“Francesca …” He’s just a hairbreadth from my lips.
God, how madly I want him to kiss me.
But … “No.”
I shake my head and step out of his embrace. I have to turn my back, collect myself for a moment. I hear Sinclair exhale a harsh breath. When I’m ready, even though I’m shaken, I turn and give him a forced smile.
“I’m glad you explained, that you trust me enough to tell me about what you’ve gone through. I’d like you to come to my next appointment.”
I don’t even mention the almost-kiss because we shouldn’t talk about it. I can’t go there with him again. If he ends it, especially like he did the first time, I’ll never get over it. And having to see him every other day when our son is here will be torture if we don’t work out.
Sinclair looks like he wants to say more but just accepts my terms, the unspoken ones I just laid out.
So I got an explanation, an answer to my upset and anger that plagued me just an hour ago. But now, I’m left with all new feelings of tension and uncertainty.
Will it always be like this with him?
27
Frankie
The week flies by in a haze of training sessions, two round one playoff wins, a lunch with Sinclair, and many nights spent browsing baby gear websites.
Who knew there were seventy thousand types of cribs to peruse? Certainly not me, and now I’m in the weeds. I need to start purchasing items for my baby boy, and I can’t decide on anything. Should my crib be convertible? Do I need a bottle warmer? Which type of breast pump is going to work best with my career? Does the swing or bouncer soothe better?
I need some type of baby gear genie to come in and just do all the picking for me.
As I pull open a heavy wooden door, noise and the smell of sizzling steaks hit me.
Hudson’s is the local bar and restaurant on Central Street in Packton, and I’ve popped in for a meal once or twice since moving here. I always sit at the bar, even though I’m pregnant, which is kind of funny. I’m used to eating alone, and it makes me nostalgic for Eddie’s.
Tonight, though, I’m just popping in to pick up my Parmesan fried chicken and fettuccini to take home. It was a long day at the office, and even though it’s the middle of winter, I’m in the swelling stage of my pregnancy. My shoes feel ten sizes too small for my feet, and I desperately need a long, hot bath and some pillow elevation on the couch with trashy reality TV.
The place is packed even though it’s a Tuesday night, and I’m reminded just how small of a town Packton is as I observe the crowd. People get up from their tables to go talk to friends. The bar is packed with a few groups that look like some coworkers out for drinks after a day at the office. Little kids skirt through the tables, chasing each other before their parents grab their elbows to make them sit for dinner.
It’s cozy, and a place where you feel like everyone really does know everyone else’s name. Well, except for mine. I’ve lived here for over a month, and I barely have one person to call a friend.
“Frankie!”
I stand corrected. Because the minute I walk to the bar to give my name for my takeout order, I hear it yelled across the restaurant.
When I turn, I see Colleen Callahan waving at me from a four-top table and Hannah Callahan seated right next to her. I try to keep my smile even as I wave back, but don’t venture over. It’s probably rude of me to stand here and wait for my food when she just called out from the other side of the room. And she’s my boss.
After three seconds of indecision, I finally turn and walk over. I can just give them a polite hi and then be on my way.
“Hey, Colleen, Hannah.” I nod to each of them, respectively.
“Hey! Did you come in for a bite?” Hannah smiles that kind, caring expression.
How does she make everything she says seem so nice? I don’t want to like her since she married into the family I’m trying to avoid, but I just can’t help it.
“Just picking up my order to take home. I’m exhausted.” My hand instinctively goes to my belly.
She nods, laughing. “I remember that feeling too well. I know it’s hard to hold off, but try having your caffeine in the middle of the day instead of in the morning. My midday coffee saved me when I was pregnant with Breanna, my second daughter. Noelle would run me ragged and I’d be drained by two p.m.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I smile at her. “You ladies eating just the two of you?”
“Just us tonight. The men are on kid duty so we can indulge.” Colleen holds up her wineglass.
“I didn’t realize you had kids.” I don’t remember reading or seeing that she and Hayes Swindell, a former baseball star destined for the Hall of Fame, had a baby.
“Just one, a foster son that we’re trying to adopt. Isaiah, he’s eight.” The way she says it makes her whole face light up.
“Wow, that’s amazing. Really great of you.” I blink, feeling like I’m seeing a different Colleen.
I’m used to the compassionate but tough general manager. I didn’t know she was pursuing motherhood like this, and it makes me admire her even more.
“He’s great, makes it easy. Have a seat while you wait.” She offers the empty chair across from her.
My eyes flick back to the bar, and the bartender hasn’t even gone back to the kitchen to ask them for my order yet she’s so swamped. I figure it can’t hurt, chatting for a minute or two. Especially since, admittedly, I am kind of lonely.
So I pull out the chair and sit.
“How is everything else going? I think Colleen mentioned you’re living off Central Street. This area is really the best, especially when you have the baby. You’ll be by the park and be able to take him out in the stroller around the shops.”
Hannah blinks at me intently, and again, I think about how truly nice she is.
“Yeah, you know I didn’t think about that, but it’s true. Honestly? The thing I’m most confused about in this moment is baby gear,” I lament.
Hannah chuckles. “Say no more, that’s why you’ve got me!”
Colleen hooks a thumb in Hannah’s direction. “She’s not lying. Isaiah may be eight, so I didn’t have the whole crib dilemma, but Hannah has recommended countless little kid products that have saved my life. Seriously, she’ll be your registry guru.”
“Would you really?” I sound way too desperate as I blink at Hannah. “There are way too many options, I have no idea where to start!”
“Of course, let’s sit down this week when you have some time and I’ll go through it. Lord knows, I went through so many useless products with the girls, and some ones that will be essential to raising that little boy. I can’t wait to see what he looks like! Do you have any names picked out?”
It dawns on me then; these two women are going to be involved in this baby’s life in some capacity because of who they’re related or married to. Not only that, but they’re excited to know him, to watch him grow. I’ve never been a part of a family; I don’t know what it’s like to have this whole extended network of people who care so deeply and inherently about you. That will be nice for my son, and possibly even for me. I’m cautious and so hesitant to trust these people because of how Sinclair lied. What would it be like if I actually allowed them into my life, into this pregnancy?