Sera lifted a brow, but her lips were curved. “Putting your mom powers to use?”
“I’ve become an expert at breaking up fights.”
CeCe tsked. “My little squishy and Hunter don’t fight. They’re angels.”
“Hmm,” Heather said.
Abby snorted.
Rachel giggled.
And Sera spent the next few minutes telling them about her latest sales—then a few more complaining about a couple of very challenging clients.
After which, Abby tried to turn the conversation to Rachel.
Because if she could just delay enough, give the other women their turn to talk, Heather would have to go to breakfast, and she wouldn’t have to give her recap of her life.
Which was a mess.
And not in terms of the state of her house.
Her mind was muddied, tangled and twisted, and she kept going in circles, warring with herself about things she should know logically didn’t matter, but things that still continued creeping in anyway.
She wasn’t ready to divulge those thoughts.
Not when she was in a room of happy, smart, beautiful women.
Not when she felt none of those things.
Not when she knew she should be feeling all of them because she was so fucking lucky and privileged and—
“The reason you have that look on your face is why I’m not going to answer the question,” Rachel murmured, reaching over Sera and squeezing her hand. “What’s going on?”
What was going on?
So much and yet nothing she could pinpoint.
Annoying and destructive thoughts and yet a wonderful husband and family.
No sleep and feeling like a cow and—
She started crying.
“Oh God,” Abby said, wiping frantically at her eyes. “Ignore me. I’m fine. I just—” A sob bubbled up in her throat. “I’m just tired and hormonal.”
“Maybe,” Bec said, “but it’s not just that. Otherwise”—she waved a hand in the direction of Abby’s face—“you wouldn’t look like that.”
“Like what?” Abby asked, affronted.
“Miserable,” Sera said. “Do you think you have PPD?” she asked. “You got pretty blue after Carter was born.”
Abby’s first inclination was to immediately deny she felt depressed. Not because it was a negative thing. She knew it was common, and she truly had felt very sad after Carter’s birth, perhaps even depressed. But Carter had slept better than Emma, and she’d had CeCe around to help.
So maybe it was just fatigue.
Maybe she should hire the night nurse like Jordan suggested.
But then she would be doing even less, and the scales would be tipped even more in her favor and . . . she wouldn’t be doing anything or enough or—