"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
I'm surrounded by parts and pieces that go to baby furniture – crib railings, nuts and bolts scattered haphazardly across the surface of the hardwood floor – and thinking I'm this close to losing my shit.
"I think it's admirable that you're trying to put the furniture together yourself, Caulter," Ella says over the phone. The phone is on speaker, and I curse under my breath as I look at the directions to the crib.
"These are the worst fucking directions I've ever seen," I growl. "They make no sense. And there are no words. Only nonsensical pictures."
"You've never assembled anything before, Caulter," she says. "You should call for someone to do it."
"It's baby furniture, Ella," I say. "It's not rocket science."
The pieces I'm trying to screw together clatter as they fall onto the floor.
"Does Kate know you're putting everything together yourself?" she asks.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," I tell her. "She's getting her wedding dress fitted, and I thought it would be nice if all of the baby furniture was delivered and I set up the nursery. Obviously, I didn't know that assembling furniture takes a damn engineering degree."
"You have people to do that for you, Caulter," Ella says.