Page 8

8

“ R emind me why I’m at your prenatal class?” I ask, sitting down behind Nina so that she can lean her weight against me.

“Because Jared is on a business trip,” she explains, getting down to the ground with a grunt of effort.

“Yes, I know that, but why me?”

“Because you love me, which means you can’t say no.”

I huff an exaggerated sigh. “You know all my weaknesses.”

She laughs as she strokes her belly, which is becoming more and more of a giant ball. “These are the advantages of having a best friend who is also a godmother.”

“I knew there was a catch!” I exclaim in mock outrage.

She grins. “A small one, perhaps.”

“Good morning, everyone. Now let’s begin by breathing together,” explains the instructor, settling herself at the head of the class.

Nina begins making this panting noise—sounding like a mix between a thirsty puppy and an undead zombie. When I look around, everyone else is doing it too. I have no idea how to join in because I didn’t attend the lesson where they taught zombie-breathing.

I grin, biting my lip to stop myself from laughing before I hide my face against her back.

“Stop laughing,” she says.

“I can’t,” I whisper, giggles hitching in my throat.

“Try.”

But as soon as she resumes the panting noise, I start giggling again. Soon, we’re both clutching our ribs to keep from howling with laughter like little kids.

We receive glares, both from the instructor and the other moms. The zombie-breathing must be some kind of sacred ritual. I struggle and mostly fail to maintain a straight face throughout the rest of the breathing lesson, and I’m very glad when it’s over.

Jared had better not go on a business trip again, at least not until this kid is born, I think as I haul Nina to her feet after the class.

“Shall we go get something to eat?” she asks me.

“Sure. That’s what you lured me with. You can’t back out now.”

“You act like I’m always asking you to do terrible things.” She pouts.

“Because that’s true!”

“Excuse me? That’s not true at all.”

“Did I have to go with you to get your bikini zone sugared?”

“Yes, okay, that was quite painful.”

“Did I have to hold your hand when they removed that varicose vein?”

“Fine, twice. Or three times.”

“Whose hand did you crush when you got your first tattoo?”

“You don’t have to keep score of everything.”

I grin at her. “Whenever you have to do something unpleasant, you ask me to come along.”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change what I said.”

“Best friends have to do that.”

“I completely agree.”

“Then don’t complain.”

I hold the door open for her. “I’ll do as I please.”

“You’re a real nut.”

“I can only return the compliment.”

“What kind of nut would you be if you were one?” she wants to know.

“Hm. Let me think. I believe I’d be a hazelnut. A bit bitter in taste, but quite crunchy.”

“You’re more like not quite crunchy anymore.”

“And you’re mean.”

We get our turn and the waitress leads us to our table.

“What kind of nut would you be?” I ask when we’re seated.

“A macadamia nut.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re big, round, and quite fatty.” Laughing, she strokes her belly.

I grin. “Well, you do look like you’re carrying a baby elephant on board.”

“You’re not supposed to say things like that to a pregnant woman.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she starts crying.”

And as if on cue, a tear runs down her cheek.

“You’re really nuts,” I reply unmoved, because she currently cries about anything and everything.

“It’s the hormones. I can’t help it.” But she manages to pull herself out of the sadness and she grins at me. “You’re the only one who doesn’t trip over their own feet trying to make everything right for me when I start crying.”

“They’re just crocodile tears.”

“You can’t really say that either. It is real.”

And again her eyes fill with tears.

I hand her the menu. “What would you like to eat? I’m really in the mood for something with noodles.”

She immediately brightens up. “Ooooh, and tons of parmesan!”

“You’ve got it.” I give her hand another squeeze.

Tears spring to her eyes again. “You’re so sweet to me, Jenna.”

I hand her a napkin. “I really should start videotaping these outbursts. We can show the baby once it’s born.”

“Don’t you dare film me when I’m the size of an elephant!” she laugh-cries. “Or I’ll get my revenge.” She blows her nose, after which the server returns to take our order.

Afterward, Nina looks at me. “By the way, how’s Roan?”

I stiffen at the sudden change in subject. “Roan is fine. At least as far as I know.”

“When did you see each other?”

“Three days ago.”

“Was the sex good?”

“We didn’t have sex.”

