Page 51 of Sunday

“What’s up?”

“That’s what I wanna know.”

“What’re you talking about, Cedar?” she asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“You were late coming down for brunch. You never miss brunch, and you’re always down there before I finish cooking.Matter of fact, you’re usually down there while I’m cooking. What’s up?”

She shrugged but didn’t meet my gaze. I watched as she shuffled across the room and grabbed her robe. Sunday placed it on, slid into her slippers, and headed into the bathroom.

“Nothing,” she finally commented in a cheerful voice.

She closed the door behind her, and I glanced at her phone that lay on the bed, tempting me. Sunday didn’t keep a lock on her phone, and it would be easy to go inside and figure out who she was talking with. But I didn’t want to snoop on her like that. The last time I did that shit, I’d been destroyed. I needed to trust her, and I needed her to be honest with me.

But I wouldn’t lie. I was getting suspicious as a muthafucka. She was behaving very oddly lately, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. On the one hand, she kept assuring me that she was fine and we were good. On the other hand, she was acting out of character. I was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words.

I listened as the toilet flushed, and then the water turned on in the sink as she washed her hands. It took her a little longer than I expected, and I figured she was probably washing her face too. When she stepped out of the bathroom, I wiggled my fingers at her.

I grabbed her hand when she walked up to me. I led her down the steps and to the breakfast nook for us to have brunch. We sat down and held hands, and I prayed over our meal.

She ate in silence as I carefully watched her throughout the meal. We were halfway through before she finally spoke up.

“You’re gonna keep staring at me?”

“Are you gonna keep secrets from me?”

“I’m not keeping secrets from you, Cedar.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m feeling the strain of something, and I don’t like it, Sunday.”

She blew out a breath. “What do you want from me, CJ? I reassure you that I’m not cheating on you. I love you and want no one else but you.”

“But your moods don’t match your words.”

She scratched the back of her neck and said, “Forgive me. I’m a pregnant woman with severe mood swings. I haven’t adjusted to this, CJ. I’m not used to being up one minute and down the next. What do you want from me?”

Her eyes welled with tears, and I couldn’t help but wonder where the hell this was coming from. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was just pregnancy hormones. After all, I hadn’t been around enough pregnant women to call it, and I damn sure wasn’t an expert on this shit. But my gut kept telling me it was something more.

“Who were you on the phone with?”

I couldn’t get caught up in her emotions. As much as I wanted to protect Sunday, I needed her to protect me, and it didn’t feel like she was doing that at the moment.

“Layla.”

“Who’s Layla?”

“My high school friend.”

“Same person you met at the hotel?”

“We weren’t at the hotel. I wish you’d quit saying it that way,” she mumbled as she cut a piece of her crepe with her fork. She pushed it around the plate, but she didn’t eat it.

“What else am I supposed to say?”

“I told you that we met at the restaurant.”

“You also told me she was an old friend who just happened to be in town.”

“She is.”

---