Me: So this small, casual wedding is no more?
Dean: There are more people on the guest list then I actually know.
I laugh and shake my head. I don’t understand why people freak out so much over a wedding. I get that it’s a big deal and it symbolizes something huge. Love should be celebrated.
But not at the expense of going into debt.
Dean: Also, Kara doesn’t know what to do about the bachelorette party
Me: Aren’t her sisters planning it?
Dean: Yeah, I mean she doesn’t know if she should invite you or not. You can’t do anything.
Me: I can do lots of stuff.
Dean: You know what I mean, sis…
Me: I do. Tell her she doesn’t have to invite me. We can go out and drink another time.
Dean: Good plan. Another question…
Me: Yeah?
Dean: Do you still want to be in the wedding party?
I blink once. Twice. Three times. I know he’s only asking because Kara’s hoping I’ll say no.
Me: I want to be in it if I’m welcome.
Dean starts typing and stops to delete what he wrote several times. I look at my phone, waiting for him to respond. Now I know this is all Kara. Even if Dean didn’t want me in the wedding party, there’s no way in hell he’d risk the wrath of our mother. She’s going to be pissed.
Shaking my head, I put my phone down and get back to work. Five minutes later, Dean calls.
“Calling to kick me out of your wedding?” I ask. I’m being catty, but it’s Dean.
“Shut up.”
“Then why are you calling?”
He sighs. “Kara is worried about you being super pregnant at the wedding.”
“Super pregnant? Nice.”
“Well, you either will be, or you’ll have a newborn.”
“I know.”
“Right now, we have an even number of bridesmaids and groomsmen, but we can’t assume you’ll be there.”
“So you’d rather not have me?”
“No,” he rushes out. As annoyed as I am with him, I do feel a little bad for the guy. This wedding is turning levelheaded Kara into a bridezilla. “I want you there. But if you don’t want to be there, it’s okay too.”
“Gee, way to be subtle.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that did sound bad. What I mean is, I don’t want you to feel bad if you can’t be there. I know you and how you feel bad about everything.”
“That is true, but I really don’t think I’ll feel bad if I’m pushing out a baby the day of your wedding. It’s not like I’m bailing because I’m too lazy to go.” I pick up the pen again and start tapping it against my desk, not realizing how much this is upsetting me. “You can’t punish me for being pregnant.”
“I’m not!”
“It feels like you are. And let me remind you that my due date was determined before you picked your wedding date. You’re acting like I chose when I got knocked up just to spite you.”
“That’s not true.” Dean lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Okay.”
A few seconds of silence tick by. “Mom said you and Archer are going to Hawaii?”
“I think so. We’re going somewhere in October. We still have to pick a place.”
“That’ll be nice. Get a chance to relax before the baby comes and all.”
“That’s our thinking.” I subconsciously rub my belly. “Are you still weirded out by us?”
“Yes,” he says honestly. “But it’s cool too. My best friend is the father of my niece. He’s family now.”
“Right. It’ll make holidays more fun for you to have him there.”
“It will, and I think we’ll have to bust out some of our old traditions. You might not know about them.”
I laugh. “I don’t think I want to.”
“Hey, sorry to cut you short, but Dad and I have to head out and see a client.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Of course, sis.”
We hang up and I feel a little better, though it still stings to know Kara is more concerned about having an equal number of bridesmaids and groomsmen in her photos than having me there.
Getting up to pee, I force myself to talk to Mike and Samantha, who incorrectly coded the new program. They took the news better than I hoped. There were no tears at least.
My phone dings when I sit back at my desk. It’s Archer, replying to the group messages. He was in surgery and missed it all, but doesn’t care about dates either. He calls right after that, and I answer on the first ring.
“Hey, babe. Are you okay?”
I know exactly what he’s asking about. “Yeah. Dean called and tried to explain. Kara is obsessing over things being perfect and is worried I’m going to go into labor at the altar or something.”
He chuckles. “If you’re still pregnant by then, it’s entirely possible.”
“Oh my God, don’t even say that. How’s your day going? You’re out of surgery already? It’s early.”
“I just finished my second procedure for the day. I started at six a.m.”
“I am not a morning person.”
“I’ve noticed.”
I prop my feet up, trying to hold off on taking my shoes off. They’re just so pretty. “I’m going to look up resorts and plane tickets during lunch. Want me to send you options?”
“Sure. I’m looking forward to seeing you in your bikini all week.”
“Baby bump and all.”
“You’re still sexy, Quinn.”
I smile. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I do. And I keep thinking about you in that lingerie. I should have taken a photo.”
“I did take one. Want me to send it to you?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I’ll send it then.”
A page goes out for Dr. Jones, echoing through the phone. “That’s me,” he says. “Gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I quickly send the photo, smiling when I think of Archer’s face when he opens the text. Setting my phone down, I get back to work, only making it so far as pulling up a new file before Archer texts me back. He’s at work and can’t send me a sexy photo back, but just a selfie of him in his scrubs is enough for me. I flip my phone over but don’t just see Archer’s name.
I see Archer’s name next to Dean’s…in the group message we were just texting in.
Oh God. No. No, no, no, no. I didn’t—I mean I couldn’t—but maybe. I madly unlock my phone.
“Oh my God.”
I did. I sent a sexy photo of myself to Archer and my brother. I might as well start digging my own grave now because I’m officially dead.
“Fuck.” I start typing something only to stop. What the hell do I say after this?
Archer: Thanks, babe, but I don’t think Dean wants to see that. Sorry, buddy. Don’t really wash your eyes with bleach. It could make you blind.
Me: Delete this whole thread, Dean. Now.
I space out my words, trying to bury the image so he won’t see it when he opens the text.
Me: Don’t
Me: Even
Me: Look
Me: Just
Me: Delete
Archer: What are you doing?
Me: Burying the image. OMG OMG
Archer: So you don’t want me to screenshot it and send again?
Me: NO
I set my phone down, laughing to keep from crying. Sucking it up, I call Dean. His phone rings. And rings. And rings.
And then my mother answers. I don’t know if this is a blessing or a curse.
“Hey, honey! Dean’s out on a job with Dad. He left his phone at home.”
“Hi, Mom.” If I could internally cringe any harder, I’d turn inside out.
“They won’t be back until later. Is something up?”
“Uh, not really.”