CINDY
Every Wednesday, school lets out early. Sometimes it's for meetings with staff, other times it's just because half the people here are ancient and need sufficient sleep if they don't want to drop dead in the middle of a lesson.
Today it seems these people just want to live a little longer than the doctor told them they'd be living.
God, it's such a beautiful day outside. If Mom wasn't pregnant right now, I'd set up a picnic for everyone. But unfortunately, Dad's still playing nurse. Poor Mom.
Tommy's at the house. Probably streaming, because let's face it... what else does he do?
Is that messed up to say? Oh, well. I can say that. It's not like it's a terrible thing. It just means that he's driven when it comes to his job. Plus, I'm marrying the guy.
Speaking of, I'm meeting up with Hope to debate what the hell I'm doing for flowers at the wedding. If I didn't have a wedding planner as a friend, my entire life would be full of misdirection. Hope Sinclair is like my personal walking GPS.
We've had our weddings planned since elementary school, but somewhere along the way, my taste had changed. What are the odds of that?
See, in my diary from back then, I have flowers such as roses and buttercups written as options. As developments go, I'm allergic to buttercups and I think roses are ugly.
I'm not sure how I'm allergic to only buttercups, but rumor has it that I was cursed as a baby. At least that's what Mom says. Who knows, though. We're also talking about the same woman who is forty-three and pregnant. She's crazy.
Love you, Mom.
How did I go from wedding to pregnant lady? Oh, gosh. I desperately need coffee.
As if on cue, I spot Hope looking around like an idiot with one hand on the handle of the stroller she's steering around. In the cupholders are two coffees. Hallelujah.
I call her name, and as her eyes land on me, relief floods her features. See, at this point, I'm convinced she only hangs out with me because me and Aaliyah are calmest around each other. It's a win for Hope.
It's not like I'm complaining. You don't become a teacher if you hate kids.
Aaliyah is Hope's daughter, my goddaughter.
Anyway, don't quote me on that on that part about all teachers loving kids. Some of my teachers in high school were brutal.
Bleh, not the point. What I'm getting at is that I like kids. I always have, and Aaliyah is like my pre-baby. Like my little practice test? I don't know. But I do know I can be an awesome babysitter. Ask anyone.
Anyone but my fiancé. I think he hates kids at this point.
Tommy wants to wait a few more years before even thinking about kids, but I'm so ready. Sure, the thought of pregnancy terrifies me, but the kid part is appealing enough tto go through with it.
It's a deep, dark secret of mine, but... I've had baby fever since I was like eleven. Maybe even before that.
Not like I wanted to be pregnant before I got to middle school. But I was the only girl other than Mom growing up. I've never been close with my female cousins, and after finally realizing I'd never get the little sister I always wanted, I came to terms with the fact that I would just have to wait and get things done myself.
Look at my mom now—popping out a fucking child fifteen years too late.
"Oh, thank God." Hope lets put a breath, bringing me back to earth.
She sets her diaper bag on the picnic table, pushing her stroller toward me.
Within the second, I've got baby Aaliyah settled on my hip and an ounce of coffee already in my system. She's got my hair in her tiny fists, trying to fit it into her mouth as she coos.
"What happened?" I smile, making way to hug Hope's side. She gives me a quick hug and takes a seat.
"Sit." She is all she tells me.
I do as she says as she pulls out a big binder. Why did I know she'd do this?
She's done this in my presence with other clients. Even though they're dead set on everything and don't want to change a thing, she'll bring out her brick of a binder to go over more options for everything. Flowers my ass.
Maybe it's her being good at her job so that we can move onto other things, but this has been so time consuming and tiring. Planning a wedding is like asking to be sleep deprived. First it's the flowers, then it's the overthinking and insecurity.
She does a double take, eyes flickering between me and the binder when she notices my expression.
She frowns. "Don't look at me like that, Cindy. I'm just..."
"Full of shit." I finish for her, glaring at the binder in hopes it will get a hint and grow some damn legs. "Flowers. Remember? I just want to talk about flowers. Nothing else. Everything is perfect."
"I know, I just think that I might have found some better options."
Hope reaches across the table to make gabby hands at me. I give her my hand and she squeezes it.
"My dress is gorgeous, the venue might as well have been dropped from heaven. I just want to finish this last thing and get to the invitations."
She groans, letting go of my hand. "Everything you want goes against my regular order. This is all whack."
While I know I've gone through and made her do things all wrong, this feels right as it is.
Speaking of "right", Wright. I want to talk about flowers so I can talk about... not flowers.
The look I give her must have her pitying me enough to drop it because she closes her binder and crosses her arms over it.
"What's wrong? Is my baby not enough for you?"
I laugh, shaking my head at that suggestion. As if. Allie is precious beyond belief.
"No, no. I..." I use my free hand to cover my forehead with. When she sees the forehead touch, her eyes widen and she leans into the table, suddenly very interested. "You can't tell anyone. Not Ben, not Robin."
Robin is her husband. AKA: the bane of my existence.
"Oh, my God. Did you finally snap? Who'd you kill?" She jokes.
"The other day at the library, some guy came in and he was hiding from paparazzi. And it's not like I've never seen someone of... higher status. I mean I'm dating Tommy, for crying out loud. But I was squeezed behind the wall with the guy—"
"Ooooh, the wall. Did he smell good?"
Yes.
I roll my eyes playfully. "Shut up."
"Oh, he so did."
