champagne in solidarity."
"Both of you can have all the champagne you wa – " A sharp kick to my belly nearly takes my breath away and I let out a loud oof, straightening up in the chair.
"Did it kick?" Libby squeals. "Can we feel it? I hate calling it 'it', you know. Like it's some kind of alien – although, I guess it really kind of is an alien life-form growing inside, feasting off of you." The two of them cover my belly with their hands, oohing and ahhing as the baby kicks again.
"You know we wanted the gender to be a surprise," I say.
"Who waits to find out the gender anymore?" Bailey asks. "What are you going to do for the room?"
"It'll be neutral," I say. "Besides, it's not like the baby will know what color the room is anyway."
"Well, the little lime seems extra active today," Libby says. Back in the first trimester of my pregnancy, Libby came across an article online that showed the size of the baby's growth in utero compared to different fruits – lime, lemon, orange, grapefruit, watermelon, and so forth – so they took to calling the baby by whatever the fruit-of-the-week was.
"The baby is definitely not a lime anymore," I say, running my hands over my belly. I don't know what size the baby is right now, but my guess would be watermelon. Maybe even pumpkin – but one of those super giant pumpkins, the kind grown to win a prize at a state fair. That’s what is currently pressed up against my bladder right now, shoving its little pumpkin toes right into me.
The saleswoman comes out with a pile of wedding gown in her hands. "Sorry that took so long," she says, her voice breathless. "We got it in the other day, and I got an order of dresses in this morning that got hung up with it and, anyway – let's get this on you. Are you excited?"
Bailey claps her hands. "I can't wait to see it."
"Is it too late to change my mind?" I ask. "Maybe I should wear a white tracksuit instead?"
I'm only half-joking.
The saleswoman laughs nervously. "You'll look lovely," she says.
And a few minutes later, surrounded by multiple full-length mirrors that give me the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the dress, I think she's right. The top of the dress is made of delicate white lace, long-sleeved and dropping to a deep v between my breasts before turning to chiffon that skims over my belly and flows in layer after layer down to the ground.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever worn. And I can't help but think about what my mother would say if she saw me right now.
I'm suddenly overcome by sadness, a sense of longing for her to meet Caulter and our child, and I can't help myself. Tears well up in my eyes, spilling out before I can even try to stop them.
"Kate, it's gorgeous," Libby says.
"Oh, what's wrong?" Bailey asks, her hand on my shoulder immediately. "Is it the dress?"
"You look fantastic, sweetie," Libby tries to reassure me.
I sniffle. "It's beautiful," I say, my words coming out between sobs. "Pregnancy…hormones."
Libby slides her arm around my shoulder. "You're gorgeous, doll," she says. "And your mom is probably looking down, thinking the same thing."
Of course, that makes me cry even harder.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caulter