Easton’s mom…Why is she calling me? “I’m okay. How are you?”
“I’m good. I know this seems kind of random, but I asked Easton for your number. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course,” I tell her. She’s going to be the grandmother of my baby.
“Great. Easton mentioned you’re working and going to school, so I know you’re busy, but I was wondering if you would like to come over for dinner one night this week.”
Tears prick my eyes at her generous offer, and I want nothing more than to accept, but I can’t. Because if I do, then I’m reopening the can of worms I’m trying to keep a lid on by ending things with Easton. Damn it, why does everything have to be so complicated? Why can’t I just live my life and not have to worry about assholes like Freeman who don’t worry about anyone but themselves.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m just so busy…”
“Surely you have to take a moment to eat.”
“I do, but it’s usually on my way to work or on my way to school…”
“Then I’ll come to you.”
She’ll what? Jesus, she’s as persistent as her son. “I don’t—”
“What time do you work?” she asks.
“Um, eight.”
“Perfect! I’ll come over tomorrow at five, then. Any allergies?”
“No,” I choke out, trying to think of a reason to tell her no. This can’t happen. I’m trying to keep Easton at arm’s length and now his mom is encroaching. “But—”
“Great. See you tomorrow night! Besos.”
The call ends and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened. Only I don’t have too much time to wonder because I need to get Kendall dried off and ready for bed, and then I need to finish going through my notes. It’s going to be a long night…
Knock, knock, knock.
“Mommy! There’s someone at the door!”
“I know, Sunshine. Just give me a second,” I yell across the apartment. I don’t know if it’s something I ate or the pregnancy or if I’m maybe catching something, but I’ve spent the day throwing up. My body is sore, my head is pounding, and it feels like I’m dying.
I quickly brush my teeth, then go out to answer the door. When I open it and see Alicia standing there with bags in her hands, I curse my life. I forgot she was coming over for dinner. I glance down and groan at my lack of appearance. I’m in Easton’s sweats because they’re the only thing that now comfortably fit me—since I’ve had no time to go shopping—and a tank, sans bra. Between throwing up and it snowing and raining outside, I’ve been a damn mess all day, and her coming over completely slipped my mind.
“Mommy, who is it?” Kendall asks, knocking me from my thoughts and reminding me of my manners.
“Please, come in.” I open the door wider so she can pass through. “I’m not going to lie. I forgot you were coming over. It’s been a…busy day. If you can just give me a minute, I’ll put some clothes on.”
“You don’t need to do that for me,” Alicia says with a warm smile as she walks inside.
I see Easton’s hoodie on the arm of the couch, so I grab it and throw it on, then follow her into the kitchen.
“Kendall, do you remember Easton’s mom, Alicia?”
“Yes,” she says. “Easton is in Chicago.”
Alicia grins. “He is?”
“Yeah, want to see where it is?”
“Sunshine, I’m sure—”
“I would love to,” Alicia says, cutting me off.
We follow Kendall to her room, where she proceeds to explain to Alicia each place Easton has been so far. “I’m coloring him pictures every day he’s gone so he knows what I did,” Kendall tells her. “Do you want to color a picture with me?”
“Kendall, I don’t think—” But before I can finish my sentence, a wave of nausea overtakes me and I run to the bathroom, barely making it in time. I’m in the middle of dry heaving, when a cool washcloth is placed around my neck, instantly cooling my heated flesh.
“Why don’t you take a bath, while I color with Kendall?” Alicia offers.
“I don’t have time to take a bath,” I choke out. “I have to feed her and give her a bath and then I have to get dressed to…” I can’t finish my sentence because I’m all of a sudden overcome with emotion clogging my throat, making it hard to speak, to breathe. Tears blur my vision, as the weight I’m carrying becomes too much.
Alicia wraps her arms around me while I sob into her shirt, more than likely drenching it. She runs her fingers through my hair and tells me it’s okay, while I cry in her arms. I can’t remember the last time someone held me like this, comforted me… But it feels good, therapeutic even.
When it feels like I’m finally all cried out, I glance up, embarrassed and mortified. She must think I’m crazy… “I’m so sorry,” I begin, but she’s already shaking her head.