“You were right,” she says suddenly, so quietly I almost miss it.
I glance back down at her. “About what?”
“I’m not ready for this. I havenothingready. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Her hand lands on her stomach, and she breaks, a sob rolling through her.
This is way worse than bagel-gate.
“Fia…” I crouch down beside my car, guilt stirring in my gut. “If this is about what I said, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I have a lot going on…and I was just trying to drive home how serious this all is.”
She swipes a tear, shaking her head. “I texted him two days ago.”
“Textedwho?”
She gazes at me, her tear-stained face growing red and blotchy. “Brett. I thought maybe…I don’t know…that after a few weeks, maybe he’d had time to think. Maybe he came to terms with it. I told him where I’d be today and that I’d like him to come,” she explains breathily.
I already know what’s next before she says it.
“He read it. And didn’t reply.”
My knuckles whiten, a fist clenched at my side. I avert my gaze, a silent scream held in until I can release my breath.
“Listen to me.” Like word vomit, my pep talk comes rushing out. Too loud and too much, but Fia’s eyes snap to mine, and I know she’s hearing me—truly hearing me.“He is an idiot! Him not being here has no reflection on you, or indicates how your future is going to be. Do you understand?”
She nods and wipes a stray tear.
“I have let so many people walk out of my life, Fia,” I say, surprising even myself. “And yeah, it hurt like hell. But if someone wants to leave, youhaveto let them. You can’t build your future around people who don’t have the decency to stay. I wasted years waiting for apologies that never came.
“You’re going to go in there”—I point at the sad looking brown building—“and they’re going to show you your baby on the monitor or whatever the hell they do.” This gets a laugh out of both of us. “And we are going to hang the picture of your damn uterus on the fridge. You’re going to be the best freaking mom ever. So screw Brett, it’s his loss. And your baby will have me and a million other people who will love the hell out of it.”
“Like Jesse and Danny,” she adds wistfully, and I unwillingly nod.
Sure, maybe.
“I couldn’t do this without you.” Fia smiles at me.
She offers her hand like she used to when she scraped her knee or got scared of thunder, and I pull her petite frame out of her seat.
“I know,” I say, smiling as I nudge her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go see what kind of weird shit they do in there.”
I open the door, hit with the smell of musty plants, and Fia steps through. She pushes the little elevator button, and I smirk, reassuring her.
“Hey, after this, let’s get mani-pedis.”
“And a bagel?” Fia asks, and I laugh.
“If you eat so many bagels, your baby is going to come out addicted to gluten,” I say as we walk into the suite.
An hour later, I’m trailing out behind my sister—only slightly traumatized.
But she’s grinning ear to ear.
“An early Christmas gift,” she says, holding up the little scroll of photos they printed off for her—she’s having a girl.
Looks like we’re adding another stubborn Hanson girl to the clan.
I stare down and wiggle my glossy cotton candy toes. I don’t care that it’s winter and no one will see them—I didn’t fly all over the world this year to not treat myself to small luxuries like deluxe pedicures.
“God, Ineededthis.” Fia moans as her shoulders are rubbed while her toes are painted a cherry red—for the holidays, of course. She’s a traditionalist.
