by Beth K. Vogt
“What?” Jillian clutched Geoff’s arm. “Tell him to sit down and finish his breakfast. Talk to him.”
“It’s okay, Jillian. Like I said, it’s not a no—and that’s more than I had when I came in here.” Brian picked up his plate. “I’ll ask them to box this up for me on my way out.”
“Geoff—”
“It’s your call, Geoff. You’ve got my number.” Brian nodded. “I won’t bother you again. I promise. And I do keep my word now.”
“You’re going to let him leave?” Jillian twisted to face her husband.
“Until I figure out what I want . . . yes.”
22
TODAY HAD COME so much sooner than I had expected.
Sooner and out of order.
There’d been no lavish Broadmoor wedding. No, I’d been denied that dream and, instead, had fast-forwarded past a honeymoon and being a newlywed to pregnancy and morning sickness to . . . today, when I would share that I was having a little girl with my family.
Yay.
First everyone had to arrive so they could hear the news. Until then, small talk, which was a waste of time—like trying to train the most recent pharmacy technician who proved to be untrainable. She’d just never caught on to the routines, no matter how many times they were explained to her by another more experienced technician or by me.
But the last thing I wanted to do was share the gender-reveal news with people one by one. It was better to chitchat with Mom while she prepped the new vegan recipe she’d found. You couldn’t say Mom didn’t try to support Payton’s dietary choices.
“What did you and Dad decide about putting a deck on the house?”
“Zach talked with us and we decided to do a ground-level deck with a fire pit. His friend who’s doing the design also offered to help build the deck.” Mom finished chopping asparagus. “The two of them say it’ll take a couple of weekends. Dad wants to lend a hand, but I think it’ll be mostly Zach and his friend Brandon.”
“Only a couple of weekends? That’s it?”
“According to Zach, yes. We’re using composite so we don’t have to worry about upkeep. I want a storage bench on one end. And some kind of shaded area. But other than that, it’s not complicated. I think Zach will have a sketch today.”
“Sounds like it’ll be fun.” I stole a bite of asparagus, avoiding Mom’s playful smack of my hand. “What do you think about—?”
“I always love your ideas, Johanna, but we’re happy with what Brandon’s designed. He’s a professional, after all. Maybe when we decide on the new patio furniture, I’ll see what you think, although Payton’s shown me a few things already.”
I pressed my lips together. If Mom didn’t want my opinion, I wasn’t going to insist. Let Payton and Zach be the patio experts. “Everyone is coming today, right?”
“As far as I know, yes. I talked to Jillian earlier and she said she’d see us later.”
All right then. Today would be the day the Thatcher sisters would be back together again.
We couldn’t avoid each other forever. We didn’t always get along, but we were like the lost socks or gloves that somehow found their way back to each other. Jillian, Payton, and me. We belonged together, whether we liked it or not.
I ran my hand across my stomach, surprised at how often I found myself replicating the motion during the day. I couldn’t hide the fact I was pregnant anymore. I shouldn’t have to. But with Jillian and Geoff arriving sometime soon, I fought the desire to go to the coat closet and find the biggest, roomiest coat to wrap myself up in.
Ridiculous. I had nothing to hide—except my pregnancy. And even if I did, Jillian already knew I was having a baby. It wasn’t as if they’d forget.
The front door opened and I froze as if someone had tapped me in one of those once-upon-a-time childhood games of freeze tag. But at the sound of Payton’s and Zach’s hellos, I could shake off the moment of being caught.
“Are you okay?” Mom paused from her dinner prep.
“Yes. Of course.” I didn’t need to draw Mom into the sister drama. I raised my voice so Payton and Zach would hear. “We’re in the kitchen.”
“We brought a quinoa salad.” Payton entered, holding up a large ceramic bowl, Zach close behind her.
