Page 26

26

Ziggy

There’s nothing like seeing your mom after a night of panty-melting sex to make you feel like a teenager again.

“Ziggy! Look at you. You’re glowing.” She hugs me tight as she meets me at her doorstep, where I’m early since she was making noises about coming to pick me up. I do not want to risk her realizing the house I’m staying at is Holt’s house. What if she recognizes his Jeep? Or she sees him through the window? Or one of the neighbors sees her and mentions him? “Pregnancy looks so good on you, sweetheart.”

It’s not the pregnancy.

It’s the serotonin. It’s the sex.

It’s Holt.

If he were any other man, I’d tell her, and then she’d fuss about me dating while my hormones are out of whack and tell me to be extra careful with my heart right now .

Too late, Mom, and by the way, he’s one of Dad’s players.

I stifle a sigh and force a smile. “Second-trimester glow.”

“We’re finding the right house for you today. I can feel it.”

“Hope so.” Maybe.

Maybe not.

Holt’s house is comfortable. I like living there.

Before I left, I finished the grocery list and he ordered everything for delivery. Tomorrow, I’m making hand pies for Miranda with extras to keep at home for us.

Now, though, I’m getting into Mom’s Mercedes as she drives us to the first house of the day, a two-story colonial at the edge of Heartwood Valley.

Two weeks ago, I would’ve simply thought to myself that it won’t be this one. I can tell by the large, pristine lawn and the size of the neighbors’ houses that this one’s outside of my price range.

Today, I have a completely different reason I’m not interested.

It’s because I love the house I’m living in now.

The dog who just fits there.

The man who owns the house and is sneaking into my heart.

And it’s not the mind-blowing orgasms. It’s the thoughtful little things like ordering dinner when I’m tired or handling grocery delivery since I’m supposed to be looking at houses, even though that’s weird when we’ve basically agreed that we want to explore a relationship and we’re already living together. The admirable things like the way he keeps trying to win Jessica over. The easy things like telling him more about Abby Nora and working on the cruise ships, and listening to his stories of living overseas and things he misses about his brother .

Niki pulls into the driveway behind us, and Mom stops gushing over how pretty the lawn is to wave at her.

Moms are hilarious.

Of course Niki can see us.

But it’s polite to wave.

“Good morning, ladies,” Niki calls as she climbs out of her car. “We’re going to find something amazing today, I can feel it.”

I eyeball the house we’re supposed to tour first again.

“Now, I know it looks bigger than what you were thinking, but it’s very cozy inside,” Niki says. “Just wait. You’ll love it.”

My mom loves it before we even walk in the door. It’s pretty obvious with the way her gaze goes soft and she seems to reach out to pet it from afar.

Not that I can blame her.

I’d be within walking distance of her house, which would mean more Grandma time for the baby, and more baby time for Grandma.

But when Niki hands us the promotional packet, the first thing I look at is the listing price.

Definitely not cozy, even if it’s less than I’d expect for a house in this neighborhood.

“Divorce fire sale,” she whispers. “Don’t say anything about it inside. I don’t know if they have their cameras turned on.”

Awesome.

As expected, Mom loves it, and I have waking nightmares about how much it would cost to furnish the four bedrooms, two living rooms, den, office, basement, and sitting room.

I’ve saved a good bit over the past seven years, but saving that much wasn’t actually physically—or fiscally—possible .

The next three houses aren’t right either.

The family home in the Belmont District truly is cozy. It’s in the right price range and it doesn’t seem to need any major upgrades or renovations to be livable, but it’s also on the main road into the neighborhood, and we see a dog almost get hit by a car as we’re leaving.

I picture Jessica, and the possibility tips into the absolutely not column.

Even if I could logic my way into believing Jessica wouldn’t run into the street, I imagine the baby toddling out there, and the hormones take over and I break down bawling.

Not the house’s fault.

As Niki says, location matters.

There’s a bungalow in a neighborhood of smaller homes closer to downtown that has uneven air conditioning. It’s quaint in that you can tell it’s been expanded a few times, but we smell mold in the basement.

