Baby & Bump (The This & That Series) (20 page)

             
“What the hell?” Marisol held out her hands. “You’re ditching me on my birthday?”

             
Candace bit her lip. “I saw Nate coming out of the bathroom. You ran into him, didn’t you?”

             
I nodded, unexpected tears clogging my throat.

             
“Oh, honey.” Marisol put an arm around my shoulder. “I didn’t know you still cared about the bastard.”

             
“You know, I agree. This is weird.” Candace wrapped herself around my other shoulder.

             
I felt dejected. And empty. And just so damn tired of keeping everything inside. The secret was starting to rot inside of me. Seeing Nate—and the repulsed way he looked at me—only aggravated my condition.

             
Taking a breath, I moved out from under their arms. “Guys, I have to tell you something.”

             
“Wait, I have something to tell you guys, too!” Marisol blurted.

             
Candace nudged her. “Shut up. Lex is trying to speak.”

             
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was
so
like Marisol to interrupt. “Go ahead.”

             
Marisol clapped her hands excitedly. “I think tonight’s the night,” She announced with a squeal. “Finally. Who waits this long for sex?”

             
My tears started again, and I covered my face. This night just got better and better.

             
Candace scoffed. “Oh, good Lord, Mar. Of course tonight is the night. It’s your birthday. I’m sure Fletcher’s going to give you a birthday present to remember.”

             
I hiccupped.

             
“Oh, geez,” Candace rubbed my arm. “Okay. Lexie’s turn. Spill it. What do you want to tell us?”

             
My voice came out muffled from behind my hands. “I want to tell you who the baby’s dad is.”

             
And the floor was mine.

Chapter Eighteen

              Well, as it turned out, Marisol’s birthday did turn out to be a good night.

For me, at least.

When I’d gone into work that Monday morning, she’d come in with a scowl splayed across her pretty face and Spanish curse words spewing out of her mouth. Apparently Martha had gotten sick at her sleepover on Saturday night, so Fletcher cut the night short. There was no birthday present to remember for Marisol, unless she considered his gift of silver bangle bracelets the right present. But she didn’t. In fact, she’d called his gift a poorly disguised cop out.

             
I would have treasured silver bangle bracelets from Fletcher like the Holy Grail, but whatever.

             
The news that he’d rejected her—even by default—was enough to lift my spirits as I settled into the last stretch of my pregnancy. And thank goodness I was almost done, because I felt like a moose.

             
For a while, I’d looked pretty cute, if I did say so myself. Through the miracle of pregnancy, I’d finally gotten the boobs I’d prayed for as a tween. My bra cups runneth over, and every shirt I owned finally stretched gloriously across the front. (I’d always wanted that to happen.) And my stomach had taken on that darling little round quality that maternity models always had, just barely tenting their shirts, and accentuating how lovely and lean their arms and legs appeared.

             
But that phase ended as quickly as it had begun.

             
My face had started to puff up. Every day when I woke up and looked in the mirror, it seemed my lips or cheeks were fuller. If I kept going at the rate I was going, I was going to wind up looking like I was made out of pizza dough by the time I delivered.

But the swelling didn’t stop there. Suddenly, my waif-like legs were becoming puckered and paunchy. I could press my finger into my white flesh, and the div
ot would stay for a good twenty seconds before my skin smoothed out. And my feet after work? Forget about it. Large, block-like squares of modeling clay that made lacing a sneaker almost impossible? Ugh. I was destined to wear flip-flops for the next two months. Fletcher’s nurses said it was typical for me to swell during the last trimester, especially considering how many hours I spent on my feet. They said after a relatively drama-free pregnancy, it was bound to happen.

             
“Good afternoon, Lexie, how are you this week?”

The receptionist at Fletcher’s office grinned at me from her perch behind the counter. Since I was in my third trimester, I’d started coming to my check ups with the nurse more often, and the staff knew me by name.

              “Fine, thank you.” I tapped a silent tune out on the counter as she logged onto her computer. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was feeling a bit giddy about my appointment.

I mean, sure. I was puffier than the Stay Pufft
marshmallow man, but the nurse wanted me to see
Fletcher
for a non-stress test today. Hooray!

             
Who would have thought that a test brought on by hypertension and edema could be so thrilling?

