Page 82 of Good Guy Gabe

I just can’t for the life of me figure out why she’d lie now. I drop my side of the backing, wanting to be dramatic but still laying it down as gently as possible so it doesn’t actually adhere and create more problems. Then I anchor my fists at my waist, thankful it still exists because the baby bloat is not easing up and I’m growing more concerned daily that the obstetrician is lying to me and I’m going to birth an actual monster baby. “Okay, you two. Fess up. I know for a fact you did not pick up your longarm and drop it.”

Rose looks relieved at this. Probably because I know these two well enough to know they would have actually dropped it, repeatedly if necessary, just to make the lie work.

“So there’s no reason on Earth that we’ve spent the last—” I glance up to the clock— “hour now sandwiching this and not made any progress on it unless you two were up to something. What is going on—oh god.”

“Are you okay?” Rose asks, startled, as Iris rushes to my side.

I shrug her off. “It’s Valentine’s Day! And you two are thick as thieves with Gabe. Is he plotting some ridiculous thing? Because I don’t care if it’s Valentine’s Day—”

I silence myself when the initial sheepish looks they get sink into pity. I bet they think Gabe has forgotten what day it is and I’m imagining a surprise plot. I haven’t told them we’ve broken up.

For a second there, this whole fantasy flashed through my mind that the reason he’s now blown me off several days in a row — because apparently I didn’t learn my lesson at the hardware store — is he’s planning something big for today. It makes somuch sense. He’s such a manipulative jerk that of course he’d pull some gaslighting nonsense like this.

I hate him so much.

But I want chocolates and flowers and a giant fancy dinner. I want him to beg me to take him back. Ineedit.

“He’s not plotting anything, is he?” I ask, madder that he isn’t than when I thought he was. Completely ridiculous.

Iris takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Honey, we know.”

At my peevish look, Rose clarifies. “That you and Gabe broke up. Rachel told us.”

“How does Rachel know?”

“She overheard you talking to that nice cheerleader lady.”

Keira. She’s stopped by a few times recently, checking in and offering me hand-me-down baby stuff, inviting me out for lunches with Cadence and Wren, but I haven’t been brave enough to accept the invitations yet. I’m warming up to Keira, I truly am, but I don’t know if it’s smart getting close to her when I don’t want to reconcile with Gabe.

But every one of her invites is more inviting than the last.

She’s been around a lot lately, but it must have been that first time Keira was here that Rachel overheard her. I haven’t seen Rachel much this past month, so I doubt her and Keira’s paths have crossed since then.

Everyone’s known for a month now that I ended things with Gabe. Everyone’s also seen how many times I’ve casually excused myself to get ‘something’ from my apartment and Gabe’s followed after me. Lord, give me strength.

“And between you and us,” Iris continues, “you’ve been a bit crabby this week—”

“I have not!”

Both ladies smirk, identical enough I’d think they were twins if not for the fact that visibly, they couldn’t be any more different than Jack Sprat and his wife.

“Okay fine, I’ve been crabby this week. I’m sure it’s second trimester hormones.” With a sigh, I take over the sandwiching, getting the backing on in a couple minutes. “You guys don’t need to be here if you don’t want to be. I’m fine, I promise.”

“We do want to be here,” Iris assures me.

“It’s Valentine’s,” I laugh. “Go be with your husbands!”

Rose snorts. “They’re at the grocery store fighting off all the other husbands for the last Russel Stover’s heart. We need to give them at least a couple hours to figure their messes out.”

The door chimes to let us know someone’s walking in, and I look up, expecting a customer or Barb. “What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised to see Blaise.

And also just how giant his afro is.

“He’s even cuter with off-season hair,” Iris says like they were fully aware that Blaise untwists his hair when the season ends. It’s one of those reminders that Gabe may be an entire chapter of my life, but it’s a short one. I have no idea what off-season is like.

I don’t even know if Gabe is going to be playing for the Jugs next year if it all. Part of me has quietly hoped that he’s getting transferred to another team. He’d be hundreds of miles away, I’d be here. Problem solved.

“It’s Gabe!” Blaise blurts out, his voice winded like he’s sprinted the three miles here from the Jugs House. “He’s been injured.”

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