Willow

“You’re overthinking this,” Stella says on the phone. “You can’t seriously believe Dallas is messing around with some other chick named fucking Cindy. I’ve never heard of a Cindy, which means she doesn’t get thought of around here.”

I thought the night at the hotel was a crazy one.

That’s nothing compared to today.

I spent a morning with Dallas. We hung out with his daughter. A woman told me he’d been hanging out with her. Maven asked me if I had kids, and I somewhat lied to her. I don’t have kids … yet.

“She said he’s been eating her food. Fried chicken, to be exact,” I argue.

“And?”

“And?” I shout. Why does she not agree that this is a problem?

“Does eating her food mean eating her vagina or something? Is fried chicken a code phrase I don’t know about?”

I slump down on the couch and groan. “I don’t know. I just …” Just don’t want him falling for another woman. I’d better start whipping up some food Betty Crocker–style to compete with this chick’s fried chicken. Time to call KFC for their secret recipe.

“Trust me, you’re the only woman I’ve seen Dallas hanging out with. Shit, even talking to.”

“You not seeing it doesn’t mean it’s not happening. You don’t see me witnessing you screwing Hudson, but I know you guys are.”

“Holy shit,” she bursts out.

“Holy shit what?”

“You’re falling for him, aren’t you? This isn’t about your hook-up the other night or about you wanting to get along for the baby. You’re into him.”

“What?” I yell. “No! Absolutely not!” I’m getting good at this whole lying/denying-my-feelings thing.

“Oh, come on. It’s obvious. You’ve been hanging out, having dinner, giving each other oral before having sex, and picking up his daughter from camp. All that is falling-for-each-other stuff.”

“It’s not obvious.” I take a deep breath to change the tone of my voice to sound more self-contained. “Don’t take me making sure my baby daddy isn’t a psychopath for me falling for him.”

She sighs dramatically. “You owe me a hundred bucks when you two become official. I can take it out of your paycheck. I’ll ask Hudson if anything is going on with Dallas and fried-chicken chick.”

I snort. “Like he’d tell you. Dallas is his brother. Bro code.”

“I can be very persuasive with my man. Trust me.”

I stretch my legs out and measure my stomach—something I’ve been doing every night to track my progress. “I’m beginning to second-guess my decision of forcing the two of you to get back together. All this lovey-dovey crap makes me sick.”

She laughs. “It’s the morning sickness making you sick. I can’t wait until you and Dallas admit you’re in love, and I can throw all of this back in your face. I’ll be the one rolling my eyes at your lovey-dovey shit.”

“Whatever. Dallas is in love with his wife, who passed away.” I’m acting like a brat, feeling sorry for myself, but this is where I start to push him away again. My heart is ready to go back into solitude. You can’t have your heart broken if you don’t give it out. “He’ll always be in love with her, and I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon.”

She expels a long breath. “People move on. He can still love her and you.”

“People can move on, yes, but a man in love as deep as Dallas was? No.” A call beeps through, and I pull my phone away to check the caller ID before she keeps up with her argument. “Let me call you back. I have a call coming through.”

“Is that call from Dallas?”

“Good night, best friend.”

She’s laughing when I end the call to answer his.

“Hello?” I throw my hand over my mouth, regretting taking the call. I haven’t prepared myself for this conversation yet. I have to get myself together.

“Hypothetical situation,” he breathes out, sounding stressed. “What would you say if I told you Maven knew you were pregnant?”

I don’t even have time to think about what I would say before I screech out my reply, “I’d say you were out of your mind, and there was no way she’d know unless someone—say, her father—told her.”

“Another hypothetical situation. What would you say if I told you Maven knew we were having twins?”

“What?” I shriek. Him and his big mouth. “You’ve lost your mind!”

He groans. “I couldn’t help it! My six-year-old is apparently the damn baby whisperer. She asked me if you were pregnant because you rubbed your belly like fucking Marci’s mom.”

“Marci’s mom? Who’s that?”

“Another pregnant woman, I’m assuming.”

