Page 111 of Good as Gold
But our intimacy seems to have vanished. We were so easy with each other this summer. So effortless. It makes me feel a little crazy—like maybe I dreamt the whole thing.
Maybe I did. My attachment was probably one-sided, and I was just so gone for him that I couldn’t see it.
Frustrated with myself—and with the crib—I set down my tools. A glance at my watch tells me it’s a quarter to four. The Busy Bean closes in fifteen minutes, and I need a break. I scurry toward the front door and step into my tumbled leather boots with the fuzzy tops.
It’s a challenge to be fashionable when you’re super pregnant. I haven’t wanted to spend money on maternity clothes, so I’ve been relying on a steady rotation of black leggings under long tunics. I miss my tight jeans. Hell, I miss painting my own toenails. But here we are.
I smear on some lip-gloss and shrug on my coat—although it no longer zips—before trotting down the stairs.
Outside, it’s wet and muddy. I cross the parking lot and hesitate at the door to the coffee shop. Maybe it makes me a coward, but I’m still avoiding Zara. I can tell she’s deeply curious about my pregnancy, and I don’t feel ready to speak freely about Matteo’s part in it.
Plus, I’m afraid of what I’ll say if she asks me how I feel about him.
I don’t see anyone behind the counter. What Icansee is a lone pumpkin whoopie pie in the pastry case, so I decide to risk it. I open the door, and the bells on the push bar jingle to announce my presence.
Zara steps out of the kitchen.Whoops!
“Hey! I knew it would be you,” she says. “Right on time before closing.”
“That isnota compliment.”
She laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She removes the whoopie pie from the case before I even point at it and sets it on a china plate.
“I’ll take it to go if you’re trying to get out of here.”
“Nah.” She shakes her head. “Sit with me a minute. I need a break, too.”
“Okay, sure,” I say, because it would be rude to decline.
“Want some decaf?” she asks. “I was just about to pour it out, anyway.”
I guess I’m not getting out of here quickly. “Love some.”
Zara makes two mugs, doctors both with a splash of milk, and carries them over to a table.
I try not to fall on the whoopie pie like a hungry lion. I’m only partly successful.
“How are you feeling?” Zara asks, sipping her coffee and eyeing me over the mug’s rim.
“Pretty good. You know how it is. I’m large. I’m clumsy. I am always hungry. I need three pillows supporting various parts of my body just to fall asleep. But none of that really matters, does it?”
She considers the question. “Eventually, no. But it can be pretty uncomfortable while you’re going through it.”
I shrug, because there’s no point in complaining. I chose this. I want this baby. Badly.
“Are you having a baby shower?” she asks.
“Not exactly,” I admit. “My college friends are all out of state. But my mother and my aunts are having a tea for me in a few weeks. And, uh, I don’t need much.”Thanks toyour brother. “I’m actually assembling the crib today.”
Zara frowns. “By yourself? I tried that, and it didn’t work. I couldn’t figure out how to attach the panels together.”
“Well, yeah.” I hide behind my coffee mug. “It’s an issue.”
“Finish that coffee,” she says crisply. “Then we’ll put the crib together. RODDY!” she hollers toward the kitchen.
“Yeah?” the baker calls back.
“Can you make the bank deposit? I gotta help Leila with something.”
