Page 82 of Books and Hookups

Over the last month, I’d let that rule lapse. Danny knew how I liked my coffee—black, and, sadly, decaf—and he drank it that way too. We were already tied together not only as neighbors but with this baby, so there was no escaping him even if I’d wanted to. Plus, it had been kind of nice to wake up with him cuddled around me.

So, when I came out of the bathroom yesterday afternoon and found my bed empty, something tightened in my belly. And it wasn’t Braxton Hicks contractions, which I’d learned so much about when I couldn’t sleep and finally picked up The Book.

Maybe it had a chapter on what to do when pregnancy hormones made you think you were starting to feel feelings for the man you’d just had angry sex with. Who was also your baby daddy. Because the tension in my gut, the heaviness that made it hard to drag myself out of bed this morning, that little skip in my heart whenever I thought of Danny, all of it had to be caused by the weird hormones flowing through my body.

Besides, who the fuck cared about what I was feeling? Danny was a great person, but he was way too young to want to be tied to a washed-up journalist who couldn’t even finish the book she’d dreamed about writing for years. He should save his kindness and hot handyman muscles and that glorious cock for one of the Nice Church Girls his mom wanted him to marry. He must’ve realized it, too, and that’s why he’d fled my place.

I reached under the seat in front of me. Or tried to. My body didn’t bend in the same way it used to.

“Excuse me,” I said to the woman in the aisle seat. “Can you reach that book in my bag?”

“Sure!” She bent down and pulled the book from the outside pocket of my messenger bag. She glanced at the cover. “Oh my god! You’re pregnant?”

My cheeks went hot. Wasn’t it obvious? “Uh-huh.”

“Isn’t this the best book ever? I mean, not only does it tell you everything you need to know, but it makes you feel better about yourself at the same time. I read it before I had each of my kids, and I got something new out of it every time.”

“Really?” The woman had not a strand of gray in her dark brown hair. She had to be younger than me. “How many kids do you have?”

“Four. I know, I know. I was young and clueless when I started. But The Book helped. How many do you have?”

“This is my first.”And only,I didn’t add.

Her eyes rounded. “Wow. Good for you. Be sure to read the chapter on pregnancy later in life. It helped me with my last one. And, um…” She glanced at my left hand. “There’s a chapter on single parenting. One of my girlfriends said it was fantastic.”

Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d skipped right to the chapter about symptoms during the eighth month of pregnancy, where I’d learned what the tightening of my stomach muscles was about. I’d been planning to read about the ninth month because that was right around the corner, but maybe I should check out the table of contents. “Thanks.”

“So, what’s on your birth plan?” she asked, turning fully toward me. “I’ve tried it all. Epidural, natural, even a water birth—though you wouldn’t believe how fast I got out of that tub once the real contractions hit. Do you have a doula?”

“A what?”

And for the next two hours, a woman five years younger than me schooled me in everything I didn’t know about childbirth, which, for a know-it-all like me, felt worse than being left after a hookup with someone you cared about more than you should.

Hours later, as I wrapped up my interview with Eleanor Gu, the heavy feeling lingered. Mrs. Gu was a champion for literacy, a senator’s wife, and the mother of a man everyone called a future president. Her thoughts on legacy were supposed to be a highlight of my book. From the slight furrow between her brows, I feared I’d fucked up because I couldn’t seem to follow the thread of our conversation. Only the recording would tell if I’d done the interview justice.

I tapped my phone to end the recording. “Thanks for your time today. I’ll send you the transcript as we discussed.”

“Good luck with your book,” she said. “I’ll be watching.”

“Oh, you don’t have to watch out for it.” I closed my notebook and slipped it into my bag. “I’ll send you an advance copy as soon as I get them from the publisher.”

“No.” She waited until I met her piercing, dark gaze. “I’ll be watchingyou.”

“Me?” I rubbed my forehead. It had been throbbing for hours.

“I think you’ve got more than this one book in you. I’m interested to see where you go from here.”

I dropped my hand from my face. “But—but your life is so full, between your work for libraries and schools, your family, and the campaigning you do for the senator and your son, the congressman. And your daughters. How do you have time to pay attention to anything else?”

“Ms. Knox. You should have learned by now that you make time for what’s important. And you, my dear, are important.”

“I…I…” I swallowed. Few people had the power to steal my words, but Mrs. Gu had done it.

“Just say, thank you, dear.” She stood.

“Thank you.” But when I rose to my feet, spots danced in my vision. I blinked to clear them, but they only grew until everything faded from view.

“Ms. Knox!”

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