Not hard to tell that Mom’s glad to have a solid reason to issue a veto. It was already clear she didn’t want me to like it— Oh, Ziggy, it’s so far from the garage to the kitchen. You don’t want to spend the next twenty years hauling groceries that far —but it’s even more clear she’s glad to have a health reason to stand on.

This house is perfect for someone. That someone isn’t me though.

And then there’s the last house.

It’s about six blocks from Holt’s house in a part of the neighborhood that I haven’t explored on walks with Jessica yet.

Light blue siding. Simple landscaping. We can see from the front that the backyard has a fence. It’s old, but from the outside, it looks like it’s been well cared for.

Like Holt’s house.

My heart picks up.

This.

This could be it.

I slide a look at Niki as she climbs out of her car behind us and she winks at me.

Oh my god .

The last house was a setup.

She knew Mom would hate it.

My pulse is on fire as we walk to the front door.

I’d be within walking distance of Holt.

My friend.

My lover.

My maybe-more.

We’d have time to explore and work out what we are without the pressure of living together.

Niki unlocks the door, and we enter through the foyer and into— uh-oh .

“Oh no,” she murmurs.

“Absolutely not,” Mom declares.

I stare in horror at the, ah, furniture in the living room. “This wouldn’t stay with the house,” I say. “Surely they’d take it with them.”

It’s a sex den.

The living room is a sex den.

There’s a bed in the living room, but it’s not a normal bed. There’s a cage under the mattress.

A cage .

And next to it is a chair with cutouts and attachments for wrist and ankle ties .

A full wall of items that I am actively refusing to acknowledge that I’m seeing.

With a—what is that hanging from the ceiling?

It looks like a chandelier, but it also looks like an octopus. A sparkly purple octopus. With— oh my god .

With penises at the ends of each of its tentacles.

Mom eyes me.

She knows as well as I do what this is.

I know why I know what it is. I had a roommate who watched documentaries, and I saw one with her about sex rooms.

Hopefully Mom saw it too and that’s the only reason she also knows what we’re staring at.

“This isn’t the furniture in the listing,” Niki sputters. “Here. Look. Isn’t this quaint with the way the staging photos are set? You could put a chair in front of the window. And the fireplace could be opened back up to work again. Some new curtains, a new rug, and voilà . Cozy living room. Let’s check the kitchen, shall we? The listing says the owners are happy to offer a credit toward kitchen upgrades.”

We head toward what we assume is the kitchen, but instead, we find ourselves in a pink-flower wallpapered room lined with shelves and shelves of dolls.

Mom gasps and grabs my hand.

I squeeze it back. “They’d…surely…take those too.”

All three of us hustle into the next room, which is the kitchen.

When Holt told me he’d renovated his kitchen, I assumed it had likely had yellowing Formica countertops and peeling brown vinyl flooring and a chipped porcelain sink and small cabinets that had possibly been painted white or green or blue in an attempt to do a quick makeover .

Something similar to the kitchen that Mom and I lived with before she married Dad.

And that’s what I expect to find here too.

But that’s not what we find.

That’s not what we find at all.

There’s only one row of cabinets, and they look more like industrial cabinets than kitchen cabinets. Instead of a full-size fridge—even a small full-size fridge—there are two dorm fridges stacked on top of each other. Countless clocks hang on the walls that would otherwise be covered by cabinets. The sink has a hose for a faucet. The flooring is dirt.

Dirt .

And— “Where is the oven?” Mom asks.

We all stare at an open space between two windows that looks oven-sized, but which has a fire pit sitting inside it instead.

A wood firepit.

With ash and blackened sticks and something that looks like cotton inside of it.

“This was not in the listing photo,” Niki says.

“Are you sure we’re in the right house?” Mom murmurs back.

We don’t even look at the bedrooms.

We definitely don’t go into the basement.

And my heart is sinking to my toes as we head back to our cars.

Rush, honestly.

I’m no longer glad this house is only six blocks from Holt’s house.

