“Is that not okay?” she asked.
“Oh, no, it’s amazing,” I said, sliding my arms around her waist and kissing her lips softly. “I’m just surprised your stomach could handle it.”
“It’s the strangest thing,” she said. “I had toast earlier today, and I thought the butter was going to make my stomach file for independence, but then a couple hours ago I got the biggest craving for spicy tacos. I don’t know why I could handle tacos but not literal bread.”
“Sounds like someone else is making decisions for you,” I said, pulling her close.
“Yeah, your little one in there is, and for this one time, I am not going to argue.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Perfect choice.”
I pressed another kiss to her lips and her eyes searched mine.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. I sighed.
“Not wrong, really.” I sat down at the kitchen table, and she went back to stirring the meat in the pan. “Nick came into the bar.”
“Oh, yeah, Nick can never know,” she said.
I laughed, but she didn’t join me. I turned in my chair and looked at her, but she kept her back to me and stirred the meat.
“You know that’s not possible, right? Eventually he is going to know. It won’t exactly be easy to hide in a few months.”
“I know,” she said in a voice that told me she was very reluctantly accepting it, but with reservations. “I just thought maybe we could wait until the second trimester.”
“Why wait so long?” I asked. “It was killing me not to say anything today, and that’s the first day. The first one. Being around my brothers and not saying anything was difficult as hell but being around Nick and not saying anything just feels like I’m lying through my teeth. I can’t keep that up but for so long.”
She placed the wooden spatula on the edge of the pan and turned to me. She was clearly upset, and I felt for her. As much as it was driving me insane not to say anything, it was just as hard for her. The only person in either of our lives who knew was Melissa, and while that was her longtime friend, it wasn’t like most people who get to tell the world and be fawned on. She deserved to be fawned on.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this is hard for you, too. We can wait until the second trimester. It’s just going to be really hard around your brother.”
“I know,” she said, looking down at her feet. Suddenly, her phone rang and we both looked at it on the kitchen table. It was well after midnight, but I could see the name on the caller ID. It was her mother.
“Might want to get that,” I said. “Or else she will assume you ran off with the circus.”
That seemed to get a giggle from her, and she returned to some of the happiness she had when I first walked in. But the dread in her steps as she walked to her phone was palpable. I stood up and went to the pan to mix the meat while she answered the phone.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Becca?” Her mother’s voice came over the speakers as if she were shouting. Becca held the phone away from her ear and squinted one eye.
“Yes, Mom, I am usually the person answering my phone,” she said.
“What are you doing awake at this hour?” her mother asked.
“Talking to you,” Becca said. “You called me, remember.”
“Of course I called you,” her mother said, and I shut the heat off the stove and checked the timer for the shells in the oven. I could overhear both sides of the conversation behind me, but that didn’t mean I needed to blatantly listen in. “I needed to talk to you about this weekend. I thought you should bring the chips.”
“What?” Becca asked.
“For the party, Becca,” her mother said, as if this was a conversation they had been having for days. “Your father’s birthday party.”
“Oh, that is this weekend,” Becca said, and I turned back to look at her. Her eyes went wide, and she mouthed, “Oh shit,” to which I chuckled.
“Who is in with you right now?” her mother said. “I heard a man. Are you okay?”
“It’s Tyler, Mother,” Becca said. “I am fine.”
“Hi, Mrs. Watson,” I called, and Becca’s smile went from fake to strained.
“Oh,” I heard her mother say. “At this hour?”
“Yes, Mother,” Becca said, putting her head in her hands.
“Well, that seems inappropriate,” Mrs. Watson said. Becca made a frustrated sound and got up to walk out of the room, continuing to talk as she went into the bedroom. I chuckled again and finished off making the tacos before she came back.
“So, thanks for that.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s fine,” she said. “So, Dad is having a birthday party this weekend, and I told her I would only come if you could come, too.”