“You’re nuttier than a squirrel at a peanut festival. I know because we have anationalpeanut festival in my hometown. The squirrels race here and there with their tails swishing, not knowing if they’re gonna poop or sneak a peanut.”
“Forget squirrels. You gave him my cell number. I’m still pissed about that.”
“You can’t make up your mind.”
I change the topic. “Aren’t squirrels rodents? Gross.”
She shrugs. “Squirrel scat is the size of a grain of rice. True fact. Mr.Darden made me watch the nature channel after I stole his pen.”
I snort. “Is there a Ferris wheel at your festival? Cotton candy? Oh, those funnel cake things?”
Cece swishes down the hall like a beauty queen, the strap of her black Chanel purse draped over her shoulder. “It’s quite the shindig, so no making fun of it, yeah? I won MissNational Peanut my senior year in high school. I was so pretty everyone hated me to bits.” She smiles. “I loved it! The attention. The boys. The crowns and sashes.” A sigh comes from her. “My dress, oh my dress; it was divine—all white with a sweetheart neckline and jewels. You know how good I look in white. Gah, I’m going to be a beautiful bride.”
“Like an angel.”
She waves her hands. “You’re distracting me.”
“You distract yourself. Squirrel.”
She huffs. “Forget me; let’s circle back to Tuck. You’re holding maybe ten grand in jewels and tried to give it back!” She pauses, hervoice lowering. “Besides, if you’re not gonna wear it, you could always pawn them and use it for baby Cecelia.”
“Back to this peanut festival. When is it?”
“You’re trying to change the topic.”
“I bet you were gorgeous in that dress ...” I eye her.
“The festival is in October. See, all the other girls wore these fall colors, but I wanted to stand out. Mama raised me right. ‘Forget learning to cook and shoot guns,’ she told me. ‘Dress how you want, be yourself, and when he’s mean, kick him in the balls and move on.’”
“I’m sad we missed the festival. Let’s go next year, take the baby, and show those Alabama girls how New York does it. You wear something white. I’ll wear black with lots of makeup. Baby Cecelia will be in couture. Yes?”
“I’m getting married in the fall.”
Right. My stomach lurches. “Maybe you can get married at the peanut festival.”
She studies me. “Once you make up your mind, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“When Edward cheated, you refused to see him. He was a dick and deserved to never have you, but some girls would have listened to him, maybe tried to work it out. You slept with Tuck, and that was it. No more is allowed. You’re stubborn.”
“Edward and I were over the moment I opened the supply-closet door.”
“Okay, that was a bad example. What I mean is you make up your mind and don’t budge. All I’m saying is maybe you should tell Tuck about the pregnancy.”
Unease tingles over me. Maybe, just maybe, part of me has thought about telling him; then I remember how sure he was in the bookstore. “Why would I? His goal is to retire and hang out on his yacht with beautiful women. He’s aplayer, Cece. He doesn’t want kids, and I appreciated his honesty. Toss in the fact that I got pregnant on twoforms of birth control the night we met—well, he’s going to think I trapped him.”
“Fine. I’m just worried about when I’m in California and you’re here. Who will you have to turn to babysit in a pinch? To grab some diapers at the store?”
I try to picture Tuck in CVS buying baby stuff and can’t.
“I’ll have Darden and Brogan.”
She snorts. “Darden and diapers? Please. And Brogan needs to go back to med school. How’s your money situation? I keep offering you help, but you won’t take it.”
Because it’s her retirement, and even though she’s going to marry Lewis, I don’t want her going into a relationship without an escape route. He bought her a house, yes, but her name isn’t on that deed. What if it doesn’t work out for them?
I’ve looked over my savings, and I have enough to cover my part of the rent and school loans until May or June, but after that ...