A thousand eyes are set on me. Then on the woman walking beside me. Then back to me. It’s like watching the US Open tennis final, and it’s all tied up. The anticipation is killing me, and I’m on the edge of my seat, terrified and excited. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I might be sweating a bit.
Why?
I’m nervous about introducing this woman to my family. To people I loosely consider friends because they’re good people and have always been good to my people. The last time I brought a woman to meet my family, I ended up getting her pregnant a year and a half later and marrying her.
And then losing her.
I’ve been trying for the fuck it approach, but that’s really more Luca’s and Kaplan’s style than it is mine. I’m not good at it. I’m pissed my brother invited her, and I’m grateful my brother invited her. I want to grab on to her with both hands and never let go, and I want to shove her away and never look back.
Last Monday did something to me. Her reaction to the ruined lasagna did something to me. And for about the hundredth time, I wanted to hop on a plane and kill her motherfucker of an ex-husband. More importantly, it made me want to take care of her. To bandage all her battle wounds and remind her just how strong she is.
She’s changed me.
But what does being with me—really being with me—mean for her job? For her being Stella’s teacher?
For me?
I can’t fall in love with this woman and not have it turn my entire life upside down. Am I ready for that to happen? Is it already too late?
Luckily I don’t have to open my mouth. Stella does it all for me, claiming Elle as her favorite teacher and neighbor ever as she introduces her to Rina and Brecken, Oliver and Amelia, Carter and Grace, Kaplan, then our friends, Halle and Jonah, Aria and Wes, and Margot and Drew.
The women take over, swallowing Elle up with questions and compliments. Amelia and Rina are like hawks—I figured they would be—informing Elle that she’s their saving grace. That they’ve heard all about the cooking classes, and they want in too. Elle takes it all in stride, with smiles and laughs and welcoming open arms. But it doesn’t stop there.
“Halle, Aria, and Grace are all pregnant,” Rina announces. “They can’t go on any rides with us, and Margot is chicken shit and refuses.”
“I’m not chicken shit. I get fucking motion sickness. If you want to hold my hair back while I puke all night, then I’ll go on rides with you.”
“Um. How about we not do that,” Drew pleads. “My car hasn’t been the same since Margot was sick the last time.”
Margot slaps Drew’s arm, and he wraps her up, holding her close and kissing her forehead.
“You know you weren’t supposed to tell the world I’m pregnant,” Aria exclaims with a good-natured puff as we follow our private guide—and security detail because we need that here—toward the entrance. “I’m like barely pregnant.”
“Oh.” Rina does an impression of an owl. “Right. Totally forgot that point with all the pregnant women around here. So sorry.” She turns back to Elle with a grimace. “Forget I mentioned that.”
Elle laughs, pressing a hand to Rina’s arm like they’re already old friends. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not wishing anyone congratulations. I swear. Not to sound rude, but if y’all can’t go on the rides, then why are you at a fair full of them?”
“The food,” they all say in unison before cracking up.
“I’m from South Carolina,” Halle states, shifting in beside Elle. “Texas?”
“Texas. But I don’t hear much of an accent from you.”
Halle winks a blue eye at her, tossing her copper penny hair over her shoulder. “That’s because I’ve pretty much lost it all unless I’m drunk, which obviously I’m not anymore now that I’m pregnant. Aria and I have been trying to get Grace to be our OB, but she’s refusing.”
Grace groans, likely because this has been an ongoing thing. “That’s because you’re my friends. I can’t be your doctor. Just like how I won’t allow Carter to be mine.”
“Doesn’t stop me from trying,” he remarks, pressing his palm over Grace’s small belly. “It’s my baby, I don’t see why I can’t deliver it.”
“Because you can’t. The last thing I want is your face between my legs during that particular moment.”
“Are y’all doctors too?” Elle asks the other women.
“I’m a nurse,” Rina states with pride. “The only Fritz child who is not a doctor. Margot is a nurse with me. We work in the same hospital as Oliver, Carter, and Grace. Halle is a nurse practitioner. Aria an artist.”
“An artist? What’s your last name?”
“Um… Well, I paint under Aria Davenport, but now I’m Aria Kincaid.”
“Oh my lord.” Elle reaches out and grabs Aria’s hand. “I own one of your paintings. I mean, I used to. I suppose my ex-husband does now, but we purchased it from a gallery in New York a few years back. It was beautiful. You’re so talented. I can’t believe I’m getting to meet you in person.”
“You did? Wow! That’s amazing. Thank you.”
“Someone seems to be the belle of the ball,” Amelia teases, coming in beside me. “And you seem to be watching her like a man who can’t tear himself away.”
I peer down at my tiny redheaded one-day sister-in-law. Have I been doing that? Watching Elle like I can’t tear myself away?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She grins coyly up at me. “Oh, I know. But it’s still a good look on you. For whatever that’s worth to you.”
“I second that,” Oliver agrees. “I get it now. Why you say she’s different.” His green eyes hit mine. “She is.”
“You’re all rushing things. It’s been ten days.”
Oliver snorts. “But who’s counting?”
Amelia shakes her head. “No. It’s been much longer than that. Six weeks from what Luca told us.”
“My lovely fake fiancée is right. For better or worse, you’ve been different since the night you met her. You’ve just been pretending otherwise.”
We walk through the gate, the unmistakable sounds of the fair all around us. People shouting, kids laughing, roller coasters rumbling, winners of games being called out with obnoxiously loud buzzers and bells as their backdrop. The air is filled with the scent of fried food, popcorn, and hay as multicolored lights flash from every direction. It’s sensory overload, and my kid loves it as she belts out a squeal of delight, grabbing onto Elle and Layla and running off without even asking me or telling me where she’s going.
Elle throws me a glance over her shoulder, her expression letting me know she’s got her.
“We’ll go with them too,” Amelia promises me before she and Oliver jog off to catch up to them. One of the private security guards we hired does the same, and I relax a little. The last time we all went somewhere public, we were photographed relentlessly. Hounded for autographs.
I never understood our appeal, but Amelia likes to remind us we’re celebrity influencers in this city whether we like it or not.