“What the hell, Dax?” A woman walked in. No, more accurate to say that a woman waddled in. A very pregnant Kat Harris, the sister from the photos. “Oh! Heeeellllloooo there,” she drawled. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Kat, Dax’s sister.”
Amy shook the outstretched hand but stayed sitting with the quilt in her lap. “I’m Amy. Dax’s…coworker.”
That wasn’t strictly true since they worked for different companies, but it seemed better than saying “office frenemy who slept over totally platonically last night and is now wearing your brother’s shirt and nothing else.”
“I think ‘what the hell’ is my line, Kat. I told you I don’t want you here this late in your pregnancy.” He pointed at his sister’s very impressive stomach. “What if you go early and you’re stuck on the island?”
She waved dismissively. “You can canoe me to the mainland. Oh, oh! I’ll have a water birth in the lake! Ha!” She threw her head back and cackled. “I’m actually not here for you, though,” she said. “I think I must be insane, or nesting, or both, because I decided to buy one of those awful paintings.” She gestured at the pastel swirly abstracts they’d discussed last night. “Mrs. Sampson asked me what color the nursery was going to be, and when I told her, she offered to make one to match.” She shrugged. “I dunno, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But it’s enormous. Much bigger than yours.” She smiled brightly. “So, dearest brother, I need you to help me ferry it across, and then I’ll go the rest of the way in a cab. I was hoping you’d be here and not at the condo.” She plunked herself down on the chair Dax had vacated, reached for the Oreos, and eyed Amy. “But first I need to eat about a hundred of these.”
Amy smiled in spite of herself. Kat was a force of nature. “I was just, ah, leaving, so I can help you with the painting.”
“No! I’ll do it,” Dax said, his eyes darting around the cottage. Amy had never seen him nervous before. He was always so in control, so confident-bordering-on-arrogant. Like his CEO persona extended to all areas of his life. But now he looked a little…caged in. She liked it. The old pre-jilting Amy would have relished making Dax uncomfortable, enjoyed annoying him.
But the old, pre-jilting Dax would never have taken care of her the way he had last night. Probably once they were back in the office, they would go back to crossing swords. She would relish it, in fact. It would be nice to feel like maybe, after so much upheaval, she was on her way to getting some of her old self back.
But for now, she’d throw him a bone. For some reason, he didn’t want his sister to think he’d slept with her. Maybe Kat had no idea about his playboy ways. “Okay,” she said, standing, which, unfortunately, showcased her bare legs. “I’m going to go get dressed, and then I’ll take off.”
“Anyway,” Dax said to Kat, “now that you’re here, you might as well stay a while. Wanna go canoeing?”
“Oh my God, no. I’d sink the thing.” She looked at Amy. “Don’t let me chase you out.” Then she swung her gaze back to Dax. “Maybe you should take your…coworker for a canoe ride.”
“I got left at the altar last night,” Amy said, feeling like the truth was probably the only way out of this awkward situation, and though the realization amazed her, she thought Dax might be too much of a gentleman to embarrass her by telling his sister about her epic humiliation. “I ran into Dax, and he let me crash here.”
“Oh my God, honey! That’s awful! Men are the worst. Honestly, who needs them? They’re not good for anything.”
Amy couldn’t help but glance at Kat’s swollen belly.
Kat cackled again, like a peppy witch. When she was done, she pointed at the bump and said, “IVF, my friend. No father required.”
Amy tried to cover her shock. She’d heard of single women getting pregnant on their own, but she’d never met one. She admired it. To know what you wanted with such clarity and resolve that you were willing to buck society—and biology—to get it? That took balls. Metaphorically speaking. Up until yesterday, she’d thought she knew what she wanted. Now? No earthly idea. “Well, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to get changed and then go pick up the pieces of my shattered life.”
She could hear them whispering as she changed back into her dress. When she emerged a few minutes later, she felt like she was embarking on the mother of all walks of shame. The wedding dress that had seemed exactly right when she’d tried it on in the store—indeed, when she’d slipped into it on her wedding morning—now felt like it belonged on a streetwalker. Why had she had the tailor shorten the skirt?