I don't entertain her insanity.
"Anyway, I had to drive him out of there. Dude told me he was an author. Then, on my way out of my parents' house, I saw the guy on TV."
She gasps softly, gaping at me. "You're kidding."
"I'm not! Football player. Levin Wright."
She shrugs. "Never heard of him."
I pull out my phone as I continue on. She needs to see him. Not only because I want her to be jealous I've now officially met two more celebrities than her, but also because he's very attractive.
It would be a travesty for her not to lay her eyes on the guy once.
"Doesn't end there. I went to the gym, and guess who I saw? THE GUY! And I pretended like I thought he was an erotica author and confronted him, and then regretted it right after. Like, it was so embarrassing for me when it was meant to embarrass him and..."
Every word that was going to come after that leaves my mind as my gaze falls on the first thing that pops up upon my search. It reads: "Wright Caught With Another Girl". The capitals piss me off instantly.
I click on it. My stomach tightens and my shoulders tense. Absentmindedly, I give my friend her baby.
Hope is talking to me, but I can't hear a thing. All I can focus on is a zoomed in photo of me crying next to my car as Levin started fending of the paparazzi that were basically swarming us.
My heart drops right through my body.
What...
Oh, God. Oh, God.
How long has this been up? Is this the first one? How long until someone figures out I'm Tommy's and spread more shit? What are they going to say about my fiancé?
I grab my bag, still not acknowledging Hope. I'm staring at my phone as I head to my car. When I'm inside, I send her the article.
The same article that is full of pictures of me, me, me.
I cry the whole way home.
❄︎❄︎❄︎
I'm still crying, basically hyperventilating. Tommy is in the kitchen, filling a glass of water when I pass him and he asks me what's wrong. I can't answer him though. I'm too in my head to pay him any attention.
What if I'm creating drama and ruining things for him. Drama he gets into can lead to losing sponsorships if it's bad enough, or—
As I stand in front of my bedroom door, I realize he's probably streaming. It only makes me want to cry harder. I can't go into my own bedroom to cry in the case that he might have thousands of people watching me.
I turn on my heels, heading for the guest bedroom.
Tommy catches up to me, grabbing me by my elbow to stop me.
"What's wrong?"
I don't know what to do or what to say to that. But I know I'm upset. Sad that I may be ruining something for him by... existing and being a human being, and angry that he's infiltrated my space with his own space.
"You need to get your PC out of the fucking room! I can't do anything without eyes on me!" I sob.
Especially now that some douche took pictures of me outside the library, I'm going to be watched like a hawk. I just want everyone to close their eyes and avoid looking at me or acknowledging me.
I won't be able to go to the library, won't be able to go my regular routes to school or the store. And how many of my kids saw already? How many of my coworkers?
This is a disaster of the greatest proportions.
"Baby." He says almost apologetically, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into him.
I snake my arms around his torso, hugging him tight. I hiccup and sob against him like it's a job of mine. God knows it'll be the only one I have if things go south. This could make me lose my job.
"I messed up." I sobbed. "I messed up so bad, and it's going to ruin everything."
He tenses. The first thought of what that could mean if he'd said that to me would be that he's cheating. Before he can question me, I pull out my phone to show him the article.
Taking my phone, I watch as his eyes scan over my screen. When he's done, he locks my phone and tosses it on the couch.
I expect him to be mad, or ask a million questions. I expect him to expect the worst and start yelling at me about why I hadn't told him about what happened that day yet.
Instead, he holds me extra tight and showers me with kisses, apologizing for what happened between each one. It wasn't his fault, though.
"Everything will be fine. We can talk about it on stream if it gets too big. But for now, it's basically nothing."
I shake my head, clutching the back of his shirt. "No, no. It has to be big if it was the first thing to come up, right?"
He sighs, pulling away to cup my face. "I guess? Whatever it is, it's fine."
I don't look at him, so so ashamed.
Of course it isn't my fault that Levin somehow ended up at the library at the same time I was at the library. I didn't will him there.
"Okay." I mumble.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
I nod.
We end up on the couch as I explain to him every little detail. I tell him about the gym, and about how Levin is the same guy from the gym.
I tell him about how we ended up at my car, about me driving him, about how I didn't tell Tommy anything because I wasn't sure if it would be okay to tell anyone. The whole ordeal felt top secret.
He assures me that there is nothing that we can't do to get it out of the spotlight. Tommy tells me about a few horror stories from before I met him about drama he thought he'd never escape.
"And I'll move my setup back to my house. I'm sorry if it's been bothering you for a long time."
I shrug. "You don't have to. I was just..."
"Upset. And you always say shit you mean when you're overwhelmed. I know you and I should've known it would be such an invasion."
He kisses my head and apologizes profusedly. I don't bother denying it, because I crave the fresh air of real privacy in my room once his desk is gone.
I try telling him he can move it into the guest room, but he rolls his eyes and says he thinks it'll be better for him to take his setup home.
My first thought is that the people in his audience who have seen the whole... thing will think it's weird he's not in my room anymore. Something possessive wraps its arms around me, and suddenly I want to cling to him more than ever.
But then it hits me that I hate this. I hate having to worry about this. I hate the fact that I'm in a position where I have to watch everything I do and say just because of who I'm with.
It isn't right.
That's all I think as he spoons me in his half-asleep glory. This just isn't right.
And I know what they say about going to bed angry, but what do the say about however the hell I'm feeling?