“Perfect. Dad is going to grill portobello mushrooms as well as some steaks, and I’m trying an asparagus frittata that uses chickpea flour, of all things. I always worry there’s not enough for you, Payton, and it wasn’t difficult at all.”
“I’ll eat Payton’s steak.” Zach wrapped his arms around Payton’s waist as she set the salad on the counter.
“She hasn’t convinced you to go vegan?”
“No.” Payton leaned into Zach’s embrace. “I’m not even trying.”
“I brought the plans for the deck, so whenever you want to look over them, Mom T. I left them in the car.”
“Let’s wait until after dinner. That way Geoff will be here, too.”
“Sounds good.”
“How are you feeling, Johanna?” Payton found the pitcher of tea in the fridge and poured herself a glass.
“Still not drinking coffee, but my doctor says my taste for it may not come back until after . . . after the baby’s born.”
“What was that? You paused there for a moment.” Payton lowered her voice, setting down her tea and pulling me aside. “Do you know what you’re having?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m having a baby.”
“You do! You know!” Payton’s quick hug caught me off guard.
Mom stopped mixing the sauce into the potato salad. “Johanna knows what?”
“Johanna knows if she’s having a boy or a girl.”
Winston’s sharp bark and the arrival of Jillian silenced all of us. It was as if someone had set the timer for an explosive.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Payton made eye contact with me, but neither of us said anything, for fear we’d detonate the bomb. I didn’t want Jillian to walk in on this moment, which was why I’d waited for the entire family to be together. And I wanted her to be happy for me. To be happy with me, if that was even possible.
“Jillian! I’m so glad you’re here.” Mom hugged Jillian.
“I’m glad I’m here, too, Mom.” Jillian watched Payton and me. “What are you two whispering about?”
The words stuck in my throat, but Payton came to my rescue. “Johanna knows whether she’s having a boy or a girl.”
Mom wiped her hands on a towel. “Well, I should get your dad.”
Jillian didn’t come running into the kitchen with a “Really? Tell us!” The smile on her face was forced, and she carried Winston close to her body like a shield, with Geoff following close behind. “Is it true, Jo?”
The use of my childhood nickname had no warmth in it.
“Yes, um, I had an ultrasound a few weeks ago . . .” There was no sense in making this any sort of dramatic, drawn-out announcement, but I did have to wait for Mom and Dad. “And everything looks good.”
“We’re here!” Mom returned, Dad right behind her. “What did you say?”
“I said the baby looked healthy on the ultrasound I had a few weeks ago.” Everyone watched me. Waiting. Wondering. “The doctor also said it looks like I’m having a girl.”
Within moments, Mom had wrapped me in a hug, but all I could see was Jillian. The absence of a smile on her face. How she blinked back tears.
“I’m sorry.” I mouthed the words.
I was caught in the middle of celebrating and hurting my sister at the same time. Knowing Mom’s excitement at my announcement snuffed out Jillian’s dream yet again. I hadn’t planned any of this. I hadn’t wanted to be pregnant.
Regret stained the moment gray, dimming my anticipation.
“Another Thatcher girl.” Payton spoke first.
“Yes. Another Thatcher girl.” Mom seemed unable to let go of me, her words woven through with the music of laughter and tears. “Isn’t it wonderful? Have you thought of names?�
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“Yes.” I couldn’t give more than a one-syllable answer.
“And?”
“I’m . . . I’m still thinking about it.”
“You’re not going to tell us?”
“Maybe once I decide . . .”
“We could help—”
“If I can’t decide, I’ll let you know.”
“You know what we do need to talk about?” Payton stood in the center of the group. “A baby shower!”
“Yes!” Mom seemed ready to hug me again.
“No!” My response was a crack of thunder. “No baby shower.”
Jillian had whispered something to Geoff and then disappeared.
“Johanna, you have to have a baby shower. You need everything. A crib. A car seat. A high chair . . .” The way she named items so easily, Mom had been making a list.
