“Yes?” She turns back around, raising a brow.
“I was thinking we could go to the mall today. Look at some baby things. It’s too early to buy anything—” I shrug “—but I thought it’d be fun to look.”
She instantly brightens and nods eagerly. “Sounds like fun. I’ll get ready. Dan, do you want to go?” she asks my dad. He grunts. My mom smiles at me and squeezes my shoulder as she passes. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
I take a shower and blow-dry my hair before curling it. This is the first time I’ve styled my hair for myself and not because I’m meeting a client. I even put on more than a minimal amount of makeup. I swipe some red lipstick on and I automatically feel like I can conquer the world. I dress nicely too, in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a plum-colored turtle-neck sweater. I even add some jewelry. It’s the most effort I’ve put into myself since I lost Ben. Since he died I haven’t seen the point in dressing up and looking nice. It seemed trivial. But today, I wanted to, and I actually feel better.
I grab my purse and head downstairs where my parents are already waiting.
“Oh, Blaire,” my mom breathes and begins to cry. “You look so pretty.”
It says a lot that the sight of me dressed nicely, with hair done and makeup on, makes my mom cry.
“Mom.” I drop my purse to the floor and go to hug her. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m just so happy to see you looking like yourself.” She sniffles against my shirt.
My dad grabs her arm and tugs her away. “Maureen, don’t sob all over the poor girl’s sweater. It’s not likely we’ll be able to get her to change if you ruin it,” he jokes.
I roll my eyes at his pathetic attempt to lighten the mood, but I am smiling, so I guess it worked.
We all pile into their rental car and head to the mall. There’s a kid’s furniture store there, and I want to see what they have so I can get an idea in my head for what I want for the nursery.
Since it’s the weekend, the mall is packed and we have trouble finding a place to park. My dad ends up parking about as far away as you can get from the entrance, but it was the only place he could find.
My mom chats excitedly as we head inside, but I’m not listening.
Instead, I’m thinking—thinking about what it would be like if Ben was still here and we were shopping for our baby together. It would be a lot more exciting, that’s for sure. I hate so much that I feel like I can’t even enjoy being pregnant because I miss him so much. I wish he was here to touch my still-flat stomach, and kiss it, and talk to it. I wish he was here to feel the baby move when the time comes, find out the gender, and pick out names together. Instead, I’m all on my own. It’s my baby, not ours. Okay, so that’s not exactly true, but it feels like it. I don’t have him to ask questions and share every little moment with. It’s not the same as it would be if he was here.
We walk past the food court on our way to the store and I hear someone call out, “Blaire?” I ignore it and keep going. There are plenty of other Blaire’s in the world besides me, so it doesn’t even faze me. “Blaire?” they call again, closer this time. “Blaire?” This time I recognize the voice, even above the cacophony of the mall.
I stop dead in my tracks and my parents keep walking. They stop and turn around when they realize I’m not with them. My head swivels from side to side, and finally, I see Ryder hurrying toward me, wrangling an uncooperative Cole.
“Blaire,” he calls in relief this time when he sees that I’ve stopped. It looks like he’s just run out of Chick-fil-A in the middle of placing his order. He scoops Cole into his arms and holds on tight to the wiggling boy. “We’ll get your chicken nuggets in a minute,” he tells him when Cole begins to cry. He stops in front of me, and motions to a table with the flick of his head. “Can we sit down and talk for a minute?” he asks.
“Um … I … I’m here with my parents.” I point over my shoulder in their general direction.
My mom comes forward and asks, “Who’s this?”
Before I can answer, Ryder holds out his free hand. “Ryder, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”
“Mhm,” she hums, looking him over and giving me side-eye. She clearly wants to know what’s up here.
“He’s the leader of Group, Mom,” I say, deflating her love bubble she’s created. She’s probably already planned my wedding to Ryder and named our children.
“Oh,” she mutters, crestfallen.
I sigh and look back at Ryder. “I only have a minute.” To my parents I say, “You guys go on without me. I’ll find you in a bit.”
My dad takes my mom by the elbow and drags her away, because there’s no way she’s going on her own.