I hide my smile and take my phone. “Seriously. Is she pregnant?”
He shakes his head. “After the last few days, thank god she isn’t. The day she does get pregnant, I’m going on a nine-month-long vacation. Now, before she marches over here and strings my balls from the pier, go to fucking Starbucks. I’m going to get Tylenol and a nap.”
I get in my car, laughing loudly, and wave to him. I think I want to feel sorry for him, but he can be just as bad.
When I arrive at Starbucks, and she gets in my car before I can even cut the engine.
“Drive. Now. To your apartment,” she demands, clicking her belt into place.
“I thought—”
“I need a tequila shot and a bottle of wine—something Starbucks can’t provide me. Foot down, Liv.”
She’s lucky I always have tequila and wine in my apartment.
“What’s wrong with you? Aaron said you weren’t pregnant, and if it weren’t for the demand of alcohol, I’d say he was lying.” I cut her a glance.
She clicks her tongue loudly. “I got my implant out and went on the pill. It’s fucking with my hormones. I’m like a walking ball of PMS.”
Ah. Wait… “You got your implant out?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you weren’t going to.” I pull up in the parking lot and we get out of the car.
“I wasn’t. But I thought about it and thought, ‘Hey, I’m not ready now, but who’s to say I won’t want a baby in a month? Or even two weeks?’ So I got the damn thing out and switched to the pill. It’s seriously messing me up.”
“Does Aaron know?”
“No.” She jabs the button for the third floor. “Hell no. If that man knew I was on the pill, he’d throw the fuckers in the bin and have my dress around my waist quicker than you could say, ‘fuck me!’”
I snort and let us into my apartment. Now that I can believe.
She heads straight for my liquor cabinet and pours a shot of tequila. She throws it back, winces, then slams the glass on the counter.
“You know, that’s probably something you should keep an eye on,” I tease her.
She glares at me then sighs. “Is this the right thing? Taking the implant out?”
“I don’t know. Ask your ovaries.” I kick off my shoes and drop onto the sofa.
“Ha, ha, fucking ha.” She mocks, flopping down next to me. “Seriously.”
“I don’t know. How are we ever supposed to know what’s right until we’ve done it?”
She ponders this for a moment, her beautiful face marring with a slight frown. “But what if we do it and decide it’s not so right after all?”
“Then we’re pretty damn fucked.” I shrug. “I don’t know, Day. Stop overthinking it. You’ve done it now.”
“You’re so reassuring.” She sighs again. “How do you know you and Tyler is the right thing?”
“How did you know leaving Monique and forgiving Aaron was?”
Another tongue click. “Touché, asshole.”
I smile. Really, how do any of us know what’s right? It’s not as if life is like math—where one plus one will always equal two. Life is random and crazy. Sometimes in life, you can add one and one together and end up with thirty-two.
I look at my best friend. She’s chewing her thumbnail, staring at the wall. Her eyes are a little glossy, and in them, I see a slither of fear.
“Day? Are you getting cold feet?”
She drops her hand. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
I tuck my feet beneath me.
“It all seemed easy, you know? Leaving Monique and my life behind. Giving him everything, moving in, saying yes. Now, the wedding is in like, seven weeks and I’m crapping myself. Seriously, I need a diaper on hand at all times.” She runs her hand through her hair. “I love him so much, but I guess it’s dawning on me that, when I walk down the aisle and say, ‘I do,’ that’s it. Forever. Done. And that’s scary.”
“You know weddings are bullshit, right?” I say after a moment. “You know they’re just a shitty little scrap of paper that tells the state of Washington that you’re in it for life? That they don’t really mean anything.”
She turns her face toward me.
“You weren’t afraid until now. You always knew you’d spend your life with him, even when you didn’t. The wedding is just the official crap.” I rest my hand on her shoulder. “I’m the runner. I’m the freaker-outter and the commitment-phobe. Buck up, sweetie, because there ain’t enough room in this friendship for two of us!”
Her lips crack into a smile, and she laughs. “Too true. Yet here you are, in one of those scary relationship things.”
“I’m all for trying new things.” I shrug nonchalantly. “If I can be in one of these crazy commitment situations, you sure as hell can. Besides, that dress is way too pretty to freak out.”
Her eyes brighten at the mention of her dress. “Yes. I suppose. I don’t know—I was just having a moment. See what I mean about the hormones? They’re like evil little douchebags.”
“They’ve been that way since you were thirteen. I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”
She rolls her eyes. “Did you plan the bachelorette party yet?”
I smile wryly. “And we’re back to normal.”
She smacks me in the face with a pillow, and I grab the phone to call the spa I spoke to the other day.
I pull the navy thong up my legs with an odd sense of calm. In the week since our relationship became real, this is the first time it’s felt like us. It’s the first time his expectations have been truly hanging over me.
I prefer this. This controlled interaction, where I know exactly what he wants and exactly what I have to give. It’s clear-cut. I can breathe this way, with his desires and demands laid out in front of me.
My phone buzzes on the counter and I pick it up. Before I can answer, Tyler says, “Wear a dress.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Wear a dress,” he repeats. “Something easy to lift.”
That husky undertone I love is prevalent in his voice, and I find myself nodding. I set the call to speaker and lay my phone back on the counter, crossing to my closet. I pull out a black dress with a plunging neckline and tug it over my head.
“And stockings. Black ones.”