“And that’s a good enough reason for you?”
“Of course it is,” she snapped. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you any of this because I knew you’d be an ass about the whole thing and make me feel even more alone than I’d feel if I did this by myself. But I did tell you because I thought you deserved to know. Don’t make me have second thoughts, Max.”
I rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” I managed through clenched teeth. “Put me on with the cashier. I’ll pay with my credit card over the phone.”
Sienna’s voice turned honey-sweet. “Thank you, baby. I knew you’d come around. I’ll give them your address for the delivery, yes?”
What?
She heard my hesitation. Her voice darkened once more. “What, did you expect me to put all this stuff in my apartment, Max? I have a one-bedroom, good-for-nothing shithole. The best thing going for it is a swimming pool and that’s just a drowning hazard. You and I are going to have to talk about what’s a realistic and suitable place for this baby, and me, to live.”
Fuck me.
“So your address is fine?” she pressed.
“Yes. Whatever.”
“Wonderful.”
I sat there and listened while she supplied the cashier with my address and phone number. Next, Sienna turned me over to the woman working the sale, who I gave my credit card information to. She thanked me, congratulated me on becoming a father, and told me our baby was very lucky to have the best of the best.
“I find it hard to believe a baby gives a damn about designer furniture,” I muttered to the cashier.
“It’s not about the label,” the saleswoman said. “It’s about doing what you feel is best for your baby. And I think you’ve made the right choice here. Thank you for your business, Mr. Fisher. I’ll pass you back to your girlfriend now.”
“She’s not my—”
Too late. Sienna was back on the line. “Thank you, baby. I knew you’d come around and see things my way. Just imagine how beautiful our nursery is going to be. I can’t wait to see it all set up and put together. Maybe… maybe we could work on it together like old times? I could make your favorite broccoli and chicken casserole.”
I sighed. It wasn’t my favorite. Never had been. But it was about the only thing Sienna could cook. “Sienna, I can’t—”
I broke off when someone knocked on my office door. Glancing up, I saw Janie standing on the other side of the glass. She waved and held up two fingers, implying she only needed a couple of minutes of my time.
Thank God.
“Sienna, I’m sorry. Something important just came up at the office and I have to handle it. How are you getting home? Do you need me to send a car?”
“That would be lovely,” Sienna purred.
“I’ll send Jonathan right now.”
“Thank you, baby.”
I hung up the phone and motioned for Janie to come in. She did, and she sat down across from me in the opposite armchair while I called Jonathan and sent him to pick up Sienna. I didn’t say her name or where she was at. Instead, I told him I had a friend in need of a ride and that I would text him the address.
Once I’d sent it to him, I gave Janie all of my attention. “Is everything all right?”
Janie nodded, paused, and shook her head. “No, I don’t think it is.”
I sat up a little straighter. “What’s wrong?”
“You. Us.”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
Why were the women in my life playing me like a fiddle? I couldn’t keep up. One minute, things were going smoothly, and the next, they were being upended.
I needed a drink. Or six.
“You gave me the impression that maybe you wanted something to start up between us again when you took me out for lunch two weeks ago,” Janie said, her eyes searching mine. I don’t know what she was looking for, but by the way she frowned, I suspected she didn’t find it. “But since that day, we’ve hardly spent any time together. I’m in an entirely new city, and a new state for that matter, and you’re the only person I know here, Max. You haven’t once offered to show me around or take me to dinner to give me some company. I’ve spent every night here by myself since I arrived.”
Damn it. She was right. I’d been a shitty friend. Guilt crawled around in my stomach.
“I’m sorry, Janie. I’m not intentionally avoiding you. I just have a lot on my plate right now.”
“I know. You always do.”
I studied the tension in her jaw and the sharpness of her stare. I’d hurt her. Again.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, like those words could change a damn thing.
Janie sighed and tugged at the hem of her skirt. “Max, I know you too well not to know that you would have done all those things for me if something wasn’t wrong. But there is something wrong, isn’t there?”
“Work is just—”
“It’s not work,” she said firmly. “I know it’s not work. Something is going on that’s bothering you. I can tell. You’re on the phone all the time, and when you’re not on the phone, you’re staring out into space like you’re looking for answers to unproven scientific theories.” She offered me an attempt at a smile that she might have meant to be comforting, but it was thin. “At first, I was disappointed that you weren’t showing up for me as a friend these past two weeks but now I’m just worried about you. If you need someone to talk to, you know I’m here, right? Just like you were there for me two weeks ago when I called and made an ass out of myself.”
I didn’t deserve her. Not after how I’d treated her. Not after how things had ended.
I hung my head.
“Max,” she said softly, sliding off her chair and crouching down in front of me so she could peer up into my face. She wrapped my hands in hers. Her hands were so small, her fingers thin and dainty, her nails painted a pale glossy pink. “Please talk to me. I’m worried about you.”
I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept properly in over two weeks. Every thought I had was about Sienna and the baby and what this meant for the future. Every emotion was guilt and regret and self-doubt. The only silver lining had been Janie herself, but I’d come up short there too and let her down.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could manage.
Janie stood up, walked purposefully to my office door, and locked the handle. Next, she let all the blinds fall so we were no longer exposed to everyone else in the office. She came right back to where she was, crouched in front of me, and went to her knees. She reached up and surprised me by taking my face in her hands. Her palms were warm, soft, and smelled like lemon hand cream.
“Max,” she said more firmly this time. “Stop saying sorry to me. Please tell me what’s going on with you before my imagination makes it worse than what it is. Let me help.”
I grimaced. “The truth will hurt you.”
“I can handle it.”
She was missing the point. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I seriously doubt you would on purpose, would you?”
“No,” I said.