Chapter 3
Chapter 3:
They’re in the dining room. Takeout containers spread across the table like a picnic, Nathan’s face animated in a way I haven’t seen in weeks. When they spot me with my grocery bags, they both freeze—guilty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Nathan jumps up, all solicitous concern. “Vivian! I thought you’d gone to Harper’s—you seemed upset, so Meredith ordered some food since we were both hungry p>
He’s taking the bags from my hands, guiding me to a chair, performing the role of caring husband with the enthusiasm of a man who knows he’s being watched.
Meredith smiles at me. It’s a careful smile, calibrated to appear warm. “Sorry about the mix-up. Nathan, could you grab some plates for Vivian p>
Nathan. Not “your husband.” Not “him.” First name, casual and intimate, as if she has every right to use it. As if she belongs here.
I watch her settle back in her chair, completely at ease, while I perch on the edge of mine like a visitor in my own home.
Nathan sets a plate of fajitas in front of me. The smell of chili oil and seared peppers rises up, and my stomach clenches in warning.
“These are your favorite, babe. Eat up p>
Were my favorite. Before pregnancy turned my digestive system into a war zone. Before the mere thought of spice made my insides revolt. He would know this, if he’d been paying attention. If he’d been home enough to notice.
“Yes, Vivian, don’t be upset with Nathan.” Meredith’s voice is honey-sweet. “He only brought me here because I had nowhere else to go. I was completely alone and helpless p>
The word hangs in the air: helpless. This woman with her perfectly styled hair and her artfully bandaged wrist and her talent for making every man in the room want to protect her. Helpless.
F𝓾ll 𝒸h𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝒶t g𝒶l𝓷ovєls.𝓬•𝓶
I pick up my fork.
I try.
The first bite makes it about three inches down before my body rejects it entirely. The burning sensation tears through me, and I’m up, hand over my mouth, running for the bathroom again.
Behind me, I hear Meredith’s voice, pitched to carry: “I know you don’t like me, Vivian, but you don’t have to be so dramatic about it. Vomiting the moment I walk in? Am I really that repulsive p>
Her voice wavers. Tears, imminent and precisely timed.
I don’t turn around. I don’t have time.
From the bathroom, between heaves, I catch fragments of Nathan’s response—something soothing, something apologetic—and I realize with sudden clarity: he never told her I was pregnant. Of course he didn’t.
If she’d known, she might not have come.