Chapter 41 Bram and Bras
Bram and Bras
Greer
“Thank you for meeting me. I had to talk to someone.” Bram isn’t even in his seat before I start talking.
“Of course. We’re friends.” He glances down at the four mini-cakes on the table. “That serious?”
“Yeah. I don’t even know how to tell you, and you’re my friend, so you won’t be judging me.
Tell me you won’t judge me. Of course, you will.
All of this has gone so fast. It feels like I’m in a whirlwind.
Every day has felt like it was gone in a second.
Yet some have gone so slowly. I should have told you. I don’t know how to tell him.”
“Take a breath before you pass out. Whatever you’re worried about can’t be that bad. It’s not like you murdered someone.”
Would Havoc handle it better if he found out I was a murderer rather than the fact that I’m carrying another man’s child? To make it worse, I hid the pregnancy from him.
“Tell me you didn’t murder someone, Greer.”
“What if I did? Would you hate me?”
“Are you serious?” He leans in and whispers, “Did you really kill someone?”
“Could you forgive that?”
Bram leans back and thinks for a long moment. “I wouldn’t hate you. I would hope there was a good reason. Like in self-defense.”
“What about Havoc? Do you think he would be able to forgive me?”
“Greer, this wouldn’t be about forgiveness. It would be about trust.”
That’s even worse. “He’s never going to trust me again.”
“This is all about Havoc, isn’t it?”
I stab the cake Cordelia worked so hard to make perfect. “Yes.”
“Did you cheat on him?”
Cheat? Ewww. “How could you think that after Darrel cheated on me?”
“We’re talking about losing trust. There’s nothing that loses a man’s trust faster and more permanently than cheating on him.”
“Never. I would never sink so low as to cheat on someone.” I can’t even understand how someone could ever do that. Why? All you have to do is tell them it’s over.
“Well, if you didn’t kill someone, and you didn’t cheat on him, I don’t see what could possibly be that bad.”
It’s worse. “Maybe I should just sell my house and move to Antarctica? Who cares that penguins stink so bad they make you want to cry and throw up in your mouth a little bit.”
“You do have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Me? Never. Maybe. That’s more of Cordelia’s thing.
I’m more of the wild one…or I was until I got married and lost myself.
I think I’m finally finding myself, and a man who’s sweet enough to like me just the way I am, and we aren’t even going to make it to the first date.
His kisses…poets need to write about the way Havoc kisses, and we’re going to break up before we make it to our first official date. ”
“I really don’t need an in-depth description of Havoc’s kissing technique. Couldn’t you have called one of your girlfriends?”
Who? They’d all tell Winnie before I could blink.
Who would end up giving Havoc the third degree in some underground bunker.
She might waterboard him if he doesn’t give her the answers she wants.
“Nope. Plus, you know Havoc better. You’re his friend.
You’d know how he would respond. Not to mention you’re a man. ”
“Men don’t like to hear about other men kissing their women.
Unless beer is involved. And most of those are so exaggerated that they don’t even come close to resembling the truth.
They’re like that fish they caught that broke a world record, but wasn’t in reality big enough to fry up for dinner.
So no. I don’t want to hear about you and Havoc kissing. ”
“Fine. As long as you know he’s the best at it.”
“Point acknowledged. Can we move on to the actual issue at hand?”
No.
Yes.
Just get it over with. “Maybe I should call Cordelia, and she could say it. No one would get mad at The Cake Lady.”
“Greer.”
Fine. “Impregnant,” I whisper into my hand so that no one around us can hear.
“What did you say?”
“Impregnant.”
“What? I thought you said—”
“I’m pregnant.”
All the color drains from Bram’s face.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Is it Havoc’s?”
What? “No. How could you think that?”
“You just spent ten minutes telling me about how well he kissed. What was I supposed to think?”
“The baby is my ex-husband’s.”
“But that would mean…you’re almost…it can’t be…look at you.”
It’s not just me, then. I don’t look pregnant, and I don’t feel pregnant most of the time. “I found out the day he served me papers. I’m almost six months pregnant.”
“Where? How?”
“I can’t tell you about the birds and the bees because it didn’t work like that for me. So there was this petri dish. The doctor took an egg from—”
“I know how babies are made. What I don’t know is where that baby is in your body. You don’t have a bump?”
It’s weird. I know my body is weird. Tears start to form in the corners of my eyes.
“Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Are you really pregnant? Or is this like the murder thing? Are you giving me the worst-case scenarios so that whatever you’re about to say seems better?”
“He’s going to hate me. I knew it.” I just knew it.
“I’m moving.” Antarctica doesn’t seem far enough away.
“Maybe I can get a spot in the Mars Colony. Their spaceship hasn’t been fully funded.
And they haven’t figured out how to get around that poison gas thing.
But I’m sure I can get accepted into the group. Unless they hate pregnant women too.”
Two hands grip my arms, stopping me from walking…which I didn’t even know I was doing. “He’s not going to hate you.”
“He isn’t? Are you sure?”
“Positive. He’s going to be shocked. But Havoc is a good man. He’ll understand.”
He’ll understand. He’ll understand. I hug Bram so tightly. “Thank you. Thank you for being a great friend.”
“You’re welcome. Why don’t we get you home so you can tell him.”
***
No response.
It’s been hours, and I haven’t gotten so much as a hello from Havoc.
No ‘running late’.
No ‘busy, talk later’.
Nothing but complete radio silence.
You’re being paranoid. Havoc said that he and Creed had to do something today.
He’s probably still busy.
Finish working on the event. Then go to bed.
When you wake up, Creed will be there asking you to breakfast.
***
The one good thing about being pregnant is that I can sleep. No matter how stressed I was, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I am out like a light.
I’d better get up and cook something for breakfast. Sunday mornings call for something special. Time to search through my new recipes.
Walking past the floor-length mirror without looking, I head right in to get ready.
This isn’t right…it can’t be right. I pull up the straps of my bra, but it doesn’t fit. Not even close. Where did these come from?
I walk over to the mirror and can’t believe my eyes.
That isn’t my body.
That can’t be my body.
That body has a bump. It isn’t a massive one, but it’s a bump. There’s no mistaking the fact. I’m showing.
And none of my clothes fit.
They’re all tailor-made to fit my body exactly.
Stretch is for slobs, according to my mother.
I sink to the floor, grabbing my phone with me. Reason and logic have nothing to do with my next actions. I dial Cordelia.
“Hey, Greer. What’s up?”
“I’m fat.” Tears stream down my face.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m finally showing, and nothing fits.”
“We’re on our way.”
How am I going to explain this to Havoc while wearing my robe?
Excuse me, I can’t come to breakfast because the child I haven’t told you about finally decided to make his presence known, and now I’m too fat for all my clothing.
That’s going to go over so well.
Is any excuse going to work?
It really doesn’t matter…my phone stays silent, and there’s no knock on the door inviting me to breakfast.