Page 10 of Unmatched

I stagger to the sidewalk, my face surely glowing like a traffic light.

“You—you have a grand-dog,” I stutter, wishing I’d come up with something not completely inadequate. Anton and I have discussed this. We do want to start a family. We’re just waiting for the right time. “And you know, we both go to these things we call our jobs.”

“So do Celia and Adam.” She sniffs. “Didn’t stop them from getting busy.”

I gasp, the corners of my eyes suddenly pricking with tears. She can’t know how close this hits right now. How I was so tired the other night, but I did try to get something started. How Anton stormed out on me and spent the whole night on the couch. How we haven’t spoken about it since. But I’m not about to mention any of that to her. Because she might say something like “I told you so.”

“I’m just trying to help, honey. You don’t want to wait too long.”

“I’m only twenty-nine!” I jam my credit card into a parking meter and stop to collect myself. Anton always tells me I need to set better boundaries, that I feed into her too much. I just can’t help it when she starts digging at me like this. It feels like I’m back in high school being grilled on keeping my legs closed and my body pure. Except now I guess the message has reversed. “Anyway, this is between me and Anton.”

“Is something going on with you two? You haven’t put on weight, have you?”

“Mom, stop.”

She lets out a long sigh. “Sweetie, I just want to see you happy like?—”

“Like you and Dad?” I snarl, because now I can’t help myself. My father walked out when I was four and Celia was ten, and sometimes I think I understand why. “Babies definitely brought you two closer together.”

“Oh!” Mom’s voice drifts back into its cottony state. “I just got a text from Adam. Celia’s already at ten centimeters, and he says she’s absolutely glowing!”

I roll my eyes, trying to imagine my sister giving birth without a hair out of place.

“Hope it’s beautiful,” I say through my teeth. “I’ve got to go.”

“Motherhood will suit her so well,” Mom says wistfully. “You’re both already much more capable than I was.”

Nope. Not even dipping my toe into that subject. “Happy birthday, Mom.” I pull the phone away from my ear, my attention shifting to an incoming text from Tomás. “Let me know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Goodbye, my little canine executive officer.” She laughs, amused by her own wordplay. “I’ll send pictures of your new niece or nephew soon!”

“Sorry I’m late. Thanks again for rescheduling,” I say around a bagel shoved in my mouth. I set down my mug at one of the few outdoor tables on the back patio at Foothills Coffee off Alameda, firing off a text to Tomás before I sink into the chair.

Caprice glances up from her phone, looking slightly startled. “Hey. Sure. It’s fine. I uh...I know how crazy you’ve been.”

“I admit, I barely remember what day it is this week.”

“Thursday . . .” she says absently.

“Right.” I force a laugh. “Sorry, I just had the most surreal chat with my mom.”

She sets her own phone down, raising her head to look up at me. “Oh? What about?”

I open my mouth, then quickly realize I don’t want to bring up the whole baby thing. Or my current situation with Anton. We’ll be fine in a few days. Hopefully. “Umm, it’s her birthday, and she didn’t think I got her enough.” I turn my phone face down on the table, hoping it stays silent for at least ten minutes. “So, how are things with you?”

“Good. I . . . I started a new blog series.”

“That’s exciting,” I say, relieved to discuss her life instead of mine. “What about?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “I can’t really talk about it yet.”

I wait for her to give me a little more. Caprice and I have known each other since freshman year at CU when we lived in the same dorm. One of the things I love about her is how direct she normally is, but right now, she just looks kind of uncomfortable. The story she’s working on must be big if she won’t even hint to me about it.

“Okay.” I cough. “Well, how’d it go the other night?”

She looks at me blankly. “Which night?”

“You had a date?” I raise my brows. “With the college professor who likes motorcycles, romantic comedies, and home brewing?”

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