Page 18 of Friar
My baby.The words sent a wave of both terror and fierce protectiveness through me.My hand drifted to my stomach.There was a life growing inside me -- a tiny cluster of cells that would someday be a person.A person who might have Friar’s eyes, or Nugget’s smile, or Nigel’s…
I pushed the thought away, focusing on my breakfast.The eggs were good, simple but filling.I forced myself to eat despite the constant low-grade nausea that had become my morning companion.The baby needed nutrients, even if my appetite had abandoned me.
“I’ve been thinking,” Friar said after a few minutes of companionable silence.“You need stuff, right?Baby stuff.”
I glanced up, surprised.“I guess so.Eventually.”
“Not eventually.Now.”He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed in a way that made him look oddly vulnerable.“Babies need things.Cribs and clothes and whatever.We should get that sorted.”
“I don’t have much money,” I admitted, heat rising to my cheeks again.“And I don’t even know where I’ll be in two weeks.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said firmly.“You’ll need the stuff regardless.The baby will need it.”
The way he said it -- so matter-of-fact, so certain -- made my throat tighten with emotion.In the midst of all this uncertainty, Friar was focusing on practical things, on what the baby would need.As if the baby’s needs were a given, non-negotiable, regardless of what happened with me.
“Okay,” I said softly, not trusting myself to say more without my voice breaking.
We finished breakfast in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.Sunlight continued to stream through the window, catching dust motes in golden beams.The coffee warmed my hands and settled my stomach.For just a moment, I allowed myself to imagine this was normal -- that this kitchen was mine too, that Friar and I did this every morning, that my future wasn’t balanced on the knife’s edge of Beast’s two-week deadline.
Friar caught me looking at him again and held my gaze, his expression unreadable.In that moment, with the morning light turning his eyes that impossible shade of blue, I felt something shift between us -- something I couldn’t name and was afraid to examine too closely.
Because no matter how domestic this scene was, no matter how right it felt to sit across from him at his kitchen table, the reality remained: in two weeks, he might decide I wasn’t his responsibility after all.And then where would I be?
* * *
The truck smelled of leather and motor oil, with subtle undertones of cigarettes and the pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror.I sat with my hands folded in my lap, watching the familiar town landscape slide past my window.Every storefront, every street corner reminded me of my life before -- the life where I was just Uncle Pete’s niece, the good Christian girl who kept her head down and her thoughts to herself.Now I was someone else entirely -- pregnant, homeless except for Friar’s spare room, and on my way to buy baby things with a man I barely knew but who might be the father of my child.
Friar drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh.His fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against his jeans, betraying a nervousness I wouldn’t have expected from him.The truck’s engine rumbled beneath us, vibrating through the floorboards and up into my bones.It was oddly comforting, that steady mechanical pulse.
“You ever been to Baby Barn before?”he asked, breaking the silence as we turned onto the highway that led to the next town over -- far enough that we wouldn’t run into anyone who knew me from Uncle Pete’s church.
“No,” I admitted.“I’ve never had a reason to.”
He nodded, gaze fixed on the road ahead.“Me neither.”
I wondered what his club brothers would think if they could see him now, driving to a baby store with a pregnant church girl in his passenger seat.The thought almost made me smile despite everything.
The store appeared ahead, a sprawling building with a cartoonish barn facade painted in cheerful primary colors.Giant stork cutouts perched on the roof, holding bundles in their beaks.The parking lot was half-full, mostly with sensible family sedans and minivans.Friar’s massive black truck stood out like a wolf among sheep as he pulled into a space near the entrance.
“Ready?”he asked, cutting the engine.
I wasn’t, not really, but I nodded anyway.My stomach churned with a mixture of morning sickness and anxiety as I climbed down from the high seat.Friar was beside me immediately, one hand hovering near my elbow as if ready to catch me if I stumbled.I appreciated the gesture even as it reminded me of my vulnerability.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, releasing a wave of air-conditioned air scented with baby powder and plastic.The sensory assault was immediate -- bright colors everywhere, cheerful music playing overhead, displays stretching in every direction.Mobiles hung from the ceiling, turning slowly in the artificial breeze.Walls of diapers.Racks of tiny clothes.Strollers lined up like an army ready to march.
I froze just inside the entrance, suddenly overwhelmed.This was real.I was having a baby.In roughly seven months, I would be responsible for a tiny human who would need all these things and more.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied, my hands twisting together.“Just… a lot.”
He nodded, understanding without me having to explain.“Let’s just look first,” he suggested, grabbing a cart from the line near the door.“No pressure.”
I followed him into the store, grateful for his solid presence beside me.We moved slowly through the aisles, neither of us speaking much.Each item represented a future I could barely imagine, a reality I wasn’t prepared for.
In the bedding section, my fingers lingered on a display set -- a crib bumper, sheet, and quilt covered in yellow and gray elephants.The fabric was impossibly soft against my skin, the pattern gender-neutral and sweet without being cloying.I imagined a nursery decorated in these colors, peaceful and warm.
“You like that one?”Friar asked, watching me closely.
