Page 56 of The Bartender's Baby

Evie

See you in an hour.

Then I texted Tabby screenshots of that text convo. Her reply?

Tabitha

The nerve.

I called her immediately, and she picked up, saying, “Class starts in five minutes.”

“Did you know? That Evie’s pregnant?”

“Yeah. She told me a few weeks ago.”

“How come you didn’t tell me?”

“Because she and Dylan wanted to wait until after the first trimester.”

I trapped an argument on the tip of my tongue about how we didn’t have secrets anymore. Now that Tabby and I were anusnow, the cone of silence disintegrated.

But I swallowed it down real quick. After learning about Tabby’s first pregnancy, I understood the desire to keep it quiet. Pain of loss was hard enough without others knowing about it.

“Well, she’s coming over so we can call my mom,” I explained. When I was met with silence, I asked, “That’s okay, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s fine.”

I got up to put my dish in the washer. “Why’s your voice all weird?”

“My voice isn’t weird.”

“Yes, it is. Should I not tell my parents about us?”

The background noise on her end faded like she’d stepped somewhere quiet, but she didn’t respond.

“Tab. What is it?”

Entire months passed before she finally spat it out. “Is she going to be upset? I don’t want her to hate me.”

This girl. All she wanted was to be loved. So much so that she feared my mother would hate her.

Goddamn.

I leaned my elbows on the counter, dropping my head in my hands, pretending I didn’t want to fight anyone and everyone who had ever hurt her. “No, Tabby, she’s not going to hate you.”

“I’m pregnant with somebody else’s baby.”

Lighting myself on fire would have been less painful than that reminder, but this wasn’t about me right now. It was about reassuring her. “I don’t know how she’ll react, but I can guarantee it will not be with anything close to hatred. For all of my mom’s faults, she would never judge you. Plus,”—I love you—“she’s always wanted me to find a nice girl and settle down.”

Tabby snorted.

“You’re not exactly nice, but you have settled me down, so one out of two ain’t bad.” I laughed. “I heard your eye roll.”

“I have to go.”

“Okay. I’m making this potpie recipe from Pioneer Woman for dinner.”

“All right,” she said, but I knew she was smiling. My woman liked when I played homemaker.

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