If I didn’t need to go back to work after this lunch, I’d definitely be getting drunk right now.
Even so, I’m sorely tempted. Shelley and I managed to sneak away to the Mexican place down the block for lunch, and this place has the best margaritas. But I’m already skating on thin ice with Denise—I can’t afford to be performing at any less than my best. Also, if she smells alcohol on my breath, it won’t be good.
“You don’t look so good, Abby,” Shelley says. “No offense.”
Shelley is the queen of the “no offense” remarks. The game is you say something super offensive, then mitigate by adding “no offense” (but not really). For example, “No offense, but that dress makes you look like you should be jumping for fish at SeaWorld.” Or, “No offense, but you look like you’re old enough to be Monica’s mother.” But this time, it’s hard to take offense.
“I don’t feel so good,” I mumble. I stare down at my Diet Coke, wishing it would magically morph into a margarita.
“But I thought things were going well.” Shelley takes a chip from our communal bowl. “Monica got pregnant on her first shot, and you said that ultrasound was normal. So… good?”
I chew on my lip. I haven’t voiced any of my anxieties to Shelley, partially because I haven’t had a free moment to talk to her in person and this was a little too heavy for text message, but also because I know she’s going to say, “I told you so.” And I don’t need an “I told you so” right now.
But on the other hand, I need to talk to someone about this. “Things have been weird lately,” I admit.
“Weird in what way?”
“Like…” I run a chip through the salsa, even though I’m not terribly hungry. “Sam and Monica have gotten to be… friendly.”
Shelley raises an eyebrow. “Friendly?”
And just like that, the whole story comes pouring out. The night we gave Monica a ride and she stole the shotgun seat. The dinner I was late for, where Monica and Sam bonded big time over math jokes. The way she calls
him “Sammy.” The ultrasound I missed, followed by the two of them getting coffee after.
“He said he was just going for twenty minutes,” I say, “but I texted him and he didn’t get back to me for two hours. So.”
“Wow,” Shelley breathes. “That’s intense.”
“And haven’t you noticed how she’s been wearing more makeup lately and dressing more seductively?” I add. “She always used to dress like she was in church, but now she looks… you know, hot.”
“Monica’s really attractive,” she agrees. “I always thought so. And she’s Sam’s type.”
I frown. “His type?”
She smiles crookedly. “Well, she looks like you. So I’m assuming that’s his type.”
Good point. I never thought of Sam as having a “type,” because he rarely comments on other women or talks about old girlfriends. I’ve never even seen photos of the women he dated before me. But he asked me out so quickly after we met, there must have been something that drew him to me immediately.
And yes, Monica looks like me. Except younger. And curvier. And pregnant with his kid.
“Also,” I say, “they’re texting each other.” “They are?”
I nod. “I saw a text from her pop up on his screen this morning.” “What did it say?”
“Um.” I think for a minute. “I think she was thanking him for sending her a math paper she liked.”
“Well, that’s pretty innocent.”
“But how is she so into math all of a sudden?” I stir the ice listlessly in my Diet Coke. “She wanted to go to school for graphic art to become a creative director, and now somehow she knows all about matrices and cokernels, whatever the hell those are.”
“I don’t think Sam is going to be overcome by passion while talking about math.” She snorts. “Actually, I take that back. Maybe he would.”
“Ha ha.”
“I don’t know, Abby.” She shrugs. “It sounds like the texts are pretty innocent. But if you’re not sure…”
I frown at her. “What?”
“Do you have the code for Sam’s phone?”
My mouth falls open. “I’m not going to spy on my husband!” “It’s not spying. It’s snooping.”
I do have the code for Sam’s phone. But I don’t intend to do anything with it. “I’m not doing that, Shelley.”
“Well, then you really don’t know how innocent it is, do you?” I don’t like the direction this conversation is going in.
“I mean, really, Monica hasn’t actually done anything wrong, has she?” I crunch miserably on a chip. “After all, it’s my own fault I messed up the time for the ultrasound.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” “What does that mean?”