“That first house isn’t looking so bad now, is it?” Mom says quietly to me while Niki re-locks the door. “You know we’d help you?— ”

She’s not wrong. It doesn’t look so bad now. But still— “Mom. It’s not a good long-term plan for me.”

“But what if you meet someone and fall in love and want more kids? You wouldn’t have to uproot our little bean like I had to uproot you.”

Does she know?

Does she know my glow is more than just pregnancy hormones?

I try to picture Holt in the colonial house, and I can’t do it.

It’s too… posh for him.

And I don’t mean he’s not smart or classy or white-collar enough.

I just mean it doesn’t feel right. I try to picture him here, and instead I see him mowing the neighbor’s postage stamp yard and helping change someone’s oil and fixing the air pressure in a kid’s bike tire.

Not living in a neighborhood where there are yard services and everyone’s cars are picked up by the dealer when it’s time for an oil change.

There wouldn’t be a Mrs. Massery dropping by with a coconut cream cake. Or a Bernie asking me if I’m having trouble with the postal worker who delivers mail in the neighborhood too.

And honestly?

I like it .

It’s not just about where a guy I slept with last night would fit.

It’s about how much I like the community of his neighborhood.

It’s like being on the ship, always surrounded by people that you know and help out as you can, but with a little more space between fancier, bigger cabins.

Mom sighs. “We’ll talk more at lunch.”

At her suggestion, we head to Noble V, a wine bar downtown.

I can’t have the wine, but they have a non-alcoholic ginger cocktail that sounds delicious.

And the best roasted potatoes in all of downtown.

I shouldn’t have lunch.

I’m meeting Holt in two hours to have fried fish and French fries.

But my appetite is coming back, and honestly, I think I could eat two meals back-to-back today.

Making up for all of the food I didn’t have while I was morning sick.

Or possibly I worked up an appetite last night.

And this morning while thanking Holt for ordering groceries.

We park in a nearby garage and walk the block to the restaurant while Niki tells us about some lofts she’s shown in this area.

Not practical long-term with a baby, but it could be a short-term solution.

If I want to have space from Holt while we figure out if this is real or not.

Except I don’t want space.

That’s what I’m thinking—that I don’t want space from Holt—when we step into Noble V. I’ve been here a few times before on various trips home between contracts, so the exposed brick walls and the slick classic wood bar and the metal dome lights over black tablecloths are all familiar.

Unfortunately, so is the blond head of the woman bouncing a newborn baby in front of us at the hostess stand .

I suck in an audible breath, and that little noise is enough to attract her attention, and she turns fully around to look back at us.

I drop my gaze while Abby Nora stares at me. My heart starts pounding.

“Ziggy. What a…surprise,” she says. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

I make myself square my shoulders and look back at her despite the sudden grief and anger and touch of fear raging in my veins, but Mom’s replying before I can.

“Oh, you didn’t know Ziggy moved home? We’re so lucky to get to see her every day.”

“Ship life got too hard, hmm?”

The door swooshes open behind us, and Abby Nora lifts her chin to whoever’s there. “They’re getting our table ready.”

“Fantastic. Thanks, babe.” Josh, her husband, steps around us to plant a kiss on her head.

And then Eli Harrison steps around her too.

Shit.

Shit .

“Mom—” I whisper, turning away.

“Oh. Ziggy,” Josh says. “You’re…here.”

I don’t need to look to know he and Abby Nora are trading a look. Probably grimaces. Maybe overly polite smiles to mask the we hate you vibes.

Relax, Ziggy. They’ll be polite in public. This is paranoia. They’re not hoping someone spills something on you or that you get hit by the light-rail when you leave . They won’t cause a scene .

“She’s home for good,” Mom says. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. Everyone in our circles is so excited. We’ve missed her terribly. And she’s giving us a grandbaby too. ”

I flinch. “ Mom ,” I start to hiss— we are not telling people yet —but Abby Nora interrupts me.

“She—what? Wow. Original.”

I flinch again at Abby Nora’s sarcasm.

Take it back , my brain yells at my mother. Take it back and don’t tell her .

