I turn my head to gaze up at her. “Does my brother realize how loyal you are?”
Where the heck can I find a sidekick who doesn’t mince words and who’s willing to peck a person’s eyes out in the name of loyalty? Jeez, kid, I’m not stealing from him—I’m hiding the fact that I’m having a baby!
I just need a little more time.
Just a few days to work up the courage…
“I think he does.” Molly grins. “Your brother Buzz tried to give me fifty bucks once to put a bag of dog doo on the front porch, light it on fire then ring the doorbell.”
Flaming dog shit? I imagine when Tripp answered the door and saw a paper bag on fire on his front porch, he would have stomped on it to put the flames out and gotten dog shit on his feet.
That happens to be the oldest running gag on the planet, and the vilest.
What a bunch of idiots.
“I’m assuming you didn’t do it?”
“Um, no. Gross. But I did tell Mr. Wallace about it. He paid my friends Kyle and Steven twenty bucks each to go toilet paper all the trees in the other Mr. Wallace’s yard.”
“Don’t those two have anything better to do? They act like teenagers.”
Molly giggles. “Yeah.”
I get serious for a second. “Look, Molly, I like you, and I don’t want you to lie for me.” That’s a lie. I actually do. “There’s nothing to hide.”
Lies, lies, lies.
I’m hiding my baby.
“I just need a few days to come up with a plan. Kind of like a reveal—one that won’t put him over the edge.”
She nods, approving of this plan. “Alright.”
“And for the record, I’m more worried about our other brother Buzz finding out than I am about Tripp finding out. It will be fine.” Everything will be fine.
Yup, just fine.
I groan again as my tummy churns. I’m not that far along and don’t want to jinx myself by telling anyone I’m pregnant, but I also don’t want to keep lying about it every time I get morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And anytime-I-eat-food sickness.
Chewy nudges me with his snout, and I muster up the energy to pat the little fella on the head.
Molly takes pity on me, seemingly considering my words. I can see in her eyes that she isn’t buying the food poisoning story for a second, but she has her lips pressed together in silence.
She hmphs as only an indignant teenager can.
“Come here, Chewy, let’s get you a treat to gnaw on.” She bends, pulling him toward the door by the collar with a gentle tug. “Let’s leave the poor lady alone.”
The poor lady.
Suddenly I feel like one as Molly gives a few clicks of her tongue so the dog follows her out of the room, trotting obediently and merrily at the sound of the word treat, oblivious to the tension I feel from the mess I just created.
My head rolls back to the toilet seat, the cold porcelain a godsend after the drive over from my parents’ house. Two hours in the car, alone with nothing but my thoughts and the echo of my mother’s voice in my ears.
“True, dear, you don’t look well. When is the last time you were at the doctor?” and “True, sweetie, do you have the flu? Your cheeks are gaunt.” and “I thought you liked apple pie—why is your face turning green?”
I had to get out of there fast, before my mother’s deductive reasoning and bullshit meter kicked into overdrive.
I’m not ready to tell my parents, either.
I am emotionally drained.
Coming to Tripp’s house was not part of my original plan. Initially, I thought I could crash at my parents’ place, knowing they’d be ecstatic to have me there, sleeping in their guest room while I look for a new apartment. I legitimately thought I could stay there because I’m so busy with work and finding somewhere new to live.
My mother loves to mother us. Hover. Smother. Feed and take care of us and meddle in our lives, as moms often do.
Nothing gets past our Genevieve Wallace. Nothing escapes her notice.
With this bean in my belly and me barfing nonstop, staying at my parents’ just isn’t in the cards.
I had to bring myself here.
Tripp will be willing to lie once I tell him, and he’ll damn sure be on board for lying to Buzz.
They love having one up on each other, always competing, always a competition, loving to spar.
I can thank my former roommate for whatever disaster is going to follow once my news leaks.
See, I had a place. A sophisticated, renovated townhouse apartment near the shore of Lake Michigan. I’ve lived there the past two years, though it wasn’t entirely my place. I did not live alone; it was an apartment I shared with two other women—women I thought I could trust.