Bianca stood up. “All right. That’s enough self-wallowing for the moment. You’re going to get your ass in the shower and get dressed.”
“I’m already dressed,” I argued.
She shook her head. “Like a hobo.”
“Well, excuse me for not stopping to dress like a million after my husband told me to get the fuck out of his sight and to never speak to him again.”
“Jesus, he said that?”
“Yeah, he did.”
Shaking her head, she mused, “That’s some cold shit.”
“If this is your idea of a pep talk or comfort, you suck.”
Bianca laughed. “I’m sorry, but I’m just surprised. Leo never impressed me as someone who could be that cold.”
“What do you expect, B? The man just found out the baby his wife is carrying isn’t his. And his wife didn’t even have the decency to tell him–he had to find it out through blackmail.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You deserved it.”
“Once again, you suck.”
“I’m just trying to get you to see how ridiculous you sound.” She flung the cover off of me. “Shower. Now.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
As I got off the bed, she gasped. “Jesus, you’ve gotten huge.”
“You know, maybe I’ll just try my luck with Father.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not like you’re big anywhere other than your belly.” She held up her right hand. “I swear.”
“You’re going to owe me something chocolatey after this.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
***
The shower made me feel slightly human again. Since I hadn’t brought any clothes with me, I had to put on my hobo clothes until we could go shopping. Then Bianca mademe change at the first store we found, which thankfully had a maternity section.
I thought being out of the apartment might raise my spirits, but it didn’t. My pain went with me wherever I went, which included five women’s clothing stores and three baby stores.
As we were walking down the sidewalk, the couple in front of us were holding hands. When he leaned over to kiss her cheek, tears stung my eyes.
“Drea, don’t,” Bianca said.
“It’s fine,” I replied, as I swiped my eyes. When she continued eyeing me with a cross of worry and pity, I held up my hand. “Serious, B. I’m fine.”
“One might argue by definition that getting weepy over two strangers smooching on a street corner doesn’t equal being okay.”
“It’s the hormones. They’re a living hell.”
Her upper lip curled in disgust. “Yuri wants us to start the IUI process next year.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “I told him maybe we could pretend I was infertile, and he could use a surrogate.”