Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
GENEVIEVE
The spa is warm and fragrant, the air filled with hints of lavender and eucalyptus as I sink into the plush chair and let my feet soak in the warm water. Beside me, Mom chats with her nail technician about the benefits of meditation and positive thinking, while Claire sits on the other side of her, flipping through a magazine on the latest celebrity gossip.
Some time with my mom and sister is exactly what I needed after the disappointment of not getting pregnant. Plus, getting a massage and pedicure doesn’t hurt, either. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this relaxed.
“I have something for you,” Mom announces as my nail technician lifts my foot out of the refreshing bath. She reaches into her oversized purse and pulls out an envelope, handing it to me with a satisfied smile.
“What’s this?”
“Just open it,” she encourages, her voice carrying that unmistakable note of excitement that makes me nervous. I glance past her, meeting Claire’s gaze, who simply shrugs before returning her attention to her magazine.
Sighing, I open the envelope and pull out a printed-out image of a baby, its skin overly smooth with computer-generated perfection.
“What am I looking at?” I ask, brows knitted in confusion.
“Your baby.”
“My… baby ?”
“I did one of those online generators. Since I didn’t have a picture of your sperm donor, I had to improvise a bit.”
While I hate I’m not being completely honest with my mother about how I’m going about getting pregnant, she’s never been good at keeping a secret. The last thing I need is for her to accidentally slip up about the fact that Finn will be my baby’s father, considering she gets together with his mother for lunch once a week.
“I used a photo of Finn instead,” she announces proudly.
I choke on my saliva, and my nail technician hands me a bottle of water. I give her a grateful smile as I take a sip, desperate to get my coughing fit under control so my mother doesn’t read too much into my reaction.
“Is that right?” Claire asks Mom with a playful gleam in her eyes, no longer interested in her magazine.
“I needed something to use. Since Gen’s description of the sperm donor she chose matched Finn perfectly, I used him.”
“Funny about that,” Claire muses, and I shoot daggers her way.
Thankfully, it goes right over our mother’s head.
“I do find it interesting that Genevieve would choose a sperm donor who looks like Finn,” Mom says thoughtfully.
“I don’t know what he looks like,” I argue. “You don’t get to see a photo. It’s completely anonymous. All you get is a list of their physical qualities, among other things.”
It’s not a complete lie. That is the information you get when looking for a sperm donor. I’d looked through dozens, if not hundreds, of candidates when I first started down this path. Before Finn’s proposition.
“Your baby does look like Finn,” Claire remarks, leaning over to see the photo. “You could have saved yourself the hassle and had a baby with him instead. Maybe it’s not too late and you can ask him.”
My skin prickles with heat, and I glare at her.
“I always thought you two would end up together,” Mom sighs wistfully, oblivious to the true weight of Claire’s words.
“We’re just friends,” I reply quickly, my voice tight.
And that’s exactly what we’ve been this past week. Friends. Nothing more. Despite my near lapse of judgment while watching When Harry Met Sally .
Since then, we’ve fallen back into our usual rhythm — Finn bringing me coffee at the library, me stopping by the station when I know John’s cooking to save them from a disaster. Everything is as it was.
Except it isn’t.
Because beneath the routines we’ve built over the years, something feels off. An inescapable awareness now hovers in the quiet moments between us.
In the way his eyes linger on mine a second too long.
In the way his voice changes when he says my name.
It makes me wonder what it would be like if we were more than friends.
If, instead of this complicated, temporary arrangement, we were really doing this together.
Would he rub my back at night when the weight of my growing belly made sleep impossible? Would he tease me about my cravings but still go out in the middle of the night to get me whatever ridiculous thing I wanted?
Would he look at me with that same sincerity in his eyes he had when he told me he wanted this? When he promised he was all in?
A hint of something warm, something dangerously hopeful, stirs deep in my chest, but I quickly push it down.
I can’t let myself think like this.
Because I’ve been here before.
And I can’t go back there. Not for anyone.
Including Finn.
* * *
With our bodies relaxed and nails painted various shades, we leave the spa and make our way down a charming shopping area in Tahoe. It’s a beautiful summer day, so the streets are filled with tourists here to enjoy the outdoor activities this area is known for.
As we meander down the sidewalk, trying to decide on a place for a late lunch, Mom halts in front of a boutique, her eyes lighting up.
“We have to go in!”
I hesitate as I take in the front windows filled with baby clothes. “I don’t think I should.”
“It’ll be good for you,” she insists, wrapping her hand around my wrist. “You need to release positive energy into the universe and open yourself up to getting pregnant. If you act like you already are, the universe will give you what you want.”
Claire raises a skeptical brow. “Can I tell the universe I want a million dollars and a hot guy? Order it up like DoorDash?”
Mom gives her a patient smile. “If you don’t believe in it, it won’t happen. But if you open yourself up to the idea and are willing to accept the gifts the universe is ready to bestow on you, then yes. You can ask the universe to deliver these things.”
Claire smirks. “Sweet. Universe…” She looks toward the sky. “I’d like a million dollars and a really hot guy capable of multiple Os.”
Mom sighs but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Poke fun all you want, Claire, but it works. I put becoming a grandmother on my vision board for the year, and a few months later, Genevieve told me she wanted to have a baby. The universe knows.”
I roll my eyes but allow my mother to drag me inside, though unease creeps along my spine.
