Page 30 of Sweet Anarchy

"Easy, I'm fragile!" she groans into my shoulder as I squeeze her.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, pulling back with a smile.

Phoebe looks me up and down quickly, letting out a relieved smile. "Ty told Connor what happened. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Though, I have to admit, Ry, I'm pretty upset you didn't call me yourself."

"I'm sorry," I answer, feeling a ping of guilt. "It's been really hectic. And I didn't want to stress you out with everything happening with your Dad. How is he, by the way?"

Her smile drops, tears starting to swell in her eyes. "He's doing okay. He's nearly ready to move into hospice care. Mom is in the process of getting the house set up so he can be at home with nurses. Dad wants to be at home when he goes."

"Oh, Phoebe," I mutter. "I've been such a shit friend. You deserve better."

"Don't be like that," she replies. "You have a life, Ry. Besides, I know you're busy. And Dad still thinks the world of you. He asks about you from time to time. He's so proud of you. Like I am."

I fight back the urge to cry. I don't feel like I deserve to shred the tears.

Phoebe wipes away a stray tear that slips down my cheek. "Hey… it's fine, Ry. We've started to make our peace with it. It's fucked up and cruel, and I can't imagine a world without my Dad in it. But I'm making sure to spend every spare minute with him. Besides, he deserves to be free from the pain."

I nod, giving her another hug. "I'll come stop by and see him soon. He looked so happy at your wedding. Gosh, I can't believe how fast time has flown by since then."

"I know," Phoebe laughs. "Life as Mrs. Sloane is pretty good. Though, it still feels the same as before. I just have a fancy new name. Well, among other things."

"Oh?" I ask.

Phoebe digs into her pocket, pulling out her phone. "That's the other reason I wanted to stop by instead of just calling. I want to show you something."

I wait as she opens up her phone, clicking into something.

"There," she smiles, turning the phone screen to face me. "Meet your new baby niece or nephew."

Staring back at me on the screen is a blurry ultrasound picture, the clear outline of a baby's head side-on.

"You're pregnant?" I ask, excited.

She nods. "Around eight weeks. I was going to wait until twelve weeks to tell everyone, but I just can't. I'm too excited!" she squeals.

I kneel down, looking at her still nearly flat stomach. On closer inspection, I see a bit of a bump… tiny enough that it looks like she might have just had a big breakfast. But it's there… a baby.

"Oh, my God. Hi, baby!" I tell her stomach. "I'm your psychotic Aunt Rylee. Can I touch it?"

Phoebe nods, laughing. I put my hands on her stomach, wondering just how much a tiny baby can hear or feel at this stage. Probably nothing.

"Bub is about the size of a kidney bean," she tells me. "Probably still really low. But fudge, the sickness…"

I wrinkle my nose. "Ew. Is it bad?"

"I hate to admit it, but Connor stinks all of a sudden. But at the same time, I just want to jump him whenever the nausea passes."

"I've heard the second trimester is great for sex," I mumble, standing back up. "You'll be glowing and fucking him."

Phoebe laughs, putting a hand on her stomach. "Or I'll still be vomiting. I hope not. Mom had hyperemesis with me. Vomited non-stop the whole nine months, even apparently still felt nausea the whole year afterwards whenever she breastfed."

"That sounds… horrible," I say. "But it's all worth it."

"It is," she agrees. "I just wish Dad would be around to meet his grandchild."

I nod sadly. "He'll be around. I watched a documentary ages ago that said kids have this weird sixth-sense shit. Like they can see ghosts."

"Okay, that's creepy," Phoebe says. "I watched too many horror movies growing up."

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