I haven’t explained any of this outright, but maybe today is the time to do that.
A couple of hours later, I show up in Tessa’s driveway holding my backpack. Her house is a tidy Spanish bungalow with red geraniums growing in flower boxes on the porch, dark wood trim around the windows, and a bright red front door.
“Got everything.” She gave me a list of items to bring, and I threw every one of them into my pack, but in my worn jeans and a long-sleeved tee, I probably look like I belong on my ranch, not some fancy restaurant or wherever she plans to take me.
“Good job.” She smiles, looking relaxed and comfortable, and I tell myself to chill. LA is just another place. Yes, it’s urban, and there will probably be hipsters at every turn drinking matcha lattes and walking into me because they’re busy texting, but I’m only here for one person. I’ll just focus on her.
Tessa ushers me through the house quickly, but I slow to take in the framed posters with sayings like “Keep calm, coffee on” and the bright-colored throw pillows with cats on them. One is wearing a space helmet, and the other is eating a baguette. Ridiculous. Charming. So her.
I tuck away these little observations, nuggets of information that tell me who she is.
Large glass doors lead to her back deck, where a full coffee cup sits on a round metal table. Metal candle holders are orderly, pillows fluffed.
“I figured you’ve been driving for two hours, might need a pick-me-up.” She hands me the coffee, her fingers brushing softly against mine. My pulse quickens at her touch, and I breathe easier now that I’m around her. “Make yourself comfortable.” She points at a set of wicker chairs flanking the table and starts to take a seat herself.
“Hang on.” I grab her hand and pull her in front of me. “Lemme see that bump.”
She smooths her shirt over her belly, which looks like she’s smuggling a basketball underneath. “I’m huge. I keep trying to sleep on my side, but somehow in the middle of the night, I roll and wake up pinned under my stomach.”
“Wish I could be here to roll you back onto your side, Duchess.” I put a hand on her stomach, and she looks down proudly.
I feel a rolling ripple run sideways beneath her skin. I jerk my hand away in surprise but replace it just as quickly, absorbing another little kick.
“Whoa. That was a whole foot.” Up until now, I’ve felt little flutters of movement under her taut skin, but this is different. There’s force behind the kick. It’s a real person in there.
“I know, right? Little linebacker.” Tessa looks elated, but it’s nowhere near the awe I feel. I rub her stomach protectively, my heart filling with emotion over this milestone.
I nod and swallow hard. Over the past several months, I’ve known the baby was in there growing and changing—we have ultrasound photos and Tessa’s growing belly to prove it—but this is something else. A little foot connecting with my hand. A little person making its way toward us.
The movement inside her stops, and we both wait.
“Say something again,” she urges.
“What should I say?” I wait for the baby to kick again, but I get nothing.
“I don’t know. Say something sweet about how you wish you could be here. That seemed to do it before.”
I rack my brain, which suddenly feels devoid of all thought. “Well, of course, I wish I could be here. Do you think the baby understands what I’m saying, Duchess?” I get a hearty kick on the last word. “Aw. He or she seems to like it when I call you Duchess.”
“That makes two of us.” She smiles, and the dimple in her cheek pops. I bend down and kiss her. Tender and sweet. A connection between us.
“Mm, I missed you,” she sighs.
“Me too,” I admit. I want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her, but I remind myself to tamp down my feelings. I can’t afford to jeopardize our friendship and the future of our child.
I drink in her lips once more, kissing her the way I’ve been dreaming about for a month, but then I pull away.
Her eyes search mine when I back off, so I look at the ground. I don’t know how to tell her how painfully my heart strains inside my chest. I don’t dare tell her I fucking love her when I can’t move to LA or make good on any sort of promises I’d want to give her.
So I say nothing. Like a goddamn coward. All the more proof I don’t belong in a relationship.
She clears her throat and forces a smile, and I do the same.
Sitting in one of the chairs, she sips from her cup. “You drinking coffee?” I ask. She’d told me she gave up coffee a while back.
“It’s decaf. I still love the taste, and I was missing it, so this is my compromise.” Her eyes sparkle, and I can tell she’s beenwaiting to tell me something. I hope it’s a clue about what we’re doing because I have a very strange list of items in my bag.
“You gonna tell me why I brought all this?” I point at my backpack.