32. Amanda #2
We’re back at The Good Bread. The lunch rush is almost over, but plates still clatter around us while we chat at one of the outside tables. Val demolishes a Caprese sandwich, talking around mozzarella without shame, while I push arugula around my bowl, trying not to gag at the texture.
“Eric’s going to get on my case about letting you starve.”
“You’re all obsessed with what I eat.”
“No.” She points the fork at me. “Eric is obsessed with you, and we’re middle management.”
Savoring the warmth building in my chest, I poke at the salad and build the perfect bite. Chickpeas, feta, tomato. I bite it and feel a curl of arugula tingle on my tongue. Disgusting.
I stab at another chickpea. “Daray isn’t signing. Cassie won’t answer me. It’s a mess.”
“He’s stalling. Once Cassie’s baby is born, he’ll leap at the chance to offload one kid.” Val chews, then catches my expression. “What? I don’t like babies.”
I snort, but the fear creeps in anyway. “What if he doesn’t back off? And now I have to co-parent with Daray… And Cassie? There’s no way Eric wants that.”
Val doesn’t blink. “So that’s it.” She sets her sandwich down. “You’re afraid Eric’ll want someone easier.”
I glance down at my stomach. “Who signs up for this?”
“Eric does.” She waves her hand in my middle’s direction. “And he’s not delusional. He’s choosing you, intentionally. He’s not just killing time waiting for a better offer.”
“He isn’t?”
“You two are exhausting.” She taps her chin. “Reciprocal self-worth patterns. You think he deserves better. He thinks you do. You accused him of never choosing you. Let him.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re not supposed to know that.”
She laughs, glasses tipping forward on her nose. “We’re therapists. Basically witches.”
Then she leans in, serious. “He’s in a trauma program for himself, for you, for the baby. I get why you’re afraid, but it’s time to stop.”
I exhale. “I don’t think he wants… certain things with me.”
Val sighs like I’m being impossible. “Does he know you want to have sex with him?”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. “What I want is sort of… irrelevant.”
“No.” She huffs. “What you both want is the only thing that matters.”
“Val, he said we were together, but then we shared a bed, and nothing happened—”
She lifts a hand. “He’s been in love with you for over a decade,” she says flatly. “Has he discussed intimacy with you?”
“Has he talked to you?”
“Yes and no.” She tilts her head. “Humor me. What’s your assessment?”
My throat tightens. “I just wish he understood he doesn’t have to fix himself overnight. And I-I want to feel wanted.”
Val’s frown softens. “Of course you do.”
“The weight, the belly, the moods, how nothing fucking fits—” I tug at the blouse that’s too loose around the arms and too tight across my chest. “I don’t feel like me. And I don’t want to lose him.”
“He’s not fragile. You telling him you want a sexual relationship and asking him if he wants that isn’t going to break him.”
I nod slowly. “So this is when you tell me he’s doing great?”
“No,” Val says. “This is when I remind you that healing isn’t linear. Neither is intimacy. Or love.”
I think of the tattoo on Eric’s chest and its endless loops and patterns. Maybe our love is circular, too. I finally take a full bite of my salad.
After that, Val’s social stamina falters, and we walk back to the clinic in comfortable silence. We’re waiting for the elevator to head to our respective offices, when heels clack close to me.
“Amanda.”
I turn to my right. Cassie’s hair is even blonder, her tight summer dress clinging to her bump.
She’s perfectly put together, and yet, it doesn’t look…
right with the fabric so stretched and her swollen feet shoved into delicate sandals.
Her lips twitch at the edges before she smiles, and it’s like a shield she can’t afford to let go of.
Val shifts subtly beside me, fingers brushing my wrist.
Cassie storms up, finger pointing straight at me. “You told him.”
“I did.”
She juts her chin out defiantly. “You know how hard I’ve worked to keep him interested?” Her hands tremble hard enough that she presses them against her thighs to steady them. “He was finally excited about this baby. With me.”
“Cassie, he isn’t ‘with’ anyone but himself.”
“This is what he means.” Her voice pitches up. “You think you deserve more.”
“Not more, just better than Daray. And so does my son.”
She flinches at son. “You just want him to choose you,” she snaps, flicking her hand.
“No. Just exhausted. And you should be too. I know him.”
“He’s trying.”
“No,” I say quietly. “You’re trying. He’s coasting.”
She takes a step forward, shaking hands, trying to grab my arm. Val pulls me away. Cassie’s arms now won’t stop trembling. “You want him to leave me. You want to blow up everything I’ve built.”
I laugh once, humorless. “Daray’ll blow it up all on his own.”
Her nails dig into her forearm hard enough to leave red crescents. “You made those papers to manipulate him.”
I meet her eyes steadily. “The papers are so Eric and I can move forward. If you want Daray, keep him. Just get him to sign.”
Understanding flashes across her face so fast it’s almost frightening.
“That’s what this is,” she says loudly, nearly triumphant now. Heads turn toward us in the vestibule. “Eric doesn’t want to raise another man’s baby.”
Her shoulders twitch between words.
Val steps in smoothly before I can answer. “Cassie, right? I’m Dr. Valeria Ross.” Her tone goes calm and clinical in a heartbeat. “What do you want for yourself and your baby?”
Cassie blinks, thrown completely off-script. “I just…” Her face crumples briefly. “I thought if we had a baby, he’d stay.”
Val and I exchange a quick glance.
“She’s yours, Cassie,” Val says gently. “Amanda’s stepping away. She’s drawing up papers to help you keep him.” Val’s gaze flicks to Cassie’s forearms, where she’s been scratching herself to a deep red. “How are you feeling about becoming a mom? Do you have support?”
“I’m fine,” she says too quickly, covering her ears for a second before dropping her hands again. “He’ll sign, right? Then he’ll only have my baby?”
“It’s the first legal step,” Val says carefully. “Later, through the courts, he’ll formally ratify that he doesn’t want Amanda’s child.”
Cassie’s entire expression brightens with eerie relief. “Perfect.” She breathes. “Then he’ll stay with me.” She walks away, smiling crookedly to herself.
Val observes her carefully, her mouth pressing into a thin line, eyes dimming in recognition before she smooths her features.
“Thank you,” I say to Val as we go into the elevator and hit different numbers.
“She isn’t well,” she says. “Perinatal anxiety can escalate fast postpartum. Sometimes, psychosis.” Her tone is steady, but personal. “Still, I wasn’t going to let her talk shit about you.”
When I sit at my desk, a text comes in. A forwarded voice note from Val. I press play, and Eric’s low voice fills the room.
“Hey Amanda, you’re twenty-eight weeks and three days. He’s the size of an eggplant. I’m sorry, it looks like I’m missing the cabin trip this year. I miss you. Choose a color for the nursery.”