Page 10 of Tangled Threads Of Fate

I finished out my shift, pushing the weird lady deep down into the box of shit I wasn’t examining too closely.

My baby daddy.

My finances.

Three babies.

Crazy lady in the drive-thru.

All of that was going straight into the “worry about later” box as I just focused on how I’d survive the day. And then how I’d survive the week. And then the month. For like, eighteen more years.

I walked home slowly, the tiredness that I’d attributed to some kind of illness still plaguing my bones. I had to stop and get Mrs. Byrne’s groceries, but soon I’d probably have to ask Nate if he could do it. Maybe Valerie would deliver them for me, even though it wasn’t part of their service. Mrs. Byrne had been going to Rossi’s since there first was a Rossi’s; surely that had garnered a little loyalty, though I was pretty sure they were still selling her canned vegetables for a quarter.

I walked in to find Mr. Lunetta—who was always there—looking at canned tuna on the bottom shelf again. Walking over, I plucked the can he’d chosen last time from the row and handed it to him. “Thank ya, girlie,” he said in his gruff old man voice.

I weaved my way through to Val at the register. She grabbed the sacks that I’d dropped off earlier and handed them over to me.

“No sub today?” Uncle Antonio yelled from the other side of the store.

I shook my head, giving Val a tight smile. “Not today, Uncle Antonio,” I called back, grabbing the bags.

Val stared at me, a small crease between her brows. “Everything okay, Wren? You’re looking sick.”

Ha. If only she knew.“Nah, I’m fine. Just tired. Crazy day at work today.”

Val didn’t seem convinced, but I hightailed it out of there before she asked any more questions. The bags seemed extra heavy, and I was puffing by the time I got home. Plus, my stomach was happy to swirl with nausea early today.

Dammit.

Knocking on Mrs. Byrne’s door, I heard the squeak of her recliner, then the clip-clop of her uneven gait as she shuffled across the room. Finally, she opened the door and smiled brightly. “My sweet Wren, come in.” She ushered me inside, but I didn’t miss that she was a little stiffer today. She was also a little grayer.

“Afternoon, Mrs. B. Are you using your oxygen while you watch your soaps, like you’re supposed to?”

She waved me off with a huff, which I was pretty sure meant no. “Have you come to tell me you’re pregnant?” she asked haughtily.

I gaped. She smirked.Touché, Mrs. Byrne.

“How the hell did you know that? I didn’t even know until yesterday!”

She raised a wispy eyebrow at me. “I’m old as dirt. I’ve seen a fair few pregnant women in my time. I just know. I was waiting for you to tell me. You must be halfway along, judging by the size.”

I huffed a disgruntled laugh. “I wish.” I slumped down at her small table. “It’s triplets.” Mrs. Byrne clutched her chest, her eyeballs rolling heavenward, and I bolted to my feet. “Mrs. B, are you okay?”

She flapped her hand at me. “Of course I am, child. I’m probably no closer to a heart attack than you were when you found out. Three!” She shook her head. “I don’t know whether I should pray that your parents watch over you, or curse out your grandmother for letting this happen.” She shook her head at the ceiling again, like she was actually cursing out the spirits of my dead ancestors. “And the father?”

I flushed red. Fuck, it had been easier to tell Nate that I didn’t know the father than Mrs. Byrne. “Uh, he isn’t in the picture.” See, a way better explanation thanI have no fucking clue who he is and therefore he can’t be in the picture.

Mrs. Byrne clicked her tongue in disapproval, but moved over to her bags of groceries. I stood and helped her put everything away, and somehow, her not tossing me out on the street as a harlot made me feel better.

Finally, with everything put away, she pulled out a large pot and sat it on the stove. She took out half the vegetables we’d just stacked into the fridge, as well as some meat from the small drawer freezer.

I watched her totter around for a moment, before it became too much. “What are you doing, Mrs. B? You should be resting and sucking in that good oxygen.”

“Psh. I’m making you soup. You’re eating for four now. You need your strength. A big pot of vegetable soup, that’s what you need.” She was using too much of her weekly food rations as she tipped vegetables into the pot, muttering to herself the whole time. I was going to have to replenish her stocks, but the thoughtfulness of it made me want to cry.

And throw up.

Fuck.

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