Without knowing how her brain got there, she thought about the spa she’d visited the previous year. She’d taken a week off and had gone by herself to unwind. She’d read and slept and gotten massages. The time had been heavenly and she hadn’t really missed Nigel. Not enough to invite him to join her.
What must he have thought of her going away without him? She wasn’t worried he would think she was having an affair, but she’d just gone off, leaving him behind. They weren’t joined at the hip and he went to medical conferences and symposiums, but the spa retreat was different somehow. Not that she couldn’t or shouldn’t do things for herself, but it was more than that, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
She walked back into the hallway, then headed for the kitchen. She checked for water leaks and that the refrigerator was working, all things the cleaning service would have done. She was restless. Afraid to stay and not ready to go. Her father would say it was guilt. That she was being forced to admit that while the affair was all on Nigel, his unhappiness before that was at least partially her fault. She was slowly starting to wonder if maybe she’d taken too much for granted. Had been too involved in herself and not involved enough in her marriage.
Ali had said she would be hard to live with. Zennie, however misguided, was willing to give up nearly a year of her life to have a baby for a friend. Even her mother used her spare time to work with that ridiculous theater group down by the beach. What did she have beyond her work? Not real friends. She had Rochelle, but her assistant, however loyal, would get a better job offer one day and she would be gone. Not her volunteer work. She didn’t do any. She showed up—she was the face—but she didn’t get involved.
She’d thought she would have Nigel for always. That they would be happy together. She’d thought they would love each other until they were old and gray and waiting to die. But they weren’t doing any of those things.
She returned to her car. Before opening the garage door with the remote, she sat in the darkness and wondered if she’d really brought this all on herself. Was she the cause of her unhappiness? Was she really that horrible a human being?
Terrified the answer was yes, she opened the garage door and started the engine, then turned on the radio so loud, she couldn’t possibly think.
* * *
Zennie ached all over. She was hungry, her feet and back hurt and she was desperately thirsty. The ten-hour surgery had been stressful from start to finish. The patient had come through all right in the end, but he was going to have a hell of a recovery.
She’d managed to change into street clothes, but that had used up the last of her strength. She wanted someone to carry her to her car while offering her some energizing elixir and a big, stacked high pastrami sandwich. Instead she would drink plain water and go home to eat whatever disgusting protein and kale delight was on for this night’s dinner.
“That’s a face.”
Zennie turned and saw Gina approaching. She hadn’t seen her friend since their disastrous evening out. Cassie had texted an apology, but Gina had been quiet.
Now, seeing her, Zennie felt herself stiffen as her hackles went up and she braced for more criticism.
“Just thinking about the healthy meal waiting for me at home,” she said evenly. “Bernie, the baby’s mother, arranged for a food delivery service that specializes in food for expectant mothers.”
Gina leaned against the lockers and offered a faint smile. “So no chocolate-covered graham crackers with a tequila chaser?”
Zennie’s mouth twitched. “Probably not. I’ve been eating plenty of green vegetables, though.”
“Fried?”
“No such luck.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Zennie let herself get her hopes up.
Her friend drew in a breath. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“Which isn’t the same as apologizing for what you said.”
“No, it’s not.” Gina worried her lower lip. “Zennie, I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but I don’t. I think you’re taking a huge risk. You’re my friend and I love you, but I also think you’re wrong.”
It wasn’t exactly a kick in the gut, but it was close. “Then we’re going to have to agree to disagree,” she said, opening her locker and pulling out her backpack. “I’m not sure what that means about us being friends.”
Gina winced. “You can’t let my opinion go?”
“Not when you can’t keep it to yourself. You’re right—something could go wrong, but you know what? Everything might work out just fine. This time next year, they could have a happy, healthy baby and I’ll be back to my life, having given my friend the most incredible gift ever. Even if there’s a chance for disaster, I want to try. I want to do this and if you can’t support me, then I can’t be around you.”
She hadn’t meant to say all that, but somehow the words came out.
“This is hard,” she admitted. “Way harder than I’d thought, and from everything I’ve read it’s going to get worse. I have to keep up a brave face for Bernie and her husband, so I really need my other friends to help me through this.” She opened her backpack and dug out a T-shirt that had been left in a bag on her doorstep. She held it up.
“Do you see this?” She pointed at the ridiculous cartoon stork instructing her to glow and grow. “My self-absorbed older sister left this for me sometime in the night. I’m not asking you to show up twice a week and rub my feet, but I need you to respect my decision. You’ve said you disagree and that’s fine, but if you can’t let that go and get on board, then I can’t have you in my life right now.”
Even worse than the verbal diarrhea were the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, brushing them away. “I swear, I will not get hormonal.”
Gina stared at her openmouthed. “You’ve never talked to me like that before.”
“I’ve never talked to anyone like that before. I’m sorry. I want to say I’ll love you no matter what, but apparently my love has conditions.”
“Okay,” Gina told her. “That’s clear. I’m not ready to make that decision. I guess I’ll see you later.”
Her friend...her possibly former friend...turned and walked away. Zennie felt the telltale pressure of more tears, but she ignored them. She just had to get home. She would eat, drink water, then go to bed and sleep. Everything would be better in the morning. Zennie tried to tell herself if Gina couldn’t support her, she was better off without her, which sounded very strong and brave, but in truth made her feel completely lost, alone and scared. Just one more thing that was different, now that she was going to have a baby.
* * *
Ali woke up early the morning of her wedding-that-wasn’t. She wrapped herself in a blanket and crept silently to the patio off her room to watch the sunrise. She had no idea how she felt about herself or her circumstances or anything else, but she knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t sorry she wasn’t marrying Glen.
She had an early hair appointment followed by a mani-pedi. When she got back, Daniel had promised her a day of fun. She knew he was going to take her out to the track so she could try motocross. Anything to keep her mind off what the day was supposed to be. She might be grateful she wasn’t marrying Glen but that didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling a little regretful about the day itself.
Two hours later, she had highlights, a new, flattering bob, along with freshly painted nails. She’d gone with a bright aqua on her toes and a pale pink on her fingers. She felt sassy and sexy and more than a little adventurous.
“I’m ready for my motocross lesson,” she said as she walked into the house.
Daniel stood in the kitchen. He stared at her from across the kitchen island, his eyes wide.
“What?” she demanded, then remembered her haircut. Her heart instantly sank. Did it look bad? Did he think she’d made a mistake? No! She loved her new hairstyle and if he didn’t then he was stupid.
“You look incredible,” he said, setting down the coffee mug. “Your eyes look bigger and your face is just...” He motioned vaguely in her direction. “You look great.”
“Thank you. I feel good. Now let’s go conquer some motorcycles.”
He put his coffee mug in the sink and pointed to her flip-flops. “You’re going to need closed-toe shoes. Also a long-sleeve T-shirt. The jeans are fine.”
She collected tennis shoes and socks, along with a jersey, then met him by the truck.
“My pedicure will have dried by the time we get there,” she said. “I’ll put on my shoes and socks then.”
“Beauty over safety.”
She wiggled her toes. “Duh!”
He grinned and held open the door for her.
On the way to the track, he talked to her about the class she’d be taking. “It’s for beginners, so expect there to be little kids.”
“How little?”
“Seven or eight years old.”
She groaned. “Great. I’ll feel large and uncoordinated. That’s perfect.”