“Yeah, really,” I say, confused. “Why do you act like it’s an odd question?”
She huffs and leans against the wall. “I was thinking you’d go now.”
“Elin, I—”
“Please. Go.”
“We need to talk,” I say.
“Not really.”
“Yes, we do. Let me explain . . .” My heart kicks up in my chest because I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I have to. And I will. I’m ready. I’m ready to get my life back. Our life back.
She pulls at the hem of her shirt. “Not tonight.”
“Will you be okay?” I ask, not wanting to leave. My hands itch to pick her up and carry her down the hallway to our bedroom. I want to pull her on top of me and show her how sorry I am, how much I love her, over and over again until she understands.
“I’m always okay.”
The bite to her words hits me full-on, and I must flinch because she reacts to it, seconds from offering her apology.
“If you need anything, you’ll call me, right?”
“I’ll call Jiggs,” she whispers.
Pressing a kiss against the top of her head, I let it linger for a few seconds longer than necessary. Hoping it tells her all the things I can’t say, I pull back. “Call me,” I insist and leave, making sure to lock the squeaky door behind me.
ELIN
“Your regular?”
My eyes adjust to the light in The Fountain as the door closes behind me. I search for Ruby, the owner for the last fifty years, and find her at the sink.
“Please,” I smile, standing at the counter next to Lindsay. Fishing out two dollars from the bottom of my purse, I lay them beside the napkin dispenser for a large Bump.
“What are you doing here?” Lindsay asks, sipping on a strawberry milkshake.
“It’s sixty-degrees outside,” I say, pointing at her glass. “Why are you drinking a milkshake?”
“I told her I won’t tell a soul,” Ruby says, sitting my Styrofoam cup in front of me. She leans on the counter with a knowing look.
“Tell who what?” I ask.
She leans closer, her eyes sparkling. “That’s she’s pregnant.”
“Hush,” Lindsay giggles, looking around the deserted building. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not until I’m out of the first trimester.” She looks at me and then away just as quickly.
I hate this. Lindsay should be asking me to throw a baby shower, having me help pick out names. Instead, she’s not discussing it with me and I’m not bringing it up and it’s just wrong on every level.
It has to stop.
I gulp.
It’s going to stop.
Ruby picks up on the awkwardness and clears her throat, backing away. “I understand. And like I told you earlier, no matter how much you try, I won’t serve you caffeine. It’ll be milkshakes for a while. Or juice. But the acid won’t do you any favors.” She goes back to the sink and Lindsay looks at me out of the corner of her eye.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
“Good.”
“When are we going shopping and buying all the things?”
A wide, genuine smile splits her cheeks. “I want to. Now,” she giggles. “I just don’t want to make you feel awkward in any way.”
“Stop worrying about me! You are having a baby,” I grin. “I am so ridiculously happy for you, and I want in on everything. And I mean everything. The only weirdness is you avoiding me.”
She blinks back tears and laughs at herself. “I’m so hormonal. Jiggs is afraid to say anything because I just start crying. Poor guy,” she says, wiping her eyes with a napkin.
“I think it’s going to get worse,” I tease.
“I don’t know how,” she says, laughing at herself. “I’m worried about everything from the health of the baby to the best kind of crib to if I can nurse to if we should move to Florida.”
I toss her a pointed glare. “We’re still talking about Florida? Why?”
“I’m scared, Elin. What if we can’t support a baby here? It’s not just about us now.”
“No, it’s not. But . . . have you talked to Jiggs about it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes and it goes nowhere.”
I find a little satisfaction in that, that my brother wouldn’t just up and leave me.
She digs around in her purse and places her money next to mine. “So, what are you doing in here at two-thirty in the afternoon?”
“I took a half day today,” I say, fiddling with my keys. “I had some errands I needed to run.”
“Things you can’t take care of after school?” she asks, picking holes in my obvious excuse.