Chapter 42 February 23rd The diner is exactly the kind of place you'd expect June to love. Kitschy, borderline tacky, with retro vinyl booths and a jukebox in the corner that looks like it hasn't worked in decades. The walls are plastered with black-and-white photos of old Miami, the kind of thing that screams "vintage" but is probably more thrift-store find than authentic. It's Sunday, and the place is packed-waitstaff buzzing around with plates piled high with pancakes and greasy burgers. The smell of syrup and coffee lingers in the air, and the low hum of conversation fills the space. June sits across from me, glowing in that way only pregnant women can. Her little belly is getting bigger, and she rests her hands on it like she's cradling the life growing inside her. She's adorable and so genuinely happy it's almost infectious. "You look so cute," I tell her, reaching across the table to touch her belly. "Seriously, you're like one of those pregnancy Pinterest boards come to life." June laughs, her smile widening. "I feel like a whale." "Well, you're the cutest whale I've ever seen." "Shut up." She rolls her eyes but doesn't stop smiling. Just then, I feel it. A little flutter beneath my hand. My eyes widen as I look at June. "Was that...did he just kick?" "He did!" she says, beaming. My throat tightens, and I feel an unexpected wave of emotion. I blink quickly, trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill. But June notices anyway. "Avery, are you...crying? Oh my God, are you okay?" she asks, bordering on frantic. I don't blame her. This isn't like me. I snort, trying to shake it off. "I'm fine. I think your pregnancy hormones are doing some kind of osmosis shit and seeping into my brain." She laughs, and the sound is enough to ground me. But deep down, I can't ignore the strange feeling in my chest. A desire I've never really felt before. Kids? Me? The thought is enough to make my head spin. My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance at the screen. It's Henry. A slow smile spreads across my face as I read his text. Henry: Don't forget about tonight. And I can't stop myself from responding. Me: What's tonight? Henry: You know what tonight is. Me: Actually, I don't. So, why don't you tell me? Henry: Nice try, honey. My lips are sealed. Think back to your parents' bathroom if you need a frame of reference. You, me. Plans. That's all you're going to get. I bite my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. I can still feel the warmth of his hands on my body from this morning. I already tried to get him to tell me about whatever he has planned for tonight, but it ended with me bent over the balcony railing with Henry's cock inside me while he fucked me so good I forgot my own name. Does that make me an exhibitionist? It's certainly an interesting question to consider... "So, what's new in your life?" June's voice pulls me out of my reverie, and I quickly lock my phone, sliding it facedown on the table. "What do you mean?" "I feel like we haven't really had a chance to catch up. You're always so busy. We haven't really gotten any best-friend time since..." June trails off and starts to get tears in her eyes. Clearly, thinking about the thirteen days Henry and I were missing. "Don't you dare start with that," I quickly chime in, pointing an index finger toward her. "Do not start breaking down before we even get our food." "I'm sorry!" June sniffles. "It's a little hard to just get over the two weeks you thought your best friend died, Avery. I have a heart, you know. I'm not soulless." She dabs a napkin at her eyes, sniffling a little more. "Also, I really think you're losing sight of our agreement." "What agreement?" "You keeping me updated about where you are," she expands, and her brow furrows in determination. "Honestly, I think you just need to share your location with me. That would make things way easier than me having to constantly call and text you." "You want to track me?" I ask, horrified. "Yeah." June nods like it makes complete sense. Like it's not at all an insane request. "I track Beau." A laugh jumps from my lungs. "He's your husband, Juni." "And you're my best friend," she retorts like her argument holds weight. "Yeah, no. I have boundaries." June stares at me like boundaries isn't even a word. Immediately, my mind is reeling over the consequences of sharing my phone location with June. Surely she'd get real damn suspicious if she started to see me at Henry's apartment every single night of the week. Luckily, the server arrives at our table, setting down our plates and distracting my stalker best friend from her insane request. June's cheeseburger looks juicy and perfectly messy, while my chicken Caesar salad is topped with crisp romaine and grilled chicken. We're actively eating when my phone buzzes again, but I quickly glance at the screen-it's only Ethel-and place it back on the table to avoid June's prying eyes. Goodness knows, if she got ahold of the messages between Henry and me, she'd reach another level of hormonal. Instantly, guilt sets up shop in my stomach. The mere idea of keeping something like this from my best friend is...hard. I don't like keeping things from June, and if I'm honest with