Willow

Dallas: You break the news yet?

The text was sent two hours ago. My phone stayed in my purse throughout dinner, and when we got home, we spent the rest of the night bingeing on popcorn and Matthew McConaughey movies.

Me: Sure did.

I change into my pajamas and slide into bed. My mom kept my room how it was when I moved out. The same sponge-painted yellow walls and pictures of me at different school events on the dresser. I zero in on the prom picture of Brett and me and tell myself to toss it and any others with him into the trash tomorrow.

The phone rings, and I freeze up and stare at the screen for a few seconds when his name flashes across it. We’ve talked on the phone before, for business, so why am I terrified of answering?

I inhale a breath of courage before accepting the call. “Hello?”

“How’d she take it?” Dallas asks.

Hello to you, too.

I chew on my nails. “Not bad. I did crush her hopes on if I’d decided to move home and find a husband though.”

“You dream crusher, you.”

I smile.

“Did she ask about me? About who the dad is?”

“She knows who you are.”

A brief silence passes.

He met my mom at Stella’s Christmas dinner one year. I brought her as my plus-one after Brett went missing for forty-eight hours on a drinking binge. He and Lucy were there, and Mom talked about how their relationship was beautiful on our way back to my apartment.

“She’s happy I at least got knocked up by a decent man.”

“Good.” He pauses for a few seconds. “I need to ask for a favor.”

“If it’s being present and accounted for when you tell your parents, that’s gonna be a hard no.”

“Let me correct myself. I need to ask you for favors.”

“You’re really pushing it, you know that?”

“Come to Blue Beech.”

“I was just in Blue Beech, remember? Hudson having a big mouth, three a.m. wake-up call—all of that jazz.”

“Damn, Ms. Difficult, stay in Blue Beech. Give it a try. A trial run, if you will.”

“Didn’t we have this talk in the bathroom?” I ask, exasperated. No way in hell is that happening. “We decided we’re not moving in together, getting married, or any of that forced nonsense.”

“Whoa, whoa. Pump your brakes, sweetheart. I promise, this is not a marriage proposal. It’s a moving proposal, so we can do this as a team.”

“Why can’t we do it as a team in LA?”

It’s his turn to let out an exasperated breath. “I have a daughter here who adores her friends and family. My business is here. Hell, your job is here. Any other points I need to throw out? You belong here, Willow.”

I grow quiet, and he lets out an irritated groan.

“Fine, I’ll come to you if I have to, but prepare to explain the reason to my family. I won’t be pushed away from this, and I am not a man you can play games with. I’m a man who will fight for what he wants and the people he loves. You might not have given birth to our baby yet, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for it.”

He has a point. Maven has already lost her mom. It’d be greedy of me to ask Dallas to move her away from her home and the family she has left.

“Where am I supposed to stay? On the streets?”

“You can stay at my place. I have a guest room.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Stella’s?”

“Shack up with the lovebirds? Again, not happening.”

“We’ll find you a rental then.”

I yawn. This conversation is getting too dangerous, sounding too final. “Let me sleep on it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

* * *

I’m reading another article of what having a baby does to your vagina when the doorbell rings. My mom left for church an hour ago, so yelling for her to answer it isn’t an option. I throw the covers off me before slipping out of bed with a groan. It rings again as I trek down the stairs.

I’m cranky. Heartburn and headache made an appearance and decided to stay all night. Heartburn was the consequence of overeating pasta, and the headache was from the regret of possibly agreeing to move to Blue Beech.

I swing the front door open, and my temples throb at the sight of the world’s biggest asshole standing on the porch with white roses in his hand like he’s picking me up for prom.

“Nuh-uh, not today, Satan!” I yell before slamming the door in his face and locking it.

Someone must’ve spotted me at La Vista last night and told him I was in town.

Brett bangs on the other side. “Willow! At least talk to me!”

“Fuck you!” I yell back. “Go give those to one of the fifty women you fucked behind my back.”

“I have a key,” he warns. “Don’t you make me use it!”

“I have a baseball bat. Don’t you make me use it!”

He knocks a few more times. “I’ll be back. Don’t think I won’t. Every fucking day until I break you down.”

“That’s what they make restraining orders for!”

He knocks again. “I’ll be back.”

And then silence. Not surprising. Brett is one of the laziest men I know. He doesn’t like to work for anything, but he’ll try to sweet-talk me like he did every time I took him back in the past. Dealing with him is the last thing on my to-do list. Actually, not even on the list. He’s lazy but also irritating when he’s not getting his way. I’m guessing the woman he was cheating on me with got a glimpse of the real him and bailed. That means, he’s ready to run back to me.

Maybe I do need to get out of California, get some fresh air, and clear my head. I lean back against the front door as frustration builds in my head. I’m mentally cursing myself when I head back to my room.

I snatch my phone from the nightstand, nearly ripping it from my charger, and hit Dallas’s name, praying to God I don’t regret this tomorrow.

Me: Blue Beech. A trial run. That’s me compromising.

My phone beeps seconds later.

Dallas: Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.

I exit from his name and hit Stella’s.

Me: Hello, new neighbor!

Stella: YES! Team Stella for the win! You’re staying with me, BTW.

Me: Not happening, BTW.

Stella: Why? Don’t tell me you’re crashing at Dallas’s? How romantic.

Me: Are you nuts? I’m renting a place.

Staying with Dallas is not an option.

What would he tell his daughter? That I’m homeless and then—surprise!—I’m carrying your sibling?