Page 65 of Finding Forgiveness

“Martha isn’t a goat,” I snap.

“Well, excuse me.”

“And Delilah is a boy.”

“See, just another reason why that name is stupid.”

“Hmm,” I hum sarcastically. “And for your information, there are no dancing goats, it’s just a legend … there’s no substantial proof that the goats actually ate the cherries from the Arabica tree and started dancing. Kaldi, the Ethiopian goatherder, was the one who supposedly witnessed it. Is he even credible?”

“Okay, I’m hanging up and dialling triple zero.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re either as high as a kite or you’ve finally lost the last of your marbles.”

“Wow,” I say, completely offended. “Maybe it’s me who should be hanging up on you.”

“No, please don’t hang up.”

“I rang you to share the greatest achievement of my life, and you’ve done nothing but rain on my parade. Rude much.”

“I’m sorry. Show me the piglets again.” I turn my phone around, leaning forward to get a close up. “They’re super cute … did you really birth them?”

“No, Porkchop did, I just helped.” I hear her laugh, but I ignore it. “This is,” I say, pointing to the firstborn… which is a cute little boy, “Harry Porker.” The vet was kind enough to school me on their sex when she was here. I continue down the line of piglets suckling on their mother. “Crackling, Spam, Pork Sausage, Pigtail, Jerky, Short Rib and Christine.”

“Christine?”

I roll my eyes. “She’s the only one who looks like her daddy, but it’s not like I could call her Chris … that’s a boy’s name. Duh.”

My eyes narrow when I hear her mumble, “But Delilah’s okay,” under her breath. It’s followed by, “Hold on a sec, I need to sit down, you’re making me dizzy.”

“Wow.”

“True story … I think you just broke my brain.”

“Why are you so crabby?”

“Why? I’ll tell you why. Firstly, my BFF flees the country.”

“I didn’t even leave the state,” I grumble.

“Can I continue?”

“Go right ahead.”

“My brother is falling apart; I’ve never seen him so … heartbroken.” I bow my head and rub that familiar ache in my chest. “Blake’s getting bullied at school again, and I think we’re going to have to bring the wedding forward because I skipped a period.”

Now it’s me who needs to sit down. I head towards the far wall and take a seat on one of the hay bales. “You’re PG?”

“I don’t know … I might be … I’ve been feeling a little off the past couple of days.”

My heart pangs as I think of my own baby, but despite that, I’m still elated for my friend. She deserves all the happiness. When we were younger, we made a pact that we’d marry best friends or brothers, and have our kids around the same time so they’d grow up to be close like us. Unfortunately, I can’t see that happening in my near future, if ever. Especially since her fiancé’s best friend now hates my guts.

Pushing that thought from my mind, I swallow down the lump in my throat and whisper, “I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunty.”

“I don’t know for sure yet.”

“How does Mason feel about it?”