Page 73 of Knocked Up by my Best Friend's Brothers

The more we know about the enemy, the easier it will be to neutralize them before they can do more damage. Christa is the ray of sunlight I wasn’t sure we’d ever have in our lives. After everything we’ve survived, after everything she’s gone through, I’m honestly in awe of how the higher powers brought us together.

There’s a method behind the madness.

All we need to do is fight harder and smarter than ever before to keep her safe.

23

Christa

Brunch with Alexandra and Teagan is turning out better than I had expected, though I’m not sure what sort of worst-case scenario I was expecting. I’m so used to looking over my shoulder that I had almost forgotten how to kick back and enjoy a moment of peace.

“We should get some wine,” Alexandra quips as the waiter brings over a large platter for the three of us to share. “I could go for a crisp Chardonnay. It’ll pair well with all this!”

“God, it looks fantastic,” Teagan exclaims.

My mouth is already watering. “I could inhale the entire thing.”

It’s been three days since I started on the prenatal vitamins, and I feel a hell of a lot better. In fact, my appetite has skyrocketed as have my cravings.

“Excuse me,” I tell the waiter. “Could I get some pickles as well? Maybe some gherkins with dill and vinegar.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the waiter politely replies and walks away.

I gaze around at the sunny terrace. It’s one of the best places to be on a late Sunday morning. It’s not too crowded, it has a great view of the river and the west side of the city beyond, and the food is simply fantastic. But I feel their eyes on me, so I’m compelled to focus on Teagan and Alexandra.

“What?” I ask.

“Dill pickles? Seriously?” Teagan scrunches her nose. “This whole damn plate covers pretty much everything you could want.”

“Except dill pickles,” I quip.

She shakes her head. “You hate dill pickles.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

Alexandra is watching us as if we’re in the final stretch of a tennis match at Wimbledon. “What is going on here?” she says and laughs lightly, then tucks a lock of her black hair behind one ear.

“She hates dill pickles,” Teagan insists, helping herself to a small serving of French toast and waffles.

In the meantime, I’m loading my plate with a heap of everything, already dreaming about the pickles. “I do not hate dill pickles.”

“You used to squirm when I opened a jar from the pantry when we were kids!”

“We were kids,” I say with a shrug and a chuckle.

“No, no, there’s something definitely different here. The smell alone was enough to make you gag, Christa.”

She’s right, and I’m just as confused. But the baby currently developing in my womb has thrown my hormones and my taste buds for a loop, and now I’m craving dill pickles. Unable to further debate Teagan on the matter, I choose to smile and start eating while Alexandra quietly analyzes me.

“So, how was everybody’s week overall?” I ask.

“And what’s up with the herbal tea while we’re at it?” Teagan replies.

“The doctor suggested I stay off the caffeine for a while after that fainting spell.” I hate lying, so I choose the half-truth instead. It makes me feel less guilty.

“I’m going to suggest white wine again,” Alexandra playfully chimes in.

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