“Clothes!” Now it was Payton’s turn to jump in. “Think of all the adorable clothes for a baby girl.”
“Speaking of clothes, you don’t have any maternity clothes.” Mom’s tone implied this was a grievous mistake.
“I’m managing fine with leggings and loose tops.”
“How many weeks are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“It’s a good thing you were so slender before you got pregnant. That’s the only reason you’ve managed this long. And you lost weight, too.” Payton continued to take charge. “We’re going shopping.”
“No, we are not.”
“Yes, we are. We’re all here. We’ll eat, and then we’ll shop.”
This conversation had gone from bad to worse to what was Payton thinking? Going shopping was going to be excruciating compared to telling my family that I was having a little girl.
And I was saying no—and being ignored. This did not happen. But at least we weren’t talking about baby names anymore. “Weren’t you going to tell everyone about your plans for the deck?”
“That, big sister, is an evasive maneuver.” Payton hadn’t noticed Jillian’s absence.
“Do we have time to look at the deck plans before dinner?” I would ignore Payton, even if she was right.
Payton skated right past my question with her answer. “Why don’t we look at them while we eat and then we can let the guys talk about them while they clean up? Thatcher tradition, right? And we’ll go shopping.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Jillian stepped back into the kitchen, her eyes bright and rimmed with red—a telltale sign she’d been crying. “I think it’s a . . . a great idea. Payton’s right. You need to get some real maternity clothes.”
I couldn’t fight with Jill. Payton, yes. Jillian . . . once in a while, maybe. But not today. The brief touch of her hand was almost as good as a hug, the way it reconnected us for just a moment. We’d get through my pregnancy and beyond . . . one painful choice at a time.
This was the mall Mom had taken us to when we’d needed school clothes. She’d also taken us here for our haircuts. When we’d needed to shop for homecoming and prom dresses. At least, this was where Jillian and I had come. I had no idea where she’d taken Payton and Pepper.
“What do you want to try on first?” Payton had designated herself the leader of this little shopping expedition.
“I don’t want to try on anything. This wasn’t my idea, remember?”
“Stop arguing, Johanna.” Payton lightened her reprimand with a smile. “You know you need some basics.”
I could enter the store kicking and screaming—not my style at all—or at least appear willing. Buy a few items. And be done with this ordeal in under an hour.
“I don’t even know what they sell in a maternity store.”
“The same types of things you find in other stores, but with more room . . . and access.”
“Access?”
“Nursing bras and tops? Do you want to look at those now or wait until later?”
“I won’t be looking at those at all. I plan on bottle feeding.”
“Bottle feeding?” Mom’s attention turned from a rack of tops to me.
“Yes.” I should have known better than to mention my decision. “And this topic is not open for discussion. I’m going to be a working mother . . .”
I was going to be a mother.
It didn’t matter if I was going to be a working mother or not. I was having a baby. A baby. And all these changes to my body—watching my waistline and flat stomach disappear—just hinted at all the other ways my life was going to change. My job would be affected. I might be single—a single mom—forever. What man would want to marry a woman like me? A career-minded, settled-in-Colorado, mother-of-a-daughter kind of woman?
Who knew that walking into a maternity store would bring my future into such sharp focus?
Mom clapped her hands together once. “Let’s just look at maternity clothes. Things like tops and pants first.”
“Those kinds of things only.”
I had to make this quick or I was going to have some sort of out-of-pregnant-body experience. Graphic images of smiling, contented, perfect mothers-to-be were everywhere.
I was no such thing. The perfect life I’d planned for myself eluded me. It had started crumbling the day Dr. Lerner had introduced Axton Miller to me, but I would maintain control of today.
“Why don’t we each pick out a few things?” Mom was trying to make it a fun shopping trip, and Jill still hung back, standing just inside the store.
“No. I’ll grab a few things. This. And this. And this . . .”
“Wait. Slow down.” Payton removed the hangers from my hands. “You don’t even know if you’ve got the right size.”
