Page 33 of Bordeaux Bombshell
How weird would it be to ask them to teach me how to have a female friend?
Weird. It would be weird.
It’s still tempting.
With the silly bridal games over, Daisy calls for everyone to drag their chairs around to watch Maggie open gifts.
Okay, I take it back. If having female friends means I have to sit there watching them open presents, maybe I don’t want it. A shiver runs down my spine at the idea of everyone staring at me while I struggle to unwrap a gift and act appropriately surprised at receiving the exact thing I asked for off my registry.
My eye roll must have been audible, because Lauren leans in as we drag our chairs into the loose circle that’s formed around Maggie. “Sophie tells me this is the price we pay to ensure people show up at our own celebrations. But if you ask me, it’s a bunch of bullshit—besides, what if you never get married or have kids? No one ever celebrates you in return.”
“You’re faking having a good time much better than I am,” I whisper back.
We set our chairs down and sit, Lauren patting me on the knee. “I’ve just had more practice. You’ll get there one day.”
Unfortunately, I was paying more attention to my conversation with Lauren than who we parked ourselves next to. A subtle whiff of perfume catches my attention. Turning to my other side, the twist of nerves in my gut that had finally settled roars back to life. Daisy and Manon are deep in conversation beside me, phones out as they compare something on the screens.
“Oh my goodness, what a handsome little man.” Daisy is gushing over something on Manon’s. I risk a glance over my shoulder but can’t make out what they’re looking at.
“He is my pride and joy.” Manon’s smile transforms her—her shoulders softening and some of the stinky-cheese expression leaving her face. I risk another peek and make out what might be some kind of animal in the photo. Guess she’s a dog person.
Daisy takes the phone and peers closer, zooming in on the photo. “He has so much hair. Does he take after your side of the family?”
Not a dog.
Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, lightheadedness washing over me. Lauren is busy talking to Sophie on her other side. All I can do is sit here and listen to Daisy and Manon.
“Non, non. He takes after his father. Same thick hair and brown eyes, see?” Manon is pointing at something, and as itcomes into focus, I can’t look away. There’s a little boy on the screen.
Thick brown hair.
Brown eyes.
Daisy leans back, turning the phone toward me. “Isn’t Manon’s son adorable?”
Then Manon reaches over Daisy, swiping across the screen to a new photo, and my heart stops. Full stop, flatline, get out the defibrillator.
The same little boy, his foot propped up on a soccer ball, with a man standing beside him, arm around his shoulder. Not just any man.
Nate.
Bile leaps up in my stomach, and I lurch to my feet.
No.
No, no, no.
He would have told me.
Wouldn’t he?
Again, I can feel everyone staring as I stumble away from the chairs. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I need to…”
Panicked, I scan the room, desperate to get my bearings and get out of here. Whispers fill the room again, following me as I flounder.
“Is she drunk?”
“Why can’t she just settle down?”