She groans, sipping on her lemon water. “Why not? He’s hot, you’re hot. You’d have such beautiful babies!”

“Okay, you’re seriously losing it if you think I’m going to get baby fever!” I give her a disgusted look, which makes her laugh. “And there’s no sex because we’re trying the friendship thing, remember?”

Nina rolls her eyes. “I remember. It’s one of your stupider ideas.”

I shrug, a little frustrated. “It might be, yeah. My libido is always on fire when I see him. Everything in me just wants to throw itself at this sexy guy and never let go.”

She chuckles. “And the advantage would be that you could actually throw yourself at him, and he could catch you because he’s such a giant.”

I groan, running my fingers into my hair. “I know. He’s so hot.”

“I have to agree. I mean, I have no libido at all at the moment, but even my lady parts perked up when I saw him.”

I half-choke into my water. “Your lady parts ?”

“Shut up. My point is, Roan is seriously yummy. Especially naked.” She laughs, leaning forward. “But seriously, don’t you think it’s weird that men have no shame at all? If Jared’s buddy had seen me naked, I would have covered up, or run away, or at least grabbed something to put on.”

“I don’t know if that applies to men in general, or to guys who know how extremely good-looking they are. Speaking of which…I’ve met all of Roan’s brothers, and all I can say is that the genes run in the family.”

“He has brothers?” she asks.

I nod. “Two. One older, one younger. Cian, the older one, is even more muscled than Roan. Eoin is taller, but slimmer.”

“What’s it like hanging out with all of them? I would probably be super intimidated around all that testosterone.”

I grin. “There was a lot of testosterone present, true, but it was because they were defending me. And I swear, Nina, there aren’t a lot of bigger turn-ons than having your honor defended by a bar full of men.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean? Why did they have to defend you?”

I wince. I hadn’t planned on telling her about all the drama with Cillian. But it’s too late now, so I quickly fill her in on the situation.

Nina looks outraged. “What? How can your boss make decisions like that? That’s not fair at all!”

I bite my lip. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. “It’s all good. I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to placate my friend.

“It isn’t fine! I can’t believe that little bastard is getting away with calling you those horrible names.” Tears well up in her eyes. “And your boss doesn’t even have your back!”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to cry. I’m sure Roan will deal with his cousin.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She looks at me, tears still hanging in her eyelashes.

“Because I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“I’m pregnant, not dying. There’s no reason to leave me out of important things in your life. Don’t protect me.”

“Okay, I won’t,” I lie. Of course I’ll protect my best friend. She may think she’s just as strong as ever, but her easy-flowing tears show otherwise.

“And promise me one thing,” she insists.

“What is it?” I ask hesitantly.

“If we ever see this Cillian, I get to hit him,” she says, her face darkening into a scowl.

I laugh. “Agreed. You can hit him.”

She grins, and our server reappears, carrying a glass of red wine for me.

“Only a few more weeks until I can enjoy a glass of wine,” Nina says, enviously eying my cabernet.

“I’m sorry, is it rude for me to drink?” I say, feeling awkward.

“Not at all. I’m used to it. Jared’s parents were over the other night, and they finished off an entire bottle at dinner.” She smiles. “What about you? When are you going to see your parents again?”

“Next weekend,” I say, unable to keep from smiling with anticipation.

“Say hello to your mom for me.”

“I will. They’ll be delighted to hear from their favorite daughter.”

She laughs. “If only my parents loved me like yours do.”

I would like to squeeze her hand again or give her a hug, but I’m afraid it would just open the floodgates again. What parents do to their children is really hard sometimes. No one knows that more than Nina.

“You could come with me to Florida,” I offer.

She smiles wistfully. “A beach vacation does sound lovely, but according to my doctor, I’m not supposed to fly now that I’m in my third trimester. Besides, Jared would just spend the whole weekend worrying. He’s only on this business trip for three days, but he calls ten times a day, and his mom comes over every evening. He’s impossible.” She rolls her eyes but smiles.

“I think you love being pampered like a queen,” I say with a grin.

“Yes, fine, but don’t tell him.” She laughs. “I don’t want him to think I’m being difficult.”

“You have every right in the world to be difficult. You have a terribly important task at the moment.”

“Yes, well, I’ll still be glad when it’s over. I can’t sleep. I can’t see my feet. It’s not all fun and games.”

