Page 122 of Strictly the Worst

I look down and she’s right. “Ugh. I’m getting old.”

“It’s not you, sweetie. It’s the dress.”

The third one is black satin. It’s as tight as the last one, but in all the right places.

“Hello boobs,” Angela says, staring at the neckline. “Jesus, Linc’s eyes are going to pop out.”

I look down. Yeah, they really do look impressive in this.

“You look like you’ve had a boob job,” Angela tells me, laughing. “All of you will be like this once you two are living together.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s rich and you’ll be able to afford all the mom glow ups.”

And there it is again, that little feeling of inadequacy. I don’t even know where it’s coming from. “Do you think I need them?” I ask, my voice quiet.

“Oh honey.” She rushes over to me, hugging me so tight my boobs squash against her chest. “I was joking. Of course you don’t need surgery. You don’t need anything. You’re perfect.” She shakes her head. “I speak before I think sometimes. You know that.”

“It’s not you. I know you were joking. I’m just waiting for my period to start and my body feels bloated and I’m in that I hate myself hormonal phase.”

She looks at me for a minute. “When is your period due?”

“I don’t know. This week sometime.”

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Positive.” At least that’s one thing I can be sure of. “I just can’t understand why they’re getting worse.” I sigh. Because I hate feeling this way, I really do.

“Maybe you’re perimenopausal.”

I frown. “What?”

“You know, like about to hit the menopause. Like your body is in it’s last ditch effort to keep you fertile, so it’s throwing all the hormones it has at you until it finally gives up.”

“You think I’m menopausal?” I ask her, a sick feeling tugging at my stomach. “I’m only thirty-five.” And now I suddenly feel older. So much older than Linc’s thirty-two years.

Angela’s eyes widen as though she’s sensed she’s made things worse. “It was just a suggestion. It’s probably nothing. I was just trying to help.”

“But what if I am?” I ask. “Linc’s in the prime of his life. He won’t want to be with me.”

She shakes her head. “Of course he will. I mean you won’t have to worry about birth control at least.”

I know she’s trying to cheer me up. “What if Linc wants kids?” I ask her. And now I’m panicking again. How can a few years between us feel like a lifetime?

Any single guy worth anything isn’t gonna saddle himself with a single mom. Especially not one approaching forty.

Jared’s words of the other week echo in my mind. He’s wrong about Linc, I know he is. But I also know Linc adores his nieces and nephews. He’s going to want kids.

“Have you and Linc talked about having a family?” she asks me.

“No.” And why haven’t we? He’s already talking about us moving in together and we haven’t even spoken about the most important thing.

“Do you want more?” she asks me. And all these questions are just making me panic.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure.” I’m getting older, my career is finally on track. And then there’s Zoe. She’s getting closer to college than kindergarten. Even if she gets a scholarship, my half of her expenses are going to pretty much wipe me out.

Everything’s happened too quickly. I feel like an idiot for not talking with him more. I’m in love with him, but I have no idea what he wants from me.

---