“Well,” she says thoughtfully, “doesn’t Monica have access to your calendar? Couldn’t she tell you the wrong time, wait for you to put it in your calendar, then swap it out for the correct time so you look like an idiot when you show up?”
My mouth falls open. “Do… do you really think she’d do that?” Shelley shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
And then there’s that morning meeting I was supposed to have with the Cuddles people that I didn’t know about. Is it possible Monica could be responsible for that?
“I don’t know, Shel,” I say. “That’s a little too diabolical. I can’t imagine Monica doing that.” I pause. “Can you?”
She’s quiet for several seconds while I hold my breath. Finally, she says, “I guess not.”
I let out my breath. I’m glad she doesn’t think so, because I couldn’t possibly take away Monica’s access to my calendar. She’s my assistant—a large part of her job is making sure my calendar is updated and accurate. I have to trust her.
And I do. I trust her.
But maybe I’ll change the password on my phone. My birthday isn’t very secure.
“But still,” she says. “It’s an emotional situation for everyone. Monica is pregnant, so she’s got all these hormones. And then Sam—he’s wanted a
baby for a long time, and now here’s a woman who’s pregnant with his child, but she’s not his wife. That’s got to be messing with his head.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “We should have adopted. This was a mistake.” Shelley is silent.
I sigh. “Go ahead. Say it.” “Say what?”
“You know what.” “What?”
“Tell me you told me so. You said this was a mistake before we even got started.”
“I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’ when you look like something the cat dragged in.” She shakes her head. “What kind of friend do you think I am?”
The kind who tells me I look like something the cat dragged in? Never mind.
“Anyway,” I say, “Monica will be leaving work soon, so I’ll probably hardly see her until the baby comes. Just at the appointments. And then in less than five months, we’ll have the baby.”
She grins. “And I promise—no baby showers this time.” “Please no,” I say. “I can’t imagine anything worse.” Except that’s not true. I can imagine something worse.
Sam is sitting across from me on the couch, quietly working on his computer. That’s something we do—sit next to each other in the living room, both of us working. Sometimes we don’t say a word for an hour or more, but it still makes me feel close to him. Especially when I put my legs up on the couch, and he puts his hand on my calf, absently stroking it. And whenever I look up at him, he smiles.
Sam’s phone breaks the silence by buzzing with a text message. He picks it up and grins at the screen.
“Who’s texting you?” I ask, as casually as I possibly can. “Monica.”
Of course. Prior to Monica entering our lives, Sam only got texts from me and from work. Now she’s his new text buddy.
He nudges me. “She found out the gender of the baby.”
“Oh.” I slide my laptop off my lap. “I thought we decided to wait until the birth to find out.”
He frowns. “We did?” “Yes! We did!”
“Uh…” He looks down at his phone, then back at me. “So… she already sort of… told me.”
My mouth falls open. “She told you?”
“Well, I didn’t realize we were waiting to find out!”
I shake my head. “You knew I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I didn’t know that.” He’s typing something into his phone as he talks, which is incredibly irritating. What is he saying to her? That his wife is being a bitch? “Seeing what the baby looks like will be enough of a surprise, don’t you think?”
I don’t know what to say. It’s too late to change the fact that Monica blabbed to him. Also, why would she text him and not me? I’m the one she works with. I knew her before he did. It’s because of me that all of this is happening.
“So what is it?” I finally ask.
“I thought you didn’t want to know.”
I let out an irritated huff. “If you know, then I want to know.” “Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
He grins crookedly. “It’s a boy.” “Oh.”
“We’re going to have a son!” His brown eyes are wide and excited. “Isn’t that incredible?”
His enthusiasm is contagious. I was feeling upset about Monica blowing the secret but he’s right—the important thing is we’re getting a healthy baby. A healthy baby boy! This is really happening—we’re going to be parents soon.
“I love you so much, Abby.” Sam puts down his computer on the coffee table and climbs on top of me. He kisses my neck until my body starts to tingle. “I’m so glad you’re my wife.”
I smile to myself, giving into the wonderful sensation of my husband’s lips on my body. I try to ignore the buzzing of the text messages still coming in on Sam’s phone.
