Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
EMMA
W as there nothing budget-friendly in this entire store? Nearly every item I pulled cost far too much money to waste on a piece of clothing that would only be good for a month, two at most.
But as much as I desperately wanted to leave and find the nearest Target, I knew Charlie wouldn’t let me. A wishful part of me hoped that if I got enough to fill a bag, he’d be appeased and then I could sneak out to a more affordable store when he was at work.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t grateful. No, I appreciated everything he tried to do for me. This just wasn’t necessary. Particularly when no amount of pretty clothing would change the fact my ankles were swollen and my dress size had exploded in less than a month. I’d read that some lucky women didn’t show until the third trimester, but my frame showed every new development.
Every time I looked in a mirror, discomfort arrowed through me. My body felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else. I sifted through another rack of flowing tops, trying to ignore the price tags that made my eyes water. A soft, maroon blouse caught my eye, and I reluctantly added it to the pile in the assistant’s arms. I’d need to sell a kidney to afford half of these clothes.
Charlie was chatting with the shop assistant, his expression relaxed and easy. Like he couldn’t care less that the mother of his child was slowly morphing into a human incubator.
Stop it!
I handed the top to the assistant with a forced smile, reminding myself that Charlie was being supportive. It was a good thing.
But was it really?
The past few months had been a rollercoaster of emotions. Living with Charlie was both heaven and hell. He was attentive, always making sure I had everything I needed. But that was just it — he treated me like a task to be completed. But he always pulled back at the last second, leaving me feeling confused and frustrated. I’d pulled out all of the stops in the last two weeks, trying to get him to react, to really see me. All of it had failed.
“Find anything you like?” Charlie’s voice startled me, and I nearly dropped the pair of stretchy jeans I was examining.
“Oh, um, yeah. Just a few things,” I mumbled, avoiding his gaze. I couldn’t bear to see the indifference in his eyes, the way he looked at me like I was just another responsibility to manage. I gestured to the pile of clothes the assistant was holding instead. “I should probably try these on.”
“Great idea.”
I nodded and made a beeline for the fitting room. Charlie followed and I stopped short.
“You don’t have to come. I can manage.”
He pouted, actually pouted, like a kid denied ice cream.
“But I want to see what you picked out. Come on, Em. Let me be involved in this.”
I sighed, torn between wanting to maintain some privacy and not wanting to seem ungrateful. After all, he was paying for all of this.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But no laughing if something looks ridiculous, okay?”
His face lit up with triumph. “I could never laugh at you.”
I lifted a brow but chose not to comment. What good would it do?
Instead, I walked into the fitting room with anticipation and dread swirling in my gut. On one hand, I was excited to try on new clothes that might actually fit comfortably. On the other, I was terrified of seeing Charlie’s reaction to my changing body.
But as I closed the fitting room door behind me, leaving him waiting outside, I took a deep breath. I could do this. I’d planned weddings in hurricanes and wrangled bridezillas on the verge of nuclear meltdowns. Trying on some maternity clothes in front of the father of my child? Piece of cake.
Right?