Page 258 of On a Fault Line

I pour her a glass of water. She’s not usually this muted.

Trepidation seeps into the otherwise comfortable state I usually have around these women. Something’s off…

“So, you weren’t going to have a sugar binge fest?”

“Oh, I basically already did when I called you. I just said all of that for dramatic effect to ensure that you would take me seriously and come right over.”

I shake my head at her. Yup. Punk surely does have his hands full with her. I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

My stomach growls which is plain weird because I did eat something at the restaurant. I guess getting out of the angsty scene between Ivan and Collins has relaxed me enough to realize I could consume more, now that I’m not so tense that I could throw up.

And the sight and smell of the poppers isn’t helping my self-control.

“Let’s eat,” Angie says, getting down some plates from the cabinet. She uses a spatula to serve up some of the crispy appetizers onto each plate, along with marinara and ranch dipping sauces.

Claire rubs her hands together. “I sure have been loving the spicy things in life lately.” When she leans over the island to grab the plate from Angie, I hear her groan.

“Umm, what’s wrong?” Angie asks, stealing the words that I was about to say.

“Nothing,” Claire promises, but when we both make a face that we aren’t buying what she’s trying to sell us, she holds her hands up in defense. “Listen… I’ve already talked to the doctor.”

“And…?” Angie pries.

“It’s just Braxton-Hicks contractions.”

“You’re sure?” I follow up.

She waves us both off, sinking her teeth into a popper. “Yesh,” she says, her mouth full. “It’s all normal and apparently just something pregnant people have to endure.” Her words come out muffled, and her relaxed response helps me to calm down as well. “It’s really nothing to worry about.”

“And you would tell us if you weren’t okay?” Angie asks.

Claire sighs. “Yes. My goodness, you both need to chill. You both are morphing into Nic and it’s starting to stress me out.” She moves over to the fridge. “You overreactors should be glad I saved some key lime pie during my binge fest.” She pulls it from the shelf and holds it up like it’s Simba fromThe Lion King. “Sharing my beloved pie is love. Do either of you want some?”

I nod eagerly. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Be warned. It looks like a child cut it.”

I glance at the butchered pie through the clear plastic wrap and can’t stop laughing. It still has a knife sticking out of the pile of slop that is now smeared all over the covering. Well, she wasn’t lying. “I’m sure it still tastes great.”

“Dish me up some too,” Angie says finally, after probably accepting that Claire is just experiencing some practice contractions.

The last thing she needs is to be stressed out by one of us.

“I am just glad you both are here,” Claire says casually while she spoons out the sloppy key lime pie from the tin. “I’m pretty sure I was on the path to needing an intervention, and it all started with this pie.”

I take my first bite. “I believe it.”

“I almost ordered a fake boob feeding system from some shady website all because I’m predicting how tired this baby is going to make me when he or she is out of the womb. Nic can grow a pair and feed it then.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s hisotherpair that got you in this situation in the first place,” Angie says with a laugh, nearly choking on a mouthful of pie.

“This is really good,” I admit. “Thanks for sharing it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Claire grimace. “What’s wrong?”

She lets out a whimper and rubs a hand along the side of her rib cage.

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