“Stop it.” She coughs a nervous laugh, sliding her fingers behind her glasses to wipe her eyes.
“I will never stop.”
Over the following weeks, I find any excuse to be with Sophie, even when she calls it quits on golfing because she’s so close to her due date.
When she answers her door, just after nine at night, my pack and I greet her with a bouquet of pink flowers. I also find any excuse to bring her flowers. Anything with echinacea, her favorite, but hard to find sometimes.
Just because is my favorite excuse for bringing her flowers.
“I think I’m done walking.” Her lower lip juts out, so does her belly and popped out navel where there’s a two-inch gap between her black hip hugging cotton shorts and white tank top that I don’t think is an actual maternity top. Her royal blue-framed glasses are low on her nose.
“Are you in labor?”
Sophie shakes her head, hair a little matted on one side like she’s been napping on that side.
“Then we walk.”
“Shep …” She pouts a little more. “The flowers are beautiful, but I don’t deserve them.”
“You do. Let’s walk.”
“I’m too fat or…” she cringes “…bloated to walk tonight.”
I hand her the flowers and push her glasses up her nose. “You’re pregnant.”
“I’m gross.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She rolls her eyes and pivots. “I’ll give you a day pass from friend code. You can fold up that piece of paper and burn it. Complimenting me at this point is too laughable.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa …” I follow her inside the house and get Cersei’s leash on her. “What happened to perky Sophie? The one who was glowing because she knew her pregnancy was the world’s most generous gift? I’m pretty sure I saw that Sophie a few days ago.”
“She got a good look in the mirror.” Tears fill her eyes.
I try not to laugh. She’s pregnant. She knows that’s all this is. Man … pregnancy hormones are no joke.
“Look …” Her lower lip quivers as she pulls down the waist of her shorts an inch.
“What am I looking at?”
She runs her fingers over an area. “Stretch marks.” When she blinks, several tears escape.
I honestly can’t see what she’s pointing to, so I hunch down in front of her. There are a few purplish squiggly lines. “Sophie—”
“Don’t.” She sniffles. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want you to say anything. It won’t make me feel better. And I know … I know it’s stupid, they’re just stretch marks, but …” She swallows hard and shrugs.
She’s right, my friend code note won’t help me. So I do my own thing. I do what feels natural.
“Shep …” One of her hands threads through my hair when I kiss the purple lines on her lower belly. “What are you doing?” she whispers.
I don’t speak because she was right. There are no words to make this better for her in this very moment. So I close my eyes and kiss every inch of her belly. Then I stand.
Her red-eyed gaze lifts to meet mine.
My thumbs brush along her cheeks, erasing the tears. She pulls in a shaky breath.
“Let’s walk.”
“I can’t reach my feet.”
I grin, knowing that’s not true. “Good thing I can. Sit.” I nod to the entry bench.
When she surrenders, I kneel in front of her and slip her white sneakers onto her bare feet and loosely tie them.
Before I stand, she frames my face with her hands. “If I tell you a secret, promise not to tell anyone?” she whispers.
I nod once, resting my hands on her bare legs.
“Sometimes when we’re together … walking the dogs, golfing, eating lunch … I pretend…” she blinks, averting her gaze “…that this baby inside of me is …” After a few breaths, she looks at me. “Ours.”
Her confession hits me pretty hard. Now … now is when I need to review that piece of paper before I say the wrong thing.
On a nervous laugh, she lifts a shoulder. “That’s stupid, right? Because we’re just friends.”
Yes. Sophie is my friend. A friend who I love. She’s taken up residence in my head and all four chambers of my heart. And my competitive friend doesn’t often show me her vulnerable side. Even if it’s the hormones, I’ll take it. I’ll take this vulnerability of hers and let it open the door for me to have my own vulnerable moment.
“It’s not stupid. Imagination is never stupid.” I peel her hands from my face, keeping ahold of one as I stand and pull her to her feet too. “We walk.”
As we head out the door, I hold the leashes in one hand and keep hers in my other hand.
“Did I guilt you into staying my friend? Has it been hard on you? Watching me, watching Millie with her pregnancy? And be honest. I can handle the truth,” she says.
As I guide the pack and my favorite friend down the driveway, I contemplate how to answer her in truly the most honest way. “It’s been, uh … a mix of relief and hope.”