The store smells like fresh cotton and lavender, and the soft chime of the boutique door makes me feel like I’m intruding on a world I don’t quite belong to yet. The space is small but beautiful, filled with delicate, cream-colored bassinets, plush blankets, and racks of impossibly tiny clothes. A mother-to-be browses near the back, her hands cradling her belly as her partner murmurs something that makes her laugh.
I don’t belong here.
I shouldn’t be here.
But then Mom squeezes my hand, letting me know with a single look I have every right to be here. She encourages me to continue farther into the shop and, after a few minutes, I start to breathe a little easier. The onesies aren’t as daunting anymore. The idea of holding a baby I call my own doesn’t feel like some faraway dream.
I’ve avoided looking at baby clothes or furniture because I was worried it would be too painful. Now as I imagine dressing my baby in a cute dress or a dapper suit, it makes me believe this might actually happen for me. I even let Mom buy a gender-neutral onesie, though she wanted to buy a whole wardrobe.
Maybe this onesie will be my vision board. This year, a baby is all I want.
When my mom hands me the bag with my first article of baby clothing, I feel lighter than I have in a while. Like I’m finally on the right path.
With my head held high, I start toward the door, standing to the side as another couple enters. I smile at the woman, her belly round with pregnancy. A warmth fills me as I imagine myself in her place in a few months.
But when I see the man beside her, my smile instantly falls.
The world around me dulls, the present blurring into the past as a memory slams into me.
Ethan and me standing in a store much like this one in San Francisco, his hand resting on my lower back as I reached for a tiny onesie that read “Little Bookworm” . I remember the way he laughed, low and warm, pressing a kiss to my temple as he murmured, “One day, baby. One day.”
I believed him. I believed all his promises.
Now he’s here with her . My replacement. A ring on her finger. Carrying the child we once talked about having.
“Genevieve,” Ethan exhales, just as surprised to see me.
A lump rises in my throat from hearing his voice again after all this time, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
“Ethan.”
“It’s been a while.” He clears his throat.
“It has.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
Ethan recovers first, turning toward the woman at his side. “This is Rebecca. Rebecca, this is Genevieve.” He hesitates. “And her mom, Judy, and sister, Claire.” He gestures to the two women flanking me like a disapproving army.
Claire shifts beside me, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that screams hostile witness. Mom, to her credit, plasters on a pleasant, if somewhat strained, smile.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Rebecca says sweetly.
She’s effortlessly beautiful. Warm brown eyes, shiny caramel-blonde hair, the kind of glow that comes from being adored…and pregnant.
Her belly rounds beneath a fitted dress that emphasizes rather than hides, like she’s embracing every part of this journey. One hand rests on her stomach, the other looped casually through Ethan’s arm.
A sharp pang cuts through me before I can stop it.
I should have been the one on Ethan’s arm carrying his baby. We should have been laughing and smiling at each other as we picked out baby clothes together. I should have been fighting with him over what color to paint the nursery.
Instead, I’ll do all of that alone.
“Ethan told me a lot about you.” Rebecca offers me a perfect, practiced smile.
I wonder what version of me he told her about. The one he loved? Or the one he left?
“I wish I could say the same,” I murmur before I can filter the words.
Claire bites back a laugh, and Mom presses her lips together like she’s trying to keep from saying something much less polite.
“So, uh…” Ethan clears his throat again, shifting on his feet, “what brings you here?”
“Genevieve’s trying to get pregnant,” Mom chimes in.
If there were a trapdoor beneath me, I’d pull the lever myself.
Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up, his gaze instinctively flicking to my ringless hand. “I didn’t realize you’d remarried.”
I lift my chin. “I don’t need a husband to have a baby. I’m more than capable of doing it on my own. In fact, all things considered, I prefer it. That way, I don’t have to worry about the man who swore he’d always love me coming home and telling me it was all a lie.”
Ethan winces in response to my words, and another awkward silence falls between us. Rebecca doesn’t let it linger for long, trying to break the tension as if she’s not the cause of it.
“That’s so brave.” She rests a hand on her belly. “I don’t know what I’d do without Ethan helping me through the pregnancy. Especially the first trimester. I was so sick.”
The words hit like a gut punch.
Not just because she’s pregnant with Ethan’s child, but because it’s him — his voice, his touch, his presence — who’s helping her through it.
That should have been me he was helping through those difficult first few weeks.
Mom must sense the shift in me because she claps a hand on my shoulder and offers Rebecca a polite, but pointed, smile. “It appears us Thomas women are made of much tougher stuff. Have a nice day.”
She steers Claire and me away before I can say anything else, not stopping until we’re a block away. Then she reaches into her purse and starts aggressively spraying something around me.
I cough at the overwhelming scent. “What is that?” I grab the bottle and squint at the label. “Evil Be Gone?”
Claire chokes on a laugh, and Mom huffs. “You don’t need that man’s energy in your life. Not if you’re trying to have a baby.” She grips my shoulders, firm and steady, forcing me to meet her gaze. “And you will have a baby, Gen. I know it. And you’ll give him or her all the love they need. You’ll be enough. You are enough. Do you understand?”
I swallow hard as I melt into my mother’s embrace, grateful she always knows what I need to hear. I can only hope I’m half the mother she’s always been. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course, sweetie.” She pulls back, meeting my gaze. “Now, what do you say to a bit of day drinking?”
I blow out a laugh. “I could definitely use a drink.”