The Girl Next Door - Emma Hart Page 0,23
to this new reality of how you’re changing.”
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that.” He scowled. “You’re right. This appointment with your doctor was pointless, but she did more than have you take a pregnancy test, Ivy. She checked your blood pressure and pulse and asked about your symptoms and gave you a general once-over in your health.”
Damn it, he was right.
“You’re healthy,” Kai said, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. “So that appointment wasn’t a waste of time to me.”
He had a point. Knowing that I was as normal as six-week-pregnant woman could be was reassuring, especially when she’d laughed after learning about my escapades with coffee.
Apparently, she’d developed a dairy allergy during her first and only pregnancy. She claimed it was the reason she only had one child—she liked cheese too much to go nine months without it all over again.
“You’re right,” I agreed, tapping my thumb against his hand. “Honestly, this feels like PMS on crack. I swear the positive test made everything so much more noticeable.”
“I’m sure it did. But for now, if you’re done complaining about how expensive today’s pregnancy test was, can you go back to being your usual feisty self? It’s easier to talk to you like that.”
“How did you know I was moaning about the price of today?”
“You were muttering to yourself for five minutes in the car.” He finally put his straw in the cup and, after releasing my hand, drank some water. “You’re not the quietest mutterer in the world.”
That was a fair point. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I could mutter at the volume most other people did.
“How did the appointment go?” Mom set two plates down in front of us—mine the tomato soup and grilled cheese, and Kai’s a steak with fries, onion rings, mushrooms, peas, and two grilled tomatoes.
The onions rings looked so good, and I didn’t even like onion rings.
What was happening to me?
“It was an exceptionally expensive pregnancy test,” Kai answered for me. “Eat,” he ordered. “You haven’t eaten today.”
Mom shot me a glare. “You haven’t eaten today?”
I gave Kai a flat look that I was sure relayed my thanks for him letting that slip to my mom. “I felt sick before I left so only had some water, and Dr. Watson was delayed by half an hour so we didn’t get brunch like we’d planned. It’s not my fault.”
“Okay.” She looked unconvinced. “But you really do need to try to eat something if you know you’re going to be out, Ivy. Even if it’s a slice of toast or a banana.”
“Yes, Mom,” I replied, deadpanning.
“You’re drinking plenty, aren’t you?”
“Mom. I’m hungry. I can’t eat if you’re talking to me.”
“Okay, honey.” She touched the back of my head. “Oh, shit.”
“What? What’s ‘oh, shit?’”
Mom’s head jerked from the doorway to me. “Your grandmother is here.”
Oh, shit? That wasn’t quite strong enough for the way I was feeling.
It was like the people in this family didn’t want me to eat at all.
“Eat.” Kai looked at me. “And I’ll let you have the onion rings you keep staring at.”
I tore a bite out of one triangle of my grilled cheese.
“Is this him? Is this the hooligan who knocked up my granddaughter?” Grandma Rosie shuffled over to the table, her cane tapping ominously against the floor. “Well?”
“Mother, they’re trying to eat,” Mom said, reaching out for her.
“No, Jasmine, you had me out of here the other night but I won’t let you do it again!” Grams’ voice raised. “I want to meet the ruffian who impregnated my only grandchild!”
“You have three,” I replied around a mouthful of grilled cheese. “Me, Holley, and London.”
“London?” Kai asked. “Doesn’t that mess with the flower theme you’ve got going on here?”
“Darn it,” Grams said. “Daisy always was a rebel.”
“My aunt,” I mouthed, switching the grilled cheese for the spoon for my soup.
“Oh,” he mouthed back.
“Because you named me Jasmine and her after a duck,” Mom drawled. “Mother, Ivy needs to eat. Let them eat in peace and you can speak with them after.”
“Please,” I added.
“I did not name my daughter after a duck,” Grandma insisted, motioning for Kai to move over.
He did, taking his plate and water with him.
“Now, Jasmine, I’d like a gin and tonic and whatever this ruffian is eating for his lunch. It looks delicious.”
“I’m not serving you alcohol at lunchtime, Mother.”
“Please do,” I said, reaching for my water. “She’ll be asleep in an hour if you do.”
“A double gin