myself, it's bordering on hypocritical, considering how upset I got with her when I found out she was in a relationship with my brother. "June..." I say, my voice quieter than normal as I stare down at my chicken Caesar salad. "Yeah?" she asks around a mouthful of burger. My stomach churns as I try to find the right words to express everything I'm feeling, everything I've been up to, and all the questions I have about the future. She's my best friend, and her input is invaluable in everything happy and sad and in between, and keeping the news of Henry from her is only hurting us both. But God. It's big. And juicy. And so, so uncharted in the territory department. Not to mention, her hormones are a wreck, and I don't want to be responsible for a pregnant woman's public breakdown. I take another deep breath to ready myself, but instead of steadying, my stomach pitches, the smell of Caesar dressing and chicken hitting me straight in the face in a way I don't expect. A wave of nausea crashes over me, and I swallow hard, reaching for my water. June pauses mid-bite of her cheeseburger, her eyes narrowing as she watches me. "You okay?" "Yeah," I say, forcing a smile. But when I take a bite of my salad, the nausea intensifies, and before I know it, I'm bolting for the bathroom, my feet scrambling on the black-and-white diamond tile the whole way. When an older woman in an electric-blue sweater gets in the way of the bathroom door just as my vomit threatens, I have to shove her out of the way with way less gentleness than both she and I would like. I want to apologize, but if I open my mouth, even for a single word, I'm going to spray chunks. Shoving through the door and screeching into a stall, I lean over the toilet bowl and let it all go in ugly, retching waves. When it's over, I lean against the wall of the stall, catching my breath. The nausea is gone, replaced by a weird sense of relief, but the disgust is alive and well. Ugh. I hate throwing up so much, and the last thing I need right now is a stomach virus while I'm trying to gain back a little bit of the weight the island took. Normally, I'd take life's blessings for what they are on the diet front-like the time I got a stomach virus two weeks before senior prom and my body ended up looking banging in my dress-but of all the times I've needed it, this isn't one of them. I take a quick glance at myself in the mirror, thankful I didn't manage to get particles of vomit on my new short-sleeve knit Chloé sweater I bought the other day at Saks when I was shopping for Blanche and Darla. After a quick fluff of my hair, I wash my hands and head back out into the diner. When I return to the table, June looks concerned. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. Just had to puke. But I'm feeling better now." "You puked?" Her eyes widen. "Oh my God, Avery." "It's no big deal." "Holy hell," June mutters through a soft laugh. "Maybe my pregnancy hormones really are getting to you..." She pauses, but then her face morphs from carefree and smiling to eyes narrowed and analyzing my face. "Wait...you don't think you're-" she drops her voice "-pregnant, do you?" Now, it's my turn to laugh. "Get real, Juni. You have to have sex to get pregnant." But you are having sex, my mind reminds me. A lot of it. Holy hell. That's right. I'm not a virgin anymore. Not by a long shot. "Finally, a life update!" June says through a snort. "So, I guess my best friend doesn't have any man in her life at the moment." Her words are another punch to my already tenuous gut. It wasn't my intention, but I've been keeping a lot of shit from my best friend. Not only does she not know about my pre-Henry virginal status, but she doesn't know about my post-virginal status with Henry either-my brother's best friend whom I've been fucking every chance I get for the past several weeks. June starts talking about something adorable Addy did the other day, but I'm mentally spiraling. Henry and I have sex without protection-lots. Sure, he pulled out on the island and I've been on birth control since we got back, but nothing is foolproof. If that Friends episode with Ross and the condom company is anything to go by, there's literally nothing when you're fucking that is one hundred percent safe. Immediately, my stomach tightens-and it's not from the nausea. "Avery? Are you even listening?" June asks. "I gotta go," I blurt out. "I have a..." I pause, my mind moving ninety miles per hour as I try to pull a random excuse out of my ass. "A Botox appointment. Yeah. Totally forgot about it." "Botox?" June repeats, confused. "On a Sunday?" "It was the only time Fredrick could fit me in. And he'll be so pissed if I'm a no-show," I say, grabbing my purse before tossing one of my credit cards down onto the table. "Lunch is on me. Love you!" I call over my shoulder as I head straight for the door. I should feel like the world's worst best friend, but fuck, I can't focus on anything but the giant pregnant elephant in the room. As I step outside, the Miami sun feels too bright, too hot, and my mind is racing. I've got a bad feeling all that vagina-taunting to June is about to bite me right in the center of my own cooch. Pregnant? Shit. Talk about committing, Avery.