Page 125 of Bar Down, Baby

He’s right. My place is a bachelor pad. I’ve had six months to do something about it, and I’ve done jack shit. I haven’t plugged any outlets, I haven’t bought a high chair. Fuck, I don’t even have a dining table.

“Shit,” I say, leaning over the counter, resting my head in my hands. “What do I do? Where do I start?”

“You willing to throw some work into this?” he asks, looking around the space.

“Whatever it takes.” My phone buzzes at that moment and I see a text from Bee that I’ve been waiting for.

“I’ve got a buddy who’s a contractor. Maybe I could get him and his crew to help you out?”

“Help me out?” I frown.

“You’re gonna need a nursery.”

“Great,” I say. “You do that. I just need to make a call first.”

He opens his phone and—literally pulls a tape measure out of his back pocket as he starts talking to someone named Zach. I stare at him, baffled for a minute. Then he waves me on, and I remember what I have to do.

I pull up the number I need and hit call.

“Hey Michael,” I say when he picks up. “Is this a good time?”

CHAPTER46

MEGAN

“This can’t be happening,”I say, rubbing my knuckles into my aching back as we climb off the bus.

“My feminine wiles and good connections can only take us so far, love,” Midge says, clucking as she taps her knuckle beneath my chin. “At a certain point, people stop believing you’re just carrying some water weight.”

I couldn’t believe it when they wouldn’t let me get on the plane. They literally stopped me at the gate and asked for a doctor’s note. Of course, I didn’t have one, and even when Midge pulled out her VIP airline card, or whatever it was that she pulled out, I’m still not clear—they wouldn’t budge. And that’s how we found ourselves on a bus from Las Vegas to Los Angeles, waiting for a train.

She spent most of the bus trip on that damned phone. Anyone who said millennials were the worst about texting clearly hasn’t spent any time with a Boomer on an unlimited data plan. At least we had a row to ourselves, which gave me some room to spread out. But it didn’t do anything to ebb my curiosity about who she’s been so thumb happy with.

“Here we go,” she says, nodding at the second car from the front. “We should have a coach cabin. So at least you’ll be able to stretch out.”

“Small victories,” I mumble, feeling the baby stretch as I approach the staircase.

“Tickets, ladies?” the conductor, a woman with strawberry blond hair and kind eyes, greets us at the steps.

I never realized how steep the steps on a train would be until I stared at them, nearly thirty-seven weeks pregnant.

“I have them on my phone,” Midge says, swiping through who knows what, looking for them.

“How are you feeling, miss? Up for the trip?” the conductor says with a gentle smile.

“I was up for the two-hour plane ride this morning.”

She chuckles with a knowing look. “Can’t say you’re the first I’ve seen so far along. They’re especially squeamish about letting very pregnant women fly out of Vegas.”

“Here they are!” Midge says, thrusting the phone in the conductor’s face as if that’s how she’ll record it. The conductor lowers the screen and scans it in. The machine makes a beeping sound and she frowns.

“Hmm… let’s see what this is about,” she says, looking at her machine.

“Are those not correct?” Midge says, turning the screen back around and reading it. “This is the train to Portland, isn’t it?”

“Ah, there you are. Yes, you’re on the right train. Just looks like you’ve been upgraded.”

“Upgraded?” I ask, frowning at Midge.

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