“Let me get this straight. She asked if I was pregnant because I rubbed my stomach like another pregnant chick?”

“Correct.”

“And you felt it was important to confirm it?”

“Correct again.”

“Are you nuts?” I scream.

“I didn’t know what to do. I can’t lie to my daughter.”

The hell he can’t. I’ll be lying to my children all the time about stuff they have no business knowing yet.

“Oh, really? So, you’ve told her Santa Claus isn’t real and the Easter Bunny is you?”

He chuckles but tries to keep his voice serious. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, you could’ve maybe, I don’t know, changed the conversation to fucking Barbie dolls or something? Asked her to have a tea party? Talked about anything but my uterus.”

“We can’t have tea parties before bedtime,” he explains.

“That fake caffeine is bad for children and their stuffed dogs after the streetlights come on, huh?”

“Smart-ass,” he mutters. “I don’t see why you’re pissed. You should be thanking me. This saves you from having to be there when I planned on telling her.”

“At least one good thing to come out of this.” My heart stammers, and confusion flickers through me. Why am I upset that I wasn’t there? Why am I sad I didn’t get to see her reaction?

“You still pissed?” he asks a few seconds later.

“Not pissed. Shocked.”

“If it makes you feel better, I made her promise she wouldn’t tell anyone until I told her it was okay.”

“I’m not sure how much I trust a promise coming from a six-year-old.”

“It helps when you add an extra birthday gift as a hush bribe. Some parenting advice to a mommy-to-be–nothing works better than bribery with extra doll clothes.”

“Bribery is okay, but lying is off the table? Makes sense. I’ll have to keep that in mind.” While mine is going fucking crazy right now.

“Now that I know you’re not pissed, just shocked, I need to ask for a favor.”

Seriously? This co-parenting relationship with benefits is getting demanding.

“Haven’t you thrown enough at me tonight?”

“This one will be a fun one.”

“Shoot.” I cross my fingers that it doesn’t involve any more pregnancy announcements.

“Will you go shopping with me for Maven’s birthday present? Lauren planned on going with me, but she’s been pulling double shifts to save up for a house. I don’t want to put more stress on her.”

“Maybe you should ask Cindy. You can go shopping, and then she’ll feed you some fried chicken casserole.” I’m acting petty, but this is how I bring up my problems. I use my sarcasm to tell people how I feel.

“What?”

“The smiley chick who came over when we picked Maven up.” Is clarification needed? “The one who thought her fried chicken was the best thing since sliced bread.”

“Wow,” he says with a laugh.

“What?”.

“Surely, you don’t believe I’m hanging out with her?”

“No,” I stutter out. “I mean, I don’t know.”

He sounds like he’s enjoying this now. “Would you be upset if I were?”

“Nope. Not at all. Eat her fried chicken. Get heart disease. It’s all good.”

“Willow,” he draws out in warning, “would you be upset if I were?”

“Would I upset? Nope. Pissed? Yes. Will I have sex with you again if you are? Definitely not.”

“I’m not hanging out with her, I swear. She came around and dropped off food when Lucy passed but hasn’t been around in months. Even then, it was nothing. I accepted the food, so my daughter wouldn’t starve until I got my shit together. When I managed to perfect grilled cheese, I put a stop to it.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

“You’re the only woman I’m hanging out with. Hell, other than my sister and mother, you’re the only woman I even talk to. So, now that that’s done, when do you want me to pick you up for shopping?”

“We’re not going anywhere in town, are we?”

“No. I figured we could take a trip into the city. She asked for an American Girl doll?” He says it like he’s unsure if that’s the right name.

“Oh, I had one of those, growing up. Which one does she want?”

“Uh … one that looks like her? They have a store in the mall near the airport.”

“Another road trip, huh?”

“Seems to be our thing. My mom is taking Maven to her bake sale, and then they’re going shopping for her party decor on Saturday. That okay?”

“My Saturday looks open.” Like almost every day.

Stella is on break from filming and hasn’t been asking much of me, so getting out of my apartment sounds refreshing.

“Then, it’s a date.”

I grin. “It’s a date.”