Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family)(42)

They both listen with rapt attention as I recount everything that  happened yesterday. And damn it, saying everything out loud makes it a  million times worse.

"Let me get this straight. A woman tells you she's pregnant, and the  first thing you ask is if she doesn't want the baby?" Summer looks like  she wanted to punch me. Pippa just pinches her nose but remains silent,  which is the surest sign I've fucked up so badly, she doesn't even have a  comeback.

"Not my finest moment, okay? She was all jerky and couldn't look me in  the eye, and I couldn't understand why she'd keep it a secret from me  when she had no problem saying it to that woman she'd just met between  interviews."

I know how much Clara wants a family; she told me the day she visited  the apartment. But she also described her ideal partner as someone who's  the polar opposite of me. So, for those decisive moments, I thought  maybe she was all jerky and hadn't told me because she didn't want a  family with me.

"Here's a thought-maybe she was nervous about telling you?" Pippa says,  opening and closing her hand. I have a hunch she'd like nothing better  than to close that hand around my neck, squeeze a bit.

Summer nods. "You guys aren't married or engaged. She was in between  jobs. And then she found out she was pregnant. It's no woman's ideal  situation. Maybe she was afraid you'd react badly."

I press my palms against the socket of my eyes. I can't believe myself. She is everything to me. Everything.

"Jesus, all of you men have the tendency to put your foot in your mouth, but you're in a league of your own," Summer exclaims.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Did she hit you?" she continues.

"She's not a violent person."

"Neither am I, but my palm's twitching. I badly need to hit you for her."                       
       
           


///
       

Words I never thought I'd hear from my baby sister.

"Let's concentrate on the issue at hand. I need to talk her."

Pippa scoffs. "How about what she needs?"

"What do you mean?"

"Her message said you'll talk when she's back, right?"

"Yeah," I say hopefully. Pippa seems to understand far more of the situation than I do.

"To me this just reads like she needs some distance from your sorry ass."

"Distance? How's that helpful? She's pregnant, for God's sake. What she  needs is for me to take care of her and pamper her and make sure she's  not overworking herself."

Pippa's mouth twitches. "You're aware Clara has been living thirty years  of her life without you, yes? She's very self-sufficient."

"But she doesn't have to be, that's the point. What if she's sick? The  first trimester is the one with morning sickness. I've read about it."

"Did you now?" Summer asks. For some reason, she seems to be having a field day with this.

"Yes, I did. I had a long night with no Clara to read just about  everything. This isn't the time for her to be alone. I want to take care  of her, and the baby."

"So you're happy about the baby?" Pippa asks.

"Of course I am. Last night, before everything blew up in my face, I  planned to ask her to move in for good, make this official. I love her,  and I love that baby too."

"Your heart is in the right place," Pippa concludes. My sisters exchange  another glance, and something in their expression sets me on edge.

"When did you talk to her? What did she say?" I ask them.

"She didn't say much," Summer says quickly.

"You're lying." I'm looking straight at Summer now. Pippa has a good  poker face, and she can stick to her guns if needed, but Summer has  never been able to resist spilling information to me when she had it.  Until now.

"Not lying. Just withholding information," Summer says weakly.

Pippa groans. "She told us that in confidence."

"Girls," I warn. "I need to know what she told you."

A moment of silence, and then Pippa shakes her head. "I'm usually not a  fan of breaking another woman's confidence, but I do think you need to  know. She called me yesterday, and I was with Summer. It took her a  while to get to the point. I think she was trying to test out if we'd be  happy about the news or not. She was...well, from experience I can tell  you pregnancy hormones aren't a joke. It's like PMS on steroids. Once I  burst out crying during a commercial for baby cough syrup because I  suddenly thought how awful it must be to have your baby die from a fit  of coughing."

Summer and I stare at her, stricken. Pippa is oblivious to our horror.

"But back to Clara. When she finally did tell us, she said she hoped  we'd love the baby too, accept him or her as part of the family, even if  Clara wouldn't belong to it. She told us that she'd manage being a  single mother, she'd come through for her baby, and she wasn't worried  about the money, but that she really hoped the child wouldn't grow up  without an extended family, because it would be a lonely childhood. I  suspect she was thinking back to her own childhood."

Jesus. I lean back in the chair, running my hand through my hair in  frustration. Clara is amazing, and I've never felt more grateful for  something as I am for having her in my life. I have no idea what I've  done to deserve her, but I'm madly in love with her, and I want to shout  it from the rooftops. For now though, I want to tell her. She needs to  know.

"I need to talk to her," I repeat for maybe the hundredth time today.

"Wait for her to return, like she asked," Summer insists. "I think she  really wants to focus on the training so she makes the final cut."

Tapping my fingers on the table, I start whipping up a plan. I'll need  it to be solid, and it will involve textbook groveling. I will not lose  this woman.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Clara



The training is a ten-hours-a-day deal. They put the six of us together  with a dozen candidates for their children's nonfiction department,  since most of the techniques the trainer teaches can be applied no  matter the illustration type. We receive a lot of individual feedback.  It's intensive as hell, and even more competitive than I thought. Since  everyone knows they're only going to hire three out of six for the  fiction illustrator positions, tensions are high between us. Everyone's  polite, of course, but the negative vibes...yikes.                       
       
           


///
       

"Ms. Abernathy, these lines could be sharper. Focus on them," the  trainer says. He's a tall man, maybe a few years older than I am. The  trainer's feedback motivates me to do my very best and kick ass. What  doesn't go with ass kicking? Lack of coffee, moderate consumption of  sugar, heartbreak, visions of Christmases where I'm the only one putting  presents for Beanie under the tree-I'm calling the baby Beanie until I  know the sex; it's sweet, but not emasculating, and it only vaguely  sounds like Blakie.

On the second day, I add morning sickness to the mix. The hotel is just a  block away from the headquarters, but if I don't head out soon, I'm  going to have to miss breakfast so I'm not late. Since I had no morning  sickness until now, I was hoping to go through the pregnancy unscathed.  After spending fifteen minutes with my head in the toilet, all those  hopes go to hell in a handbasket.

After calming down, I wash my face and return to the room with small,  tentative steps, sitting on the bed, sniffing myself, because I have a  suspicion I still stink of vomit.

Sniff. Sniff. Blech. Suspicion confirmed.

I'll have to hop in the shower. Judging by the nausea at the back of my throat, I'll have to skip breakfast anyway.

I'm halfway to the bathroom when there is a knock at my door.  Reluctantly, I change direction. One of the receptionists is in front of  my door, carrying a huge bouquet of sunflowers.

"Ms. Abernathy, we had these delivered for you," she quips, jerking her  head back in alarm when I lean in to take the flowers. My fabulous Eau  de Vomit must have reached her. Poor woman.

She scurries away and I shut the door, bringing the flowers to the small  desk in a corner. I itch to read the card that came with them. I can  see it, wedged between the green stems of the sunflowers. The second I  put the flowers on the small table, I snatch the card from them. The  writing on the card belongs to Blake.



I am proud of you. You'll kick ass and get the job. I know it.

Blake

I turn the card. No more words. Was there a second card and it got lost?  One that said I'm sorry? And possibly I love you and Beanie, but I'm  working on not getting my hopes up too much. Hint: it's not working.

I look between the flowers, but...nothing. Right. Grabbing my phone, I call Blake right away. He answers after the first ring.