Page 115 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
Though I learn that morning sickness should be renamed morning-noon-and-night sickness, the days fly by. I bury my pain in work. I see a doctor, who confirms what I already know, along with confirming A.J. didn’t pass me any nifty STDs. I spend too much time surfing the web for homeopathic remedies for nausea and books with titles like Surviving Pregnancy: A Guide for Mothers without Partners.
I’m aware that I’m depressed, but there’s not much I can do about it, so like everything else in my life these days, I just accept it as my lot. By the time People magazine calls to schedule the interview for the feature on Fleuret they promised Kat and Nico in return for the exclusive on their wedding photos, my emotional roller coaster has taken its toll and I’m strangely numb. I give the interview, smiling woodenly when they take my picture, answering all their questions with a sense of detachment, as if it’s someone else I’m talking about. As if this hasn’t been my dream for years.
I don’t think I have dreams anymore. I think they all died the same day I did, back on that sunny afternoon in spring.
The morning of the wedding I wake early, with a terrible sense of doom hanging over my head.
I can’t shake it. Even after I’ve gone for a run, showered, and dressed, I still feel like there’s a laser target on the back of my skull, or that the major earthquake LA has been waiting for is finally about to strike. I gather my bridesmaid’s gown, shoes, jewelry, and undergarments—I’ll be getting dressed at Kat’s suite at the hotel after I’ve supervised the setup of the flowers—and head out to my car. The wedding’s at five o’clock, and all the flowers need to be in place for pictures by three, so I’m on a tight schedule. But when I open my driver’s door I stop dead in my tracks, looking at what’s been left in a corner of my windshield.
It’s not an origami bird this time. It’s a shiny, metal LAPD badge.
It’s Eric’s badge.
Fear grabs me around the throat and squeezes. I quickly look up and around, but he’s nowhere in sight. I swallow, heart racing, and pick up the badge. I turn it over in my hand; one of those round, yellow smiley face stickers is stuck on the back.
I’ve never seen anything so sinister.
As fast as I can, I stuff the badge into my purse and load my things into the car. In less than two minutes, I’m pulling out of the parking spot, headed to the shop. On the way I call my father. He doesn’t pick up on his cell, or at the house, so I leave a message on his machine.
“Dad, it’s Chloe. I just found Eric’s police badge on the windshield of my car. I have it with me. I’m a little freaked out. Can you call me when you get this please?”
I hang up, taking a corner too fast, ignoring the shout of the pedestrian I nearly run over. By the time I get to the shop I’m a shaking mess.
Trina’s already there, loading the cocktail table arrangements into delivery boxes. She stops short when she sees my face. “What’s wrong, boss?”
I dump my handbag on the counter and run a trembling hand through my hair. “Eric left his badge on my windshield this morning.”
She gapes at me. “Holy shit! He was at your apartment? Isn’
t that a violation of the restraining order?”
“I don’t know. The order says he has to stay at least three hundred feet away from me. But I was parked down the street because there’s never any stupid parking at my place. And I don’t even know if it counts if I don’t see him.”
“But leaving his badge, that’s like, intimidation or something! Seeing as how you’re the one who got him fired!”
I shoot her a death glare. “Thanks a lot.”
“I don’t mean he didn’t deserve it, Chloe, I’m just saying that a former police officer leaving his former badge on the windshield of his former girlfriend—who just happens to be the girlfriend he beat up, resulting in his exit from the police force—that’s totally fucked up.”
“I’m aware. What I don’t know is if we can do anything about it.” I pull at my hair. “And he has to pick today, of all the days!”
Trina stops loading the boxes to stare at me. Behind her glasses, her brown eyes don’t blink. “You don’t think he’d do anything at the wedding . . . do you?”
Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “I didn’t before!”
“Sorry.” She’s chagrined for a moment, then brightens. “Why don’t you take my gun?”
I stare at her in disbelief. “I didn’t just hear you say that.”
“Seriously, it’s small enough to fit in your purse. I carry it in my purse all the time. I’ve got it here now.”
I shout, “You bring a gun to work? Why?”
She looks at me as if I’m dense. “Because, duh, your ex is a cop who went cray-cray and beat you up and got his dumb ass fired from the force because of it. That’s a disaster waiting to happen right there! I’m not gonna crouch under the desk like some sitting duck if he decides to come in here, guns blazing; I’m taking his ass out!” She smiles. “Then I’ll probably get my own reality show.”
Closing my eyes, I massage my temples at the same time I draw a deep breath into my lungs. When I’ve calmed down enough to speak, I tell her, “Trina, I’m not taking your gun. And I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t bring it to work anymore, okay?”
She looks insulted. “Dude, I have a CCW.”
