Page 56 of My Cosplay Escape
“What happened?”
“Daniel would go on camping trips. He’d take our car. It was a wedding present from his dad, so whatever. He’d leave me home, and I read all the stupid marriage and parenting books people gave us for our wedding. It’s so obvious now.Ineeded to be all in.Ineeded to show my love and appreciation for Daniel.Ineeded to make sure my marriage was strong for the baby. Never mind that Daniel was off camping and sharing his sleeping bag with Tiffany, Charlotte and Dixie. I spent most of my days puking, so I was slow on that one. Anyway, I walked to the store on Friday, walked back with bags of groceries to make his favorite meal—mac and cheese, breaded chicken tenders, and apple pie with ice cream. I prepped it all for the next day. I was exhausted and sore, so I took a bath, went to bed… I had no idea.”
“How far along were you?” Adam asks.
“Twenty-four weeks. Incompetent cervix. Daniel blamed me. He said that only a fudging idiot would take a nap instead of call the hospital. Okay, fine, that was stupid, but I didn’t know it was a miscarriage. I mean, yeah, I figured something was wrong when I woke up bleeding…” I trace the seam in Adam’s granite countertop with my free hand. At the Kids Club, I’ve added strips of Velcro to the bottom of our homework tables for the kiddos who need more fidgets and sensory input to focus… calm down. “He even blamed me for my body, said I was ‘clueless.’ That if any part of his anatomy were incompetent, he’d have known about it and would have been vigilant.” I take in a deep breath. “Responsible.”
“Not knowing you were miscarrying wasn’t your fault either, Sarah.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Not. Your. Fault. None of it. Period.”
I shrug. My head knows, I guess. But my heart…
“So I take it Brent had some news,” he says.
“They’re pregnant. Yay.” And then I’m done. I am done and desperate to change the subject. “Do you live alone?”
“What? Oh, yeah.” He looks around, a little pride creeping onto his face. “It was my motivation. I told myself all summer that the hours would be worth it in the end. I’d have my own space.”
“Nice space.” I am jealous.
“Obnoxious roomies?” he asks. He slides the box of tacos toward me.
“No, but no privacy… No chance at watching what I want on Netflix.”
“You want to watch something? They just put up a new season ofMississippi Bake-Off.”
“What is it with everyone and that show?”
He digs the remote out from the couch cushions. “I dunno. Dr. Burnbalm got me hooked on it. Everyone in the Econ Department watches it. Naturally, we have the best potlucks. It’s why I majored in econ as an undergrad.”
Somewhere between the fourth episode ofMississippi Bake-Offand Adam’s hilarious story of a failed brioche, I feel it—an inescapable twist inside me that makes me want to bury my head in the sleeves of my hoodie—well, Adam’s hoodie—and whimper.
I’ve made a huge mistake. And while it would be so easy to tell myself that it was my sobfest, followed by bare-naked honesty, it’s not tonight’s events that are eating me up inside.
I should never have lied to Adam. That first day in econ, I should have come clean. I didn’t, and now I don’t know if I can.
If I tell Adam right now,Hey! Surprise. I’m the cosplay freak who licks people she doesn’t know. BTW, hope it was you, and you liked it, then one of two things will happen.
One, Adam runs for his life.You’re an insecure, out-of-control crazy-pants. Now that I can connect the backstory dots, it all makes sense. Smell you later.
Two, he says,You’re crazy, but I love crazy. Let’s do this!Happily ever after, the end.
Option two sounds the most appealing. But it’s a fake, a dupe, a false choice. It would be the end of my second chance at college and independence. Mr. Speed Bump is here to distract me and make sure I don’t have a fudging prayer of thinking about anything even remotely academic. Because the quality of the guy is not the real problem—Adam is great. The real problem is me. I’m the one who gets carried away.
I can’t let that happen again.
Chapter Seventeen
Not that it’s been a particularly rowdy Saturday night, but my feet ache. I’ve forgotten just how high my lace-up boots are. Forget the gym. I’m calling a Lyft and soaking in my mom’s tub just as soon as I get my catsuit and makeup off.
“You headed out?” Stacey calls from the registers. She’s fisting money from one hand to the other as she counts but pauses. “You want someone to go with you? I didn’t like how those last guys were looking at you.”
I drag my wired claws over the counter before retracting them into a tight fist. “Guys don’t look at me. They look through me.” I don’t know why I am so grouchy. No, I do know. Adam has perfected the art of walking down a hall and not making eye contact with anyone.Yeah, check your phone right as you pass me. Call out to Vlad when you get too close.It shouldn’t matter, but tonight it did. I arch my back, desperate for a good stretch, but my corset has other ideas.
Stacey shoves the money into a deposit envelope and slams the register drawer shut. “All the same, why don’t I call Vlad or Ernie to walk you to your—”
