Page 96 of Top Scorer
I find myself kneeling at the side of the tub so our foreheads lean together.
“Ligaya, I—”
Her phone rings so loudly, it makes us both jump.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “I keep it loud at rehearsal, otherwise I can’t hear it over the kids. That’s Ami’s ringtone. I promised her an update on the ultrasound. Can you hand it to me? I’ll text her that we’ll catch up tomorrow.”
“It’s OK if you want to take the call,” I say, handing it over.
“It’ll only be a minute,” she says before squealing, “Hey,Ate! We sawandfelt the babies today!”
Giving Ligaya some privacy, I go to the kitchen to start the kettle for her nightly ritual of herbal tea. Her cheerful voice wafts from the bathroom. I’ll never get enough of the sound of her happiness.
An idea forms. By the time the water boils, that idea has turned into a plan.
CHAPTER 39
LIGAYA
The Texas heat hits me like a wall the second I step out of the Dallas airport. My skin prickles and my brain is foggy. My belly feels heavier than ever. Did someone swap my babies for a sandbag overnight? I’m already regretting the black leggings.
Ami waves from beside a sleek black limo, complete with a uniformed driver.
“What’s all this,Ate?” I ask, confused as to why she’s hijacking some rich dude’s ride.
“Allow me to unveil surprise number one.” She gives me a careful hug. “You look great!”
I snort. “You mean bloated. Why a limo? Who are you trying to impress?”
She nudges my shoulder. “You. Obviously.”
Inside, Ami pops open a mini bottle of sparkling cider and pours it into flutes.
“Cheers to the best spring break ever, thanks to your baby daddy.”
“Tristan?”
“Do you have asecondbaby daddy?”
“I’m so confused.”
“He called me and said he wanted to make sure we had a great time together. Who am I to get in the way of pampering you?”
“I should call him.”
“Nope. That’s the other thing he insisted on. You are not allowed to call him till after thenextsurprise.”
“Really?”
“Yes! He wants you to get the whole experience before you call him. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Enjoy this vacation, because vacationing with babies will be very different. More diapers and less pampering, I’m guessing.”
“I can’t believe he planned this, and you hid it from me!”
She waves her hand flippantly because she knows I’m not actually upset. Our chatter fills the cavernous space of the limo. Updates on her new position at the base, commentary on my swollen ankles, messages from Mom and Dad, plans for a baby registry.
Suddenly, the limo glides to a stop. For a heartbeat I just stare out the window, slack-jawed. The entrance of the Ritz-Carlton, Dallas rises like something from those glamorous films of early Hollywood. Grand columns, towering glass doors, valets in crisp uniforms striding toward us.
“Smile!” Ami says cheerily, eliciting more confusion. She takes my picture. “For Tristan.”
