One Summer Isn't Enough (Summer, #4)

chapter 16

CONRAD

Fifty-five minutes later, both Belly and I were showered and ready to leave for the mall (I thought it would take us longer, but ten minutes after she went upstairs, I knocked on the bathroom door and got in the shower with her. At least we saved water). We decided to try this new trendy outlet mall that opened up near Mass General, where I work.

Belly told me that she didn't need me to come, and that she could totally find a dress myself, but I wouldn't hear it. I want to be with her every possible minute now, and besides, I want to see how she likes Boston so far. But really, I kind of want to be next to her every possible minute now that we've learned about the baby. Her safety feels like my responsibility more than ever now.

When we walk in, the first thing I see is a Jamba Juice station, which is a rarity because even though both Belly and I live for Jamba Juice, there aren't any stores nearby. So as soon as she slips into a clothing store to look at a dress, I buy us both Mango-a-Go-Gos in the biggest size they have and ceremoniously present it to her, which makes her laugh delightedly in the best way. We walk around the mall hand-in-hand, our juices disappearing quite fast, and it strikes me that we've come so far since that one time when we were kids and we were at that one mall in Cousins, and Belly had gotten lost after spending all of her time at the glass-blowing store. It makes me chuckle that I had been so mad at her then, but in my heart, I still loved her the same. Whenever I saw the unicorn in her room after that, I always used to argue with myself that night about whether I had been that mad because I was annoyed, or because I had been...scared. Scared that she was lost, or hurt.

Soon enough, Belly spots a new-looking store with INVISIBLE STRING emblazoned in bright white cursive LED lettering. We walk in and she immediately runs over to this light-blue dress that caught her eye, and I sit down on one of the vintage-looking wooden benches and pull my phone out to pass the time. The first thing that's on my home screen is a text from Laurel. When I open it, it reads, I'll have all of the party stuff ready by tonight. Be at the house at 8am sharp, and don't let her know about this!

I feel kind of bad that I sort of gave away Laurel's surprise to Belly, but I know Belly hates big surprises like this more than anyone. Small parties she doesn't mind, like the engagement party Taylor helped me plan for her after I proposed, but this one doesn't look like it's going to be very small. Or drama-free.

I reply to Laurel and then switch over to the Gmail app, sporadically sipping on mango while absentmindedly responding to some work emails in minimal word count and archiving others. As I'm wrapping up my last email response, a text from Jere pops up on top of my screen.

Huh. Weird. The last time he texted me something other than a two-word response, he had been engaged to Belly.

Shaking my head, I switch over to Messages and see that he's texted three sentences. An improvement, for sure.

Laurel texted me about Belly's surprise party this morning and kind of demanded that I be there tomorrow. I didn't have it in me to tell her that I won't be coming, but wanted to give you a heads-up. Tell Belly happy birthday for me.

Closing my eyes, I lower my head and massage my temples. Of course he won't come. And, honestly, I can't really blame him. I almost did the same thing for their wedding. But he needs to be here tomorrow, for more reasons than celebrating Belly's birthday. I know that she's most worried about how Jere's gonna take the baby news, and if he doesn't show up at all, she won't stop thinking about how else to break the news to him.

No. He needs to come, whether he wants to or not. This isn't about him, it's about Belly.

Turning my phone on again, I open the Messages app and type out a response:

Jere, I understand how you're feeling and I don't blame you. But please believe me when I say that Belly needs you there tomorrow more than ever. It's not just about her birthday. So please, please show up, for her. She doesn't need any unhappy surprises now.

About five seconds after the message shows that it delivered, the little gray '...' bubble pops up from his side. I watch it in anticipation for about ten seconds, until it disappears for a bit and then reappears again. He's struggling with what to say. Which is a good sign–he still cares about Belly, and apparently enough to not say no again flat-out.

Finally, his response comes. And it's only a few words long.

When should I be there?