Why are you being such an asshole to me ? it yells at Abby Nora too. Just leave me alone.

But that’s not what comes out of my mouth. “Mom, I left something in the car.”

“ Original ?” Mom repeats. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

“It’s just so funny that I got married and had a baby, and now all of my friends are doing it too,” Abby Nora says. “Well…some of us got married first. But isn’t it nice that we don’t have to if we don’t want to? Or if we can’t find someone?”

“Who’s that?” I hear Eli say to Josh.

My toes are tingling and my stomach rolls over in a way that I would’ve sworn I was over just this morning. “My phone,” I tell Mom. “I have to go get my phone out of my car.”

“Abby Nora’s old friend Ziggy,” Josh says to Eli. “She was at the wedding.”

“She sent half the wine for your wedding, didn’t she?” Mom says.

“No, I know her from somewhere else,” Eli says to Josh.

He’s going to remember because of a repeat performance of what happened when I saw him at the aquarium if I don’t get out of here now . I look at Niki. “I’m going to my car. I lost my phone. Forgot it. In the car.”

She nods and shakes her head and looks between me and Abby Nora like she knows there’s a problem but doesn’t know what. Everyone in Mom’s circles knows Abby Nora and I have always been besties.

Except now they’re going to know that I’m pregnant and Abby Nora and I are fighting and Abby Nora’s probably already prepared for this and will get her version out first and?—

“ You’re the fucker who puked on me !” Eli shrieks.

Sound shouldn’t bounce off exposed brick, but it does.

And silence follows.

The kind of silence that says every single person in the crowded wine bar has turned to stare at us.

At me.

My face was already hot, but it gets hotter. My hands too. My legs shake. My stomach twists and gurgles and my heart tries to pound out of my chest.

How much longer will she still affect me like this?

Why can’t we just be done ?

“My goodness, young man, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Mom says dryly. “What an absurd thing to yell in a crowded restaurant. I hope you’re seeing someone to discuss your issues. Your baby is beautiful, Abby Nora. I hope she has a good appetite. I seem to have lost mine. Ziggy, Niki, we’re leaving.”

Mom grips my arm and squeezes as she tugs me into motion.

I make it to the sidewalk and almost to the corner before the first tear rolls down my cheek.

“What an awful person.” Niki clucks.

“Accusing my daughter of puking on him in public.” Mom sniffs.

“I meant Abby Nora. Who in their right mind would accuse someone of getting pregnant just to copy them? ”

That would mean something if I didn’t know Niki was likely to be hitting a text chain to spill the beans to all of their friends as soon as she’s alone.

Did you hear? Deedee’s daughter left her job on the cruise ship because she was fired because she got pregnant. I wonder who the father is. If she even knows.

“You realize your commission depends on your discretion?” Mom murmurs.

Niki makes an offended noise. “Deedee. I would never .”

“I certainly hope not. Ziggy’s had enough of an ordeal with having her entire friend group turn their backs on her out of jealousy of her life. It would be a shame if that carried over to our generation.”

I hate this.

Hate it.

I’m gulping for air as we make our way down the sidewalk.

“We should have lunch at that hockey bar,” Mom says. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to a sports bar, and we’re just a block or two away.”

“I’m not hungry,” I force out between my attempts to control my emotions. “I think I want a nap.”

I want to go home.

I want to pet Jessica and cry on Holt’s shoulder and be safe.

Be somewhere that might not ultimately prove to be my home, but somewhere that I at least won’t have to brace myself for the next slap in the face.

“Of course, sweetheart. Pregnancy is hard on the body. You need extra sleep. You can rest at my house. You shouldn’t drive yourself while you’re tired. I’ll make you soup. The kind I used to make when you were sick. ”

I don’t want soup.

I want my heart to not hurt over a friend who clearly doesn’t want me anymore. I want to only have the happiness of what’s blossoming with Holt and with the joy of knowing I’m growing my own little wee one in my belly.

I want to be over the hurt.

That’s what I truly want.

But I have this feeling it’s going to take a while.

A very long while.

Dammit .