             
“Okay, I’ve got you all checked in,” she told me brightly. “Dr. Javornik will call you back shortly.”

             
“Thanks. Uh, what?” My heart stuttered.

             
The receptionist offered me a tilt of her head. I’m sure it was meant to be reassuring, but it kind of made me want to deck her. “Dr. Haybee marked all of your appointments until delivery to be switched to Dr. Javornik’s caseload. I assumed he’d discussed that with you.”

             
My face went beet red. I could tell because I could see my reflection in the mirror hanging on one of the walls. (Seriously, who put those in a gynecological office? What giant pregnant lady wants to look at her expansive figure in a gilded mirror?) “Um, no. He never told me. Can I… can I ask why?”

             
“Hmmm.” The receptionist pressed a few buttons. “It doesn’t say. I would imagine it’s because Dr. Haybee’s caseload is pretty heavy right now.”

             
My mouth dropped open. Fletcher had broken up with me.

I mean, okay. I was fully aware that he and I were
nothing
, but in a sense, considering that this is the only way we got to see each other anymore, he’d dumped me.

             
Another head tilt from the receptionist. “I can see you’re upset. And that’s understandable. It’s easy to get attached to your obstetrician over the course of your pregnancy.”

             
I glared down at my hands.
Lady, you have no idea.

             
“But I promise you,” she said with a smile. “Dr. Javornik is wonderful. She’s been in obstetrics for over thirty years, and she’s quite popular with our first time moms. She’s very gentle and reassuring. And she practices a lot of holistic medicine.”

             
“I don’t care how reassuring she is.” I sounded like a pouty teenager, but I couldn’t stop myself. My skin was tight, and my gut ached. My hoo-haw felt like a brick, and my feet were too fat to wear shoes. Plus, my heart had throbbed every single night since sharing that kiss with Fletcher. All I had to look forward to were my OB appointments, and now those were taken away from me.

I was a freight train, building up speed, one wrong comment from a total meltdown.
“I don’t give a flying monkey’s
ass
about her holistic medicine. Do you hear me?”

             
One of the receptionist’s eyebrows arched. “Oh-kay.” She pressed a few buttons on the keyboard, frowned at the screen, then pressed a few more. “Listen, Lexie. It seems as though Dr. Haybee is booked solid for the next several weeks, and you really should have your stress test today.”

             
I breathed through my nose. I was pretty sure my face looked like an overripe tomato. “Stress test. Got it.”

             
She clicked a few more keys, refusing to look at me. “Let’s get you in with Dr. Javornik for the test today, and then I’ll speak to Dr. Haybee about what he wants to do with the rest of your appointments.” I must have grimaced, because she added, “And don’t worry. Our doctors do deliveries based on their on-call schedules. So depending on when you go into labor, there’s still a good chance Dr. Haybee will be the one to deliver your baby.”

             
“Fine,” I grunted. It sounded more like the snuffling sound a pig makes, but hey, who cared at this point? I sure as hell didn’t. Offering the receptionist a jerky wave, I shuffled off to the waiting area with a scowl on my face.

             
How
dare
Fletcher switch me to the other doctor? I mean, I was pretty sure he’d done it because we’d long since crossed some sort of line between doctor and patient. He’d said it himself: there was something between us. And it wasn’t just a crush. It was more. So, so much more.

Tears stung my eyes as I sat squished into a tiny leather chair. I looked up at the ceiling to keep them from spilling
. Was this God’s punishment for what I’d done to Marisol? Or worse yet, was my mother right? Was God mad at me for getting pregnant out of wedlock with my douche bag ex husband? Oh, dear Lord, how did one repent for that? Was it a few Hail Marys, and maybe a splash in a baptismal font? Or was more involved?

“Lexie?”

Jumping, I looked down to find Martha standing in front of me with a red, white, and blue starred backpack on her shoulder. Her long hair was pulled into two glossy braids with mismatched ribbons on the end. She was adorable like always, and my heart warmed despite all of the pain rattling around inside of my chest.

“Martha.
” I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “How are you doing?”

She wrinkled her ski jump nose at me. “Better than you. Whatcha crying about?”

“Nothing.” I forced a smile that was too wide to look natural. I probably looked terrifying.

Martha nodded knowingly. “Hormones?”

I laughed in spite of myself. Nothing got past this kid. “Yeah, you’re right. What are you doing here?”

