The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)

“Bleh—no to both. My cravings have moved on to Flaming Hot Cheetos now.”

“You know, it really makes me mad that you eat whatever you want all the time and barely look pregnant. I was an elephant at your stage of pregnancy.”

I KNOW, PEOPLE! I’m small for a woman in her third trimester. I get it. Everyone mentions it all the time, and it makes me feel terrible. They all look at me like I’m starving myself and my poor child will never be healthy or go to the Olympics because of me! I’m just petite, okay?! My doctor even offered to write me a note to keep in my purse that states my child is measuring perfectly and my size is more than acceptable for a healthy pregnancy. Fine, maybe I had to beg and plead (and sob) for her to write it, but it doesn’t matter—that slip of paper is laminated in my purse, so every humiliating tear I shed was worth it. That old lady at the grocery store had to totally eat her words when I whipped it out and flashed it in front of her smug, know-it-all face.

When I don’t respond, Lucy asks, “Jessie? Are you okay?”

I’m trying to hide it, but I can’t. I let out a sharp sniffle and swipe the tear from my cheek because I’m extra sensitive about my size. And basically anything and everything all the time.

“Oh no, are you crying?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” I say through very obvious tears. “I never cry.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Crying is for suckers.” My voice is cracking and wobbling—stupid pregnancy.

“Oh, hun,” Lucy says, with nothing but fondness in her tone.

“What?” I ask, going to the bathroom to rip off a piece of toilet paper and blot my eyes before my mascara has a chance to run.

I don’t know what comes over me these days. One minute I’m completely fine, and the next, I’m watching an erectile disfunction commercial and weeping because it’s so freaking sweet that those couples hold hands while soaking in their side-by-side bathtubs! And don’t even get me started on the dog food commercials full of puppies.

“Only two more months,” she says, knowing how completely over pregnancy I am. She knows it because I text it to her first thing every single morning. Combine that with my hatred for her brother, and it’s really a miracle she hasn’t blocked me from her life yet. A terrible thought hits me: maybe she’s only my friend because I’m her boss? I’m the owner of Honeysuckle Salon where Lucy works, but surely she’s not just friends with me for that reason…GAH, now I’m crying more. This is ridiculous. Drew! I need to keep thinking about Drew so I can channel all my emotions toward hatred instead of weeping.

“It still feels so far away,” I say, unsuccessfully pushing away my emotions. “Two months might as well be an eternity as long as I have insomnia and this baby continues to kick me in the ribs.”

“He’ll be out soon enough.”

“He?” I ask, like maybe Lucy performed a secret ultrasound I don’t know about and determined the sex of my baby before I did.

“Or she.”

“But you said he first. Do you think it’s a boy?” I could end this guessing game by just asking my doctor, but I’m not ready to know yet.

Lucy doesn’t get a chance to answer that question. “Oh, it’s him! Drew is beeping in on the other line. I’ll call you back with what he says.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Do you at least want me to have him call you?”

“Nope,” I say, closing the toilet seat lid and sitting down. “He wouldn’t get through because I already blocked his number. Well, I blocked it after sending him a lovely little message I’m sure he enjoyed.” It was cathartic, and I don’t regret it no matter how disappointed in me Lucy will be.

She sighs deeply. Poor thing is weary to her bones of all this fighting. “Okay, well I’ll call you back in a few minutes and not tell you what he says.” She’ll tell me. Lucy can’t keep things to herself. It’s physically impossible for her.

“Okay. Hey, Luce? You’re beautiful and I love you!”

“Mmhmm,” she murmurs before saying she loves me back, because Lucy is so sweet, she’s incapable of not returning affection, and then she hangs up.

I let my shoulders slump and stare at the plain blue wall in front of me, anxious to not allow the feeling of loneliness to creep up on me too close. Then a loud boom followed by a hissing noise under the sink makes me jump out of my skin. I rush to the vanity and drop down to my knees, and before really thinking about it, I fling open the cabinets. Water. So much water sprays like an open fire hydrant, soaking my face, body, and bathroom in a harsh, stinging deluge.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

3 HOURS EARLIER