Jacyn pouted. “You didn’t have wine either. Nothing but flavored water all evening. What’s up?”
Before she could answer, Naisha pointed excitedly at her, as if she’d just figured out the answer to the final question on Jeopardy. “You’re pregnant!”
The guilt on her face sealed the deal, and Jacyn set down the bottle and glasses and the two women flung their arms around her. “So cool!”
“You two are going to make beautiful babies!” Naisha predicted.
Jacyn added, “Almost as cute as mine.”
“Huh,” Naisha countered. “You mean, asmine.”
“Let’s not argue,” Jacyn said. “We both got great genes and awesome husbands and blessed the world with superstars!”
The two women high fived and then eagerly faced Chantelle again. And that was when the hailstorm of questions began.When are you due? Have you picked out names? Are you throwing up yet?
Chantelle could barely keep up with the advice and commentary, and found herself smiling happily when they suggested a shopping trip to Paris for layette. “We’ve got a girlfriend, Shaundra. You’ll love her.”
She eagerly agreed, and then spent the next hour or so talking and laughing as the subject of conversation slid away from babies and onto pretty much everything else. Chantelle hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time.
When the men emerged from whatever shenanigans they’d been up to in the other room, everyone said their goodbyes. They expressed regret that Dustin was leaving the next day, and promised to get together again as soon as he was back.
She didn’t bother to burst any bubbles by letting them know there was little chance of him being back before their marriage was terminated.
As she sat in the car next to Dustin on the way back, she realized she was humming. Dustin threw her a grin.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. What?” she insisted.
He shook his head, giving her a long, slow look that made her squirm. “Nothing. Well, something. You look so happy tonight. So relaxed. It’s like some of the stiffness has gone out of you.”
“Stiff?” she bristled. “I am not stiff!”
“Honey, if they tied a sapling to you, it would grow straight.”
She shoved him so hard he had to struggle to keep the car in his lane. “That’s an awful thing to say!” but deep down, she knew he was right. Since coming to France, she’d found herself growing more and more relaxed. Less stressed. More blue jeans and fewer pencil skirts. She didn’t protest any further.
“First,” he said, “stop punching me. I didn’t fly all the way to France to die in a car wreck. Second,” he threw her a glance as they pulled up to the entryway of her mansion, “I’ve never seen you more beautiful than I have tonight. I wish I could always remember you that way, with your hair down, laughing with friends.”
The force of his words, and the emotion behind it, threw her for a bit. She realized she’d stopped breathing as her mind struggled to process what he’d said. Beautiful? Her? She’d never thought much about it, whether it was or wasn’t the case. Never looked at herself in the mirror seeking any such interpretation of the face she was used to.
She wished he had more to say, more to tell her, but the car was off and he was already outside her door, holding it open for her.
She walked half a step behind him, slowing even as he slowed in a bid to let her walk at his side. Almost reluctant to go indoors. Wishing they could stand outside on the grass, on this late, lovely night, and look up into the sky, rather than go back inside where everything would be normal again.
Normal and dull.
Normal and lonely.
They made it to her door, and she stood there, hands clasped before her.
He paused too, his eyes on hers. Not doing anything, saying anything. Just stood there.
And she understood, fully and completely, what was happening. The ball was in her court, and it was up to her to decide: serve it, or kick it under the bleachers and pretend it was never there.
He was leaving it all up to her.