Page 49 of Bar Down, Baby

“So,” he says, dragging out the word as if he doesn’t want to continue what he’s about to say.

“Sew buttons?” I ask.

“Oh, you goof,” he says, making my heart feel like it’s literally about to melt. He clears his throat. “We should probably share the news.”

“Well,” I say, taking a sip of my peppermint tea. “I sort of spilled the beans to Ainsley. And the rest of the girls.”

“I know,” he says.

“Oh, right.” We went over this. Because he heard about my new job from Zeke, who heard from Faye.

“I meant more like, colleagues. Far away friends.” He clears his throat again. “Family.”

“Right.” The only person I work with already knows. So that’s easy.

Bee’s the only other person I would tell and she already knows. In fact, she’s been sending me articles about hyperemesis gravidarum during intermissions of the show she’s dancing swing for. There’s a heavy emphasis on articles about Kate Middleton. I’m really regretting telling her that Derek calls meprincess.

She’s also sent a few about how to lock down that baby daddy, which I refuse to open.

So far, everyone has been incredibly supportive. Even if I’m full of doubt. I just don’t want to hear anyone echoing my own doubts. Or shouting them even louder.

“I owe my parents a call,” Derek says, interrupting my dread spiral. “I’ll probably call soon. Dad and then Mom. Easier in that order, probably.”

He’s quiet, waiting for me to say something, and I hear the road noise in the background.

“If you want, I can be there with you when you call your mother?”

His suggestion surprises me. It also has me confused. I don’t think I’ve told him about her other than the fact that we’re not close.

“When do you get back?”

“Next week,” he says.

It’s too long. If my mother found out that his parents knew a week before she did, it would not go well.

“Thanks for the offer,” I say, stubbing my toe into the corner of my red shag rug. “I should probably just call her myself. Simpler that way.”

He sounds distracted and it turns out he’s reached his exit. We say a quick goodbye and he promises to call back tomorrow.

I stare at my phone for a good, long time, but don’t dial. I put it down and answer a few emails and pack an order for Lule. Then I go to the kitchen to make another cup of peppermint tea and fish some Brazil nuts out of the tin of mixed nuts. I don’t think I’ve ever truly appreciated a Brazil nut before now, but damn, are they delicious.

“What’s shakin’, Mama?” Ainsley asks, pulling the coffee beans that she roasted herself out of the freezer. She hesitates and holds them up to me, asking if the smell will bother me, and I motion for her to go for it.

“Just making some tea. Putting off the things I don’t want to deal with. You know, adulting.”

She lifts a finger, then turns on the grinder. That finger stays lifted until they’re the perfect grind for her to pour over. She turns her attention to the tea kettle.

“What don’t you want to do today?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” I say. “Laundry. Taxes. Tell my mom I’m pregnant.”

She squeezes my shoulder.

“Band-aid time.”

“What?”

“Rip it off. You just gotta do it. It’s not going to get any easier. At this point, it’s going to get harder the longer you wait.”

---