“If it’s not—”
“If we need another size, I’ll ask the saleswoman for help.” Mom spoke up, nodding to one of the trio of women at the counter who smiled and moved our way. “For now, I’ll ask her to set up a dressing room.”
Payton held up a bright-yellow top. “How about this?”
“I am not wearing anything with words on it. No supposed-to-be-funny pregnancy slogans.” I shook my head. “And I think the last time I wore yellow, I was in middle school. I want things I can wear to work.”
“Fine.” Payton returned the T-shirt to the rack. “Are you open to a peplum top?”
“Yes.”
Mom returned, taking my hand and leading me toward the back of the store. “Go ahead to the dressing room and we’ll see what we can find.”
My mom and sisters had pulled a page from one of Axton Miller’s books and turned shopping into a team event. But Jillian still stood rooted at the same spot—she might have even inched closer to the exit. Neither of us wanted to be here. I should release her from this obligation and tell her to leave.
A couple pieces of clothing hung in the dressing room. Gray leggings. A basic black V-neck T-shirt with short sleeves.
“Here.” Mom peeked through the curtain and offered me a hanger with a top on it just as I started to peel off my regular leggings. “Payton said you wanted to try this on.”
“Right.” My sister hadn’t mentioned the peplum top was a floral print. I didn’t wear floral prints.
“I’m going to look for a few more things.”
“Mom, I don’t need much.”
“Johanna, this is probably the only time we’re going to get you to try on maternity clothes. I have every intention of taking advantage of it.” Mom had the nerve to grin as if she knew she was victorious, standing there with her clothes on while I got undressed. “And you have a few more months left before you deliver. You’ll get tired of wearing the same things over and over again.”
“You’re taking advantage of a pregnant woman.”
“A mom does what a mom has to do.” Mom disappeared with a laugh.
I was being treated like a child. Everyone was having fun at my expense.
That wasn’t true. For all I knew, Jillian was walking the mall, putting as much distance between us as possible.
I paused, my hands still on the waistband of
my leggings. I could call a halt to all of this. Walk out and then buy some clothes online and return them if they didn’t fit.
Instead, I tugged off my leggings. They only worked because I snugged them below my protruding belly. Then I pulled my top up over my head, hanging it on one of the hooks on the wall. And then there I was. Pregnant. From three different angles. Pregnant.
I turned my back on the mirror.
Too much reality at one time.
The whisper of my name was so faint, I ignored it the first time. And then the sound came again.
“Joey.”
I flung one arm across my stomach, pulling the curtain aside just an inch, holding the material against my body. “Jill?”
“Yeah. Here. Try this on.” She held out a sundress in a pale blue. No logo or words.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“Jill.” I grabbed her hand before she could move away.
We held hands, me in a bra and panties behind a dressing room curtain, Jillian with tears in her eyes. And I couldn’t find the words to say.
“I know . . .” She squeezed my hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We will.”
Back inside the dressing room, I hugged the sundress against my skin. It was a peace offering from my sister who knew how to move past misunderstandings better than I did. I chose to ignore them. She chose to mend them.
It didn’t matter what I looked like in this dress. I was buying it.
23
AS MUCH AS I’D RESISTED going shopping with Mom, Payton, and Jillian, I had to admit—to myself, not to them—it was nice to wear a pair of leggings that covered my stomach, instead of rolling the waistband down below my belly button. I’d even purchased two of the peplum tops Payton had found, but in solid neutral colors, not floral, because they worked well beneath my lab coat. Paired with my flats, I looked professional and was no longer wearing an outfit that was merely okay and mostly uncomfortable.
“You look nice today, Dr. Thatcher.” Libby, one of my most reliable pharmacy technicians, complimented me as she left for the day. “Is that a new outfit?”
“Yes. Thanks.” Libby didn’t need to know I’d been forced to go shopping. I’d accept the comment and leave it at that.
