Page 42 of Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

″Anti-our men, then. More than usual. Normally you would have gotten all the details out of Morgan about last night by now.”

″I don’t think there were many details to be had. They had coffee.”

There’s a hint of irritation in her voice, more than usual. “You’re being a bitch,” I say in a quiet voice. “More than usual.”

Brit stares at her plate. “I know.”

Brit has always been a difficult person to like, with her lack of empathy for my issues and hard-ass approach to life. But she’s very easyto love when she lets down her guard, which she’s done many times in our years of friendship. And she’s always been there for me when I needed her the most, just like I always have been for her.

″Could you stop?” I ask. No accusation. There’s no need. Brit is almost as close to me as my sister, which is why she treats me like she does.

And I don’t bother asking her what’s bothering her. I know Brit will tell me when she’s ready.

″I’ll try.”

I nod and return to my eggs. “What’s Lacey up to these days?”

I can tell Brit is making an effort to sound less bitchy as she tells me the latest hijinks her younger sister Lacey has gotten up to. The cloud seems to pass from her face as we talk and begin to laugh together, and by the end of the meal, I’m once again reminded that Brit can be fun.

It’s nice to have a day with her.

We don’t see Morgan until the middle of the afternoon when she finds us sunning by the pool. Her hands are full of daiquiris. “I brought gifts,” she says with a nervous glance at Brit. Morgan missed the morning at the spa, the hours Brit and I spent wandering the shops of the hotel. Both of us would have liked to explore The Strip, but there was so much to see right there in the hotel.

I brace myself for the tongue-lashing guilt trip, prepared to jump in to save Morgan.

″You better bring more than gifts,” Brit says, reaching for one of the daiquiris. “We expect details.”

Chapter Fifteen

Excess excitement should be avoided at all costs for new mothers.

A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)

“Ican’t believe he gave you tickets for this,” I squeal, practically bouncing on my seat from excitement.

After lounging by the pool, we changed for dinner, peppering Morgan with questions about Bron–what he was like, what happened, what she wanted to happen. Morgan has a history of falling hard and fast for men, but I’ve never seen her so smitten.

″Did you tell him about Carson?” Brit asked, during our first course at dinner. Once again she got something normal people would eat and enjoy, without a word about how much weight she would undoubtedly gain during this trip.

″I told him about Carson, Derek, Anil–everything.” Morgan’s eyes were bright, the smile permanently etched onto her face. “He told me about his marriage, his kids, whom he hardly ever sees. They live in Moncton.”

″And he’s here,” I said with sympathy.

″He doesn’t want to do this forever,” Morgan had explained. “He’s thirty-eight, and he’s only got a few more years before he’s too old. But he’s tired of this life.”

My excitement for the show only builds during dinner, but Morgan gets quieter as the evening goes on. And now we’re crammed into our seats, shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of screaming, panting women, begging for the show to begin, and Morgan has a concerned expression on her face.

I lean closer to her. “You don’t look happy to be here.”

Morgan glances warily at the stage. Music blares, lights flash, heightening the excitement of the audience. “I don’t know if I wantto see that side of him,” she admits in a quiet voice.

″You really like him?”

Morgan shrugs with a helpless smile. “He’ssosweet, nothing like you’d imagine a dancer would be like.”

″Stripper.”

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