Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
The mug nearly slipped from my hand.
“Hi,” she breathed, the word shaking.
I just blinked.
I couldn’t believe she was there.
Carter moved quickly, helping Lacey with the bags and inviting her inside as he struggled to keep Zamboni in check. Of course, my sister commanded him with ease just like I did, which made Carter go slack jawed and me grin.
For a heartbeat I stayed seated, body glued to leather. Fight, flight, freeze. I tried to work through what I knew could help — naming five things I could see, breathing in for four and out for six, but my brain was a jumbled mess.
Because my sister was here.
My sister is here.
As if it just registered, I abandoned my mug on the coffee table and rolled off the couch, scurrying over to her.
And as soon as the bags were out of her hands, Lacey was rushing to me, too.
We collided, arms thrown tight, both of us giggling, or maybe trying not to cry. I didn’t care in that moment about any of the weirdness between us. I hadn’t seen her in years, and something about just her presence alone had me forgetting there was any bad blood between us.
She felt the same. She smelled like the same honeyed vanilla lotion we stole from Mom’s vanity when we were twelve. My chest caved, and once again I found myself blaming hormones for how tears flooded my eyes.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” she whispered into my neck.
“I didn’t know if I still had you.”
The truth shredded my throat on the way out.
“You do,” she said. She squeezed harder, like she could anchor the words into flesh. “You always do.”
I wanted to believe her, to revel in those words, but something in me stayed wary. We separated, and I wiped under my eyes with the pad of my thumb. Lacey did the same.
“Come on, Zambo,” Carter said, leaning in to wrap his arm around me and press a kiss to my temple. “I’ll be right down the road,” he whispered. “I have my phone. Call if you need me. Okay?”
I nodded, pressing up to kiss his lips. “You did this?”
“I only helped facilitate,” he said with a grin, and then with one last squeeze of my hip, he and Zambo were gone.
Lacey watched me, her fingers writhing together in front of her waist.
“You—” It took me a second to find my voice. “You’re here.”
Lacey exhaled. “I am. Hi.”
“Hi.” I huffed out a laugh that still felt like a sob. “You said that already.”
Her mouth wobbled. “I panicked. I had a better opening line in the car.” Her eyes fell to where I was absentmindedly rubbing my stomach. I couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter that I was just barely showing a little bump that looked more like I’d eaten too much than anything else. I felt our baby like a piece of me, one I had to constantly cradle and protect. “Oh, Liv.”
“I know,” I said, shaking my head as I looked down. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“It’s wonderful.”
Her brows pinched together when I looked back at her, but then she clapped her hands together. “Oh! I brought you some things.”
She ran to the counter where Carter had dropped the bags, digging through them and pulling out items one by one. Black-and-white cookies. A box from a bakery I recognized from Long Island — soft everything bagels wrapped in white paper, a pint of scallion cream cheese. Rainbow cookies in a little windowed box. A jar of deli pickles as big as my forearm. Entenmann’s chocolate frosted donuts and a loaf-pan icebox cake with the unmistakable mark of chocolate wafers and whipped cream. Malt powder. A six-pack of cream soda. A carton of tart cherry juice. Ginger candies. Lemon drops. Saltines. Peppermint tea.
“I wasn’t sure exactly what to get,” she said frantically as she kept unloading. “But I knew I wanted to bring you a little bit of home. Did I remember the cream cheese correctly?” She held it up. “Scallion, right? I thought maybe it was the almond one, but then I was like no way my sister would sabotage a perfectly good bagel with a sweet cream cheese.”
My smile was wobbly. “You’re right. Scallion.”
“I knew it.”
But she wasn’t done. She pulled out a plush robe next, and then fuzzy slippers, a maternity dress still on its hanger, the kind that draped rather than clung, in a green that would melt against my skin. There was a little toiletry bag jingling with prenatal vitamins, a belly oil I recognized from a boutique, and a silk scrunchie. On top of it all, a handwritten note folded into quarters and tied with a piece of raffia in the way only my sister would think to do.
My throat closed.
“I made a pregnancy package,” she said, like she needed to explain the obvious. “For nausea and comfort and… and so you feel taken care of.” She swallowed. “Like you should have felt back then.”