turns his cheek.
“Oh, stop it. You know what I meant.” Brushing her lips across Iris’s fuzzy head, she eyes me carefully. “Why don’t you two get dressed and go out somewhere alone? Ryker and I can watch her.”
Watching Julian’s face, I know immediately what his answer will be.
He tosses his head against the back of the couch and sighs. “Mom, I appreciate it, but we need to stay here. Phoebe’s tired and assembling security and dodging paparazzi isn’t worth the hassle.”
I grit my teeth. Just shut it, Phoebe. Don’t speak.
“Why don’t you ask Phoebe what she wants?” A warning cloud settles over Eliza’s face.
He turns to me. “Is that what you want?”
Absolutely. Especially when you make it so enticing, jackass.
“No,” I whisper. “It’s fine. I still have gum in my hair.”
“See, Mom?”
“Bullshit,” Eliza declares, handing Iris over to Julian. “She’s so flustered she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Plus”—she shoots him an accusing glare—“you’re not helping by being a giant douchesack.”
“Bag, Ma,” Ryker calls out under the confines of his baseball hat. “It’s douchebag. If you’re gonna talk street, learn the lingo, man.”
Eliza waves a hand. “Phoebe needs to get out.” She points her finger at Julian. “I’m taking her to get her hair done, and then you’re taking her to dinner. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Squeezing my knee, Julian barely stifles a grin, his eyes glinting with a hint of danger that always melts me. “You okay with all this?”
“Sure.” Getting out sounds like a dream. “Reclining in a salon sounds like the perfect nap.”
A light rap on the door tears me from my thoughts. “Phoebe? Are you ready?”
Opening it, I find Eliza’s warm, smiling face.
“I guess so. I feel like a total moron. I don’t know how they’re going to fix this.”
Putting a hand on my shoulder, she guide me toward the front door. “I’m guessing you’ll come out looking even better. If that’s even possible.”
I’ve never had a problem accepting compliments before, but postpartum hormones have my emotions all wonky.
“Trust me. Nothing can make me look worse than I already do.”
Once we’re in the car, she gives me a quizzical look. “You don’t see it, do you?”
“If you’re talking about my chipmunk cheeks and three-ton ass, yeah, I see it.”
Backing out of the driveway, she shakes her head. A small smile ghosts her youthful face. “I know this sounds cliché, and hell, maybe it is, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful mother in my life.”
I turn away from her. It kills me to keep secrets from her. Especially now. Julian and I aren’t exactly communicating, and my nightmares have started again in vivid detail.
A shoulder is what I need to unload some of the anxiety I’m carrying around. Confiding in her—to finally admit I need another female in my life who understands the fear and exhilaration of having a baby—tempts me toward confession.
“Eliza?”
She turns into the parking lot. “I can’t wait to help you plan the wedding, Phoebe. I thought I’d be shut out of it since I don’t have daughters. I have to admit, at first, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of you and Julian waiting until after Iris was born, but I think it worked out perfectly.”
And just like that, my heart falls to my feet.
“Oh, listen to me, I’m sorry for going on. What did you want to ask me?”
Shaking my head, I force a painted smile and unhook my seatbelt. “Nothing. I can’t remember now.”
She chuckles as she closes the car door. “Welcome to motherhood. The memory failure only gets worse from here.”
Two hours later, I stand in the middle of a department store dressing room staring at myself in the mirror.
What will Julian think?
He loves my hair. I think of the countless times lying in bed, his hands lazily running through my long dark hair, flipping the ends between his fingertips.
“He’s going to hate it.”
Nine inches that once hung down my back are gone. The length now dusts just below my shoulders. I angrily knock the tears away with the back of my hand. I barely recognize myself anymore, and this accelerated change is making it hard to breathe.
Air.
I need air.
Lagging behind Eliza, I hold onto an outdoor bench and remove a sandal, rubbing the arch of my foot.
“Are you all right, Phoebe?”
I point to my ankle while wiggling it in a circle. “Stupid shoes are cutting off my circulation. The doctors said I could still have residual swelling for a while.”
Frowning, she takes in my puffy appendages. “Your feet