The Swap(52)

I was relieved my parents hadn’t contacted her, but . . . “Why?”

“I’m fat and disgusting. I don’t want people to see me like this.”

“You’re still beautiful,” I assured her. “Just in a different way.”

She ignored the compliment, wiping her hands on a towel. “Why would your mom call me?”

I lowered myself onto a stool facing her. “My parents kind of freaked out on me today. “It was about you.” I saw her brow crinkle. “They think we’re like . . . lovers or something.” My delivery was tinged with incredulous humor, but my cheeks were burning, my pulse racing. Just saying the word lovers prompted a mixture of embarrassment and delight.

Freya laughed. “Oh, shit. Really?”

It was a joke to her. She couldn’t imagine being with me that way. But that kiss . . .

“I know,” I covered. “I told them it wasn’t like that. That we’re just good friends. But they think our friendship is abnormal. And unhealthy.”

She set down the cloth. “I can see their point.”

What?

“I’m so much older than you. I’m about to squeeze out a kid any second. Your parents are probably wondering why the hell you’re hanging out me.”

Because you’re my best and only friend. Because we have a soul connection. Because you kissed me.

Freya said, “If we don’t see each other for a while, they’ll cool off.”

“I don’t care what they think,” I replied. “And I’m an adult. I do what I want.”

She sighed. “I’m exhausted, Low. I need some time alone before all hell breaks loose. And this would give you a chance to spend some time with kids your own age.”

She was dismissing me again. Sending me away with a smile. I watched as she detached the splash pan and headed for the bucket of clay refuse. She dumped the mud into the pail, then rinsed the tray in the sink. Her expression was weary but content, like we’d just had a normal conversation, like she hadn’t just stabbed me in the heart. She turned the water off and faced me.

“And then, after the baby’s born, we can legitimize things.”

I’m embarrassed to say that her words filled me with hope. I wasn’t sure what she meant, but as