“My bus driver drops me o
ff here every Thursday, then Dad takes me to karate.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and settled down in the seat next to me. “You look pretty today.”

The warmth in my chest started to spread. “Thanks, sweetie, but I’m pretty sure I look a little
puffy.”

She shook her head, making her braids swing. “Puffiness
is normal. My dad says so. He also said you were pretty.”

My stomach seized,
and the baby kicked. “He what?”

One of Martha’s shoulders rose and fell. “Yeah. The other night Marisol came over. She brought Thai food. Marisol was laughing because you have to wear
flip-flops at work, and Dad told her to stop. Then he said you were pretty.” She looked at me with a wince. “Marisol was pretty mad.”

I bit my lip. It felt so weird to be completely torn between elated for me, and sad for Marisol. But I was. “Marisol’s pretty beautiful. I don’t think she’s used to boys not telling her so.”

“Oh, well.” She swung her feet, kicking her backpack. “We ordered a pizza after she left. I hate Thai food. Everything’s covered in peanut butter.”

I laughed. “You’ve got a point. But there are some good dishes in Thai cuisine. I’ll have to make you some.”

“Sounds good.” She played with the end of one of her braids. “But if you make that for me, I’ll make you my world famous pizza.”

I gasped and press a hand to my chest. “You make world famous pizza?”

“Uh huh.” She nodded solemnly. “With pineapple and salami.”

“No kidding?” Nudging her with my shoulder, I noticed that Martha smelled like strawberry lip-gloss. I loved strawberry lip-gloss when I was her a
ge. “I should hire you at Eats and Treats.”

“That’
d be cool.” She flashed her jack-o-lantern smile again. “Would you let me decorate cupcakes? I’m an expert decorator.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. I’m trying to teach myself how to make flowers.”

“How’s that going? It took me a long time.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not so good. My dad looked up a video on YouTube to see how, but we still couldn’t figure it out.”

I pictured Fletcher and Martha trying to construct frosting flowers together, and smiled to myself. “Keep practicing,” I told her. “It takes time. But you’ll get it.”

“I hope so.” Martha twisted a sparkly ring around her finger. “Because Libman’s birthday is coming up, and I want to make a cake.”

“Dogs can’t eat sugar, silly,” I reminded her. “It makes them sick.”

“I know.” She looked up at me with laugh. I noticed that her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled, just like her dad. “But my dad and I really like cake, so we always look for reasons to make it.”

As if it were possible to love Fletcher anymor
e, suddenly I did. And I loved his daughter, too. Oh, what a sticky situation I was in. Those pesky tears tickled my eyes again. “So what else will you help me cook for Eats and Treats?”

Martha thought about it for a few beats, and her smile dropped.

I patted her knee. “What’s wrong? Out of recipes already?”

“No.” She sighed. “It’s just t
hat if I work with you at Eats and Treats, that’ll mean I have to work with Marisol, too.”

I half smiled. “Oh, Mar’s not so bad once you get to know her. She can make a mean
mole sauce.”

“I wish
my dad would break up with her.” Martha propped her chin on her fist. “She’s just so
grouchy
.”

Part of me wanted to defend my friend, but
the part in love with Martha’s father wanted to let Marisol sink her own ship. She’d had months to forge a relationship with Martha, and instead of finding common ground, all I’d ever heard Marisol do was gripe.
That kid complains too much. That kid is always hanging around. That kid is always taking Fletcher away.
Fletcher was a father, and Marisol had had more than enough time to adjust to it. But her discomfort seemed to grow with every outing the three of them had together.

I didn’t say anything, so Martha went on. “She pretends I’m not there when my dad leaves the room. If I talk to her when he’s not looking, she totally ignores me. Then when he comes back, she acts like everything I say is so cool.”

Cringing, I shifted in my seat. I didn’t even know what to say. But Martha didn’t give me the chance to think of anything, because she threw her next comment out and my heart almost exploded all over the waiting room.

“I wish he was dating you!” she blurted, turning to face me. “You have stuff in common with him and you make him laugh. All he ever does when he’s with Marisol is rub his eyes. He only does that when he’s frustrated. You never frustrate him, Lexie. Plus,
he said you like Elvis music, and
she
never lets him listen to it when they’re together. I don’t know why he met Marisol first. She sucks.”