Giving me a sad smile, Preston rubs my cheek with his thumb. “That’s something we’re going to work on. Let’s go. We’ve got to get you into your disguise.” He slips away from me, and I follow his lead, locking and shutting my door after I’m out of the car. I trail over to the open trunk of the Mustang as Preston continues, “One makeover, coming right up.”
“A makeover?” That sounds fun. My lifted mood doesn’t last long, though. Because Preston holds up a lumpy, flesh-colored bodysuit of some sort. “What the hell is that?”
The grimace I receive reflects my own. “A pregnancy suit.”
“You better be telling me that’s for you,” I half-joke.
Preston doesn’t laugh. “No one will be searching for a pregnant woman and her husband. Sorry, it’s pretty heavy.” He tests the weight by lifting it a few times.
When he hands it over, I almost drop it. Because, damn, he’s not kidding. “I’m supposed to walk around with this on? I’ll be waddling like a penguin.”
“Exactly. We need it to look real.”
Holding it over my front, I imagine how it’ll look once it’s under my clothes. My shirt will stretch over the rounded stomach. I’ll be able to rub it and rest my hands on it.
Yeah, it’ll be pretty convincing. And that’s just another prick of disappointment. Another item on my list that’s going to be purely pretend.
“I know this sucks, okay? But it’s just temporary.” Preston picks up a baggy cream-colored sweater. “Here’s a maternity shirt. I’ve got clean jeans for you, too.”
After I accept all the stuff from him, I go to the dark back corner of the storage unit. I wrestle myself into everything while Preston has his back turned, and when I’m done, I look down at myself.
Just like I knew it would, the chunky-knit texture of the sweater lays over the baby bump. I rub it, letting myself sink into the fantasy for a second.
I’d love to see my body swell like this. To know a human being is growing inside me, and I’d be able to love it and protect it. I could take him or her to parks and museums. I’d be there to drop them off on the first day of school, watch them make friends, and see them fall in love with the world in a way I was never allowed.
I’m yanked from the daydream when Preston clears his throat. “You done?”
My eyes snap up to the back of his head. “Yeah.”
He turns. His jaw loosens. His gaze turns even more tender as he takes in the pregnancy illusion.
Feeling off-balance from the extra pounds, I shuffle over to him. “All right. Well, since I’m eating for two, I expect breakfast. I’m starving.”
Preston laughs. “That I can do.”
I’m grateful for the sunglasses Preston insisted I wear, because the shades help to tone down the headache-inducing brightness of the world.
In the thirty-minute drive from the storage garage, I’ve been both excited beyond belief and a little terrified.
Although I haven’t seen the outside in about seven years, I remember it being loud and colorful. But being immersed in it now is a little overwhelming.
I watch the sights fly by as we speed down the street. All the vehicles go so fast. Stores are packed closely together. Signs with bold letters make me want to buy things.
The breeze coming through the cracked window isn’t anything like home. I smell exhaust from an old truck that’s putting out some gray fumes. Nearby restaurants permeate the air with mouth-watering aromas.
Horns honk, engines rumble, and the man on the radio is talking about a recent sports event as Preston slows and turns into a fast food parking lot.
We stop by a yellow crosswalk near the door and let a family pass in front of us. A mother has three kids in tow—one on her hip, one holding her hand, and the last clinging to her jeans. She’s too occupied to give us a glance, but she does wave her thanks before shuffling her kids into the restaurant.
I smile.
My mom would shit her pants if she could see me now.
On the run. With a man I just met.
Life has never been better.
Well, it might get better in a few minutes when we get some food.
Preston inches forward in the drive-thru and leans toward the speaker outside his window. “Two bacon biscuits and two orders of hash browns.”
“And pancakes,” I whisper, and he adds my request, along with coffee for himself and a Coke for me.
What? A person can drink soda at ten in the morning. My mom would argue otherwise, but her rules don’t apply anymore.
The intercom blurts our total at us, and then we’re moving up in the line.
I’m about to offer some of the cash from my fanny pack when Preston takes out his wallet. “You ever had fast food before?”
“Once. A long time ago. When I was too young to be left at home alone, my mom would take me to the city sometimes when the grocery delivery person was either fired or they quit.”
Preston looks surprised. “She took you out?”
“Just a few times. She was always super weird about it. I mean, she’s had problems with paranoia, and it’s like she thought I’d vanish into thin air or something. She literally made me wear a leash.”
“How long’s it been since the last time?”
“I was eleven, I think.” A humorless laugh puffs from me when I remember my age discrepancy. “Or I guess I was twelve or thirteen, actually. Too old to be acting up in the store, but that didn’t stop me from throwing a fit. It was getting to a point where I felt like I was losing my mind inside that house. I just wanted to talk to people. I wanted to be seen and heard, so I made a scene. Started throwing junk food in the cart. Being loud. I actually sat down in the middle of the aisle and refused to move. My mom had to drag me out.” Heat fills my face because it’s really embarrassing to admit all that.
“None of that is your fault, you know,” Preston tells me as he takes the brown sacks from the person at the window. “The way you acted in that situation is normal.”
“Is it?” I ask skeptically.
“Anyone would crack under the circumstances you were in. People aren’t meant to be isolated the way you have been.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You seem isolated. I mean, you’ve been on our property for two months and never had a visitor. You don’t talk to us either. It’s like you’re all alone. Unless you’ve got people somewhere. Like family or a girlfriend…” I trail off, and my fishing is pathetically obvious.
Thankfully, Preston doesn’t call me out on it. He gives me a level stare. “I’ve been alone for a long time, but I’m not anymore.”
Flutters flare in my middle as we hold meaningful eye contact.
I don’t know how he does that—make me feel special and normal at the same time. Between the kiss earlier, the way he touches me when he wants me to really hear him, and the way he’s looking at me now… I feel crazy in a different way.
Love crazy.
When I’m with Preston, I’m not insane. I’m infatuated.
“Since our identities have changed,” I start, “and they might change again, we should pick a term of endearment for each other instead of saying names. Something that can stay constant.”