“Five months,” I say, pulling out a few candles and setting them on the table.
“Past the halfway mark. Good for you.” Leaning back, she dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “Did you have morning sickness?”
“Only once.”
“Lucky.” She eyes me over the rim of her mug. “Your first, I’m assuming?”
“It is.”
“Such a blessed time for you both, I’m sure.”
“Do you have any children?” I fire back.
She chokes on her drink, and then covers her lips with her hand before going on. “Do you know how you look at some couples and you just know they’re going to be amazing parents? They’re going to travel the world with their kids, provide everything they could possibly want and need? And you know unequivocally, from their demeanor alone, that they’ll be patient and loving and selfless in the way that children deserve?” She drops her hand and grins wickedly. “No one looks at me and Travis that way. And if they do, they’re delusional.”
I can’t help but laugh, too. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Oh, it is, believe me. Know thyself, right? Isn’t that what they say? We’re happy, Travis and I, just the way we are. Not everyone is cut out to be a parent,” she says definitively, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be sporting a big freaking rock on my finger just like Rachael’s. That thing’s huge—a solitaire, three-carat minimum. Michael and I haven’t talked about marriage yet. I don’t want to push him to file for divorce so he can marry me, but we are having a child together, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if I had the same last name as our baby? After we’ve been here a few months and the timing feels right, I’ll drop the hint.
“What does Travis do?” I ask, dragging my gaze from the sparkling diamond on her left hand. Instead, I focus on unpacking the next box, pulling out more books, journals, a few framed black-and-white photographs of the city.
“You don’t know?” Rachael leans back, relaxing as she sips her spiked espresso. “I thought for sure you would, working there yourself and all. He’s the head of marketing for Michael’s company.”
A deep red blush heats my cheeks. I should’ve at least recognized his name. And now I’ve insulted her.
“I started at the end of July, and I worked as Michael’s personal assistant for most of that time. I didn’t get to meet everyone.”
“Whoa, back up.” She arches a thinly plucked eyebrow. “You said you’re five months along.”
“That’s right.”
And I know exactly where this is going.
“Didn’t take you long working at the company to land the boss. Talk about climbing the ladder.”
My jaw tightens as I digest her tone. It’s playful, without a hint of maliciousness, and when she buries her smile with another sip, I repress the urge to ask her to leave. Rachael and her husband are Michael’s neighbors, I remind myself. Our neighbors. I need to be on my best behavior.
“That wasn’t my plan,” I offer, watching her carefully. “It just happened.”
“That’s what they all say. Didn’t you feel bad about sleeping with the boss so soon after his wife dumped him? You don’t have to answer—no pressure or anything—I’m just curious. You’d have to feel bad, wouldn’t you? Even a little bit?”
“Umm…I guess.” How do I answer? If I say I felt bad, I’ll be showing weakness. If I say I didn’t, that makes me callous. “I was cautious, but when I’m with Michael it feels natural. Like I’ve known him for years.”
“Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Known him for years?”
“No, I’d never met him before he hired me. What about you?” I ask, determined to refocus the questioning on her. “Do you work outside the home?”