Our server brings over our food. I ordered classic spaghetti with meatballs, and for a moment, I imagine eating it Lady and the Tramp style, seated across from Roan while romantic Italian music plays in the background.

And then eventually our lips would touch …

I force myself to shake off the daydream, trying to focus on my lunch.

“Bon appétit,” Nina says, sprinkling her pasta liberally with cheese.

“You too. And don’t worry about being difficult,” I say again. “Never. You’re growing a life. You get to be as difficult as you want.”

Tears are once again shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Jenna.”

“Always. You know that.”

And then we fall silent, both of us enjoying our delicious meals.

I’m really glad that my life is full of special people.

I’m dreading Monday. That’s when I teach the lecture in which Cillian is a student. After his triumph, all the other students will witness my disgrace. How can I ever expect any of them to respect me now?

I stand in the hallway, take a deep breath to brace myself, then push open the door, head straight to the lecturer’s podium, and let my gaze wander around the room.

Cillian sits where he always sits, with his arms folded over his chest and a victorious smile plastered on his face. He chats with his buddies in an exaggeratedly relaxed manner.

What a little shithead.

I decide to ignore him completely, and just stick to doing my job like a professional.

“Okay, last week we talked about the Sandinistas in Nicaragua; now we’re going to begin on El Salvador.”

I begin handing out my usual pre-prepared bundle of notes and maps, studiously avoiding Cillian’s gaze. He makes me nervous. Every time he leans over to his buddy and whispers something, I imagine it’s something disrespectful and derogatory about me.

I wish I could get angry. Honestly, I wish I could throw his stone-cold body in the icy waters of the Bay.

But I have to be the bigger person.

“In mid-December 1981, one of the largest war crimes in Central America was committed. In El Mozote and surrounding areas, nine hundred people were killed by the regular Salvadoran army during Operación Rescate . The unit involved had been trained by US military advisors. All inhabitants of the village of El Mozote—men, women, children—were killed,” I begin my lecture, trying to lose myself in the harrowing historical events.

As I begin to detail the gruesome events of the El Mozote massacre, most of my students listen in shocked fixation, horrified by stories of murdered children and raped girls.

Most of my students. Except one. I’m beginning to wonder if Cillian—who listens to the entire lecture with an amused smirk on his face—is not just an asshole, but a sociopath.

Cillian leans over to his friend and whispers to him. His friend tries to ignore him, but Cillian nudges him with a shoulder, smirking.

“Do you want to share your findings with us all, Mr. Walsh?” I ask, and the next moment, I want to hit myself in the head. There’s no need to create even bigger problems than I already have.

He looks at me condescendingly. “What evidence is there? You can tell us a lot. After the events of the last week, I, for one, am not prepared to simply believe your words.”

An audible murmur goes through the room. I knew it. I should have just let it go. But somehow, I can’t because my professional qualifications are at stake, and I can’t allow myself to be dismantled.

“After 1989, peace negotiations began between the government and the guerrillas, which included the establishment of a truth commission to investigate the country’s civil war. In the course of this, at least two witnesses who survived the massacre testified.”

“But isn’t it true that there were always doubts about its authenticity?” he asks.

“Immediately after the massacre, of course, there was rejection of the act, both by the government and here in the US. Governments tend not to admit when they do cruel things in order not to lose legitimacy among the population. But the truth commission set up by the United Nations has come to the conclusion that this massacre took place and that the testimonies were credible.”

“The testimony of a woman whose husband was a guerrilla sympathizer?”

“The testimony of a woman who was one of the few survivors of the massacre.”

He laughs mockingly. “You know how it is. Many women claim to have been raped because they couldn’t keep their legs together.”

Every student’s head snaps toward him. His mockery dies as he becomes aware of the accusing eyes.

“People say things like that, I mean,” he adds meekly.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with our topic, but that’s a very dangerous and inhumane statement, Mr. Walsh, that you might want to reconsider.”

“Hey, dude!” His buddy on the right punches him in the side. “That’s really going too far.”

Cillian glares at him but says nothing, looks to his left, where his other friend is sitting, but he has turned his face away.

“You really are a huge asshole, Cillian,” Lindsey, a very good student, intervenes. “What’s with the narrative that women report rape to get back at men? Men don’t need more excuses for deviant behavior at this point.”

“Not all men,” interjects another student, and Lindsey rolls her eyes.

“Really now? This is your groundbreaking contribution to a debate in which Cillian claims that women make up rape?” She shakes her head in disgust.

Patty, another student, explains: “Men have always blamed women for their bad behavior as if they were some kind of puppets that could be manipulated. I’ve never understood how they can supposedly be the crown of creation but at the same time be so manipulated by a lower being, the woman.”

A soft laugh can be heard through the lecture hall.

“That’s because it’s socially frowned upon to say: Hey, I raped five tramps yesterday,” says Lindsey. “So, these heroes have to make excuses that she wanted it.”

“Again, not all men.”

“Shut up, James,” Patty and Lindsey say at the same time, which leads to laughter.

“This debate is important and right, and it needs to be held everywhere, including here in the seminar, but I suggest we get back to our topic. Is that okay?” I ask.

Everyone nods. I give Cillian a look, but he’s busy looking at his fingernails. One-nothing for me, I’d say.

“I’m so jealous that you’re going to bask in the sun,” Roan says, sitting on my bed and watching me pack bikinis into my small suitcase.

“Why don’t you come with me?” I say offhandedly, heading into the bathroom to grab my deodorant and toothbrush.

“Are you serious?” he asks.

I stick my head out. “Sure. There’s plenty of room at my parent’s house.”

He pulls out his phone. “Last chance to tell me you’re joking.”

I grin at him. “I’m not.”

He swipes at his phone before holding it to his ear. “Hey, man. Are you gonna kill me if I take the weekend off?” He grins back at me defiantly as if to give me a chance to take my words back.

I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean against the doorframe, wondering if he is really serious about spontaneously joining me in Florida.

“I’m going to Florida with Jenna,” Roan says. “I’ll be back on Monday.” He says a quick goodbye before hanging up then he looks at me excitedly. “Which flight are you on? I’ll see if there is still a seat available.”

I give him the details, and he begins tapping away on his phone again. After a few minutes, he beams up at me in triumph. “Booked. Now you’re stuck with me.”

“You say that like it wasn’t my idea.”

He grins. “Okay, I’ll go home, pack a bag real quick, and I’ll see you at the airport.” Roan stands up and kisses me on the cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Of course I’m okay. He’s just a friend, coming with me to visit my parents.

Just a friend.

It’s getting harder and harder to believe those words.

I gulp down the lump in my throat. “Of course it’s okay. The more, the merrier. See you soon.”

“Good.”

When he leaves my bedroom, I stand there for a moment, stunned, because I don’t know whether this has really happened or not. Am I really going to Florida with Roan? Am I actually going to introduce him to my parents? Oh God. I haven’t thought this through properly.

Well, that’s the way it is now.

I continue packing, with more nervousness than before. I almost pack a pair of sexy lingerie, but then, cursing myself, I make sure to pack my most hideous granny panties instead.

Then I slip in a lacy black thong, just in case.

We won’t arrive in Bonita Springs until midnight, because it’s quite a distance from California to Florida. Nonstop to Miami would be five and a half hours, but then you’d still have to drive for two hours. Going through Dallas to Fort Myers takes a little over seven hours. In moments like these, you really become aware of just how incredibly large this country actually is. I look at my watch. I need to get going if I’m going to make it to the airport in time.

I quickly order an Uber and stand on the street, waiting for it to arrive.

When I get to the airport, I wait for Roan. He shows up five minutes later, a faded backpack slung over one shoulder, his auburn hair glistening in the foggy morning air.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod, trying to ignore the heated sensation spreading through my limbs. “Ready.”

Flying is the most boring thing in the universe, but Roan doesn’t seem to mind. He falls asleep before takeoff, a lock of thick hair falling over the smooth skin of his brow.

I can’t stop staring at him, sleeping peacefully. I long to brush the hair away from his forehead, but I don’t. I don’t want to wake him.

Simply put, he is pure temptation. Inviting him on this trip screams disaster. But it’s too late to go back now.

Friends come in a variety of shapes and sizes, I remind myself. And sometimes, they look just like an Irish demigod.

With a groan of frustration, I settle in and start trying to find a movie to watch on my phone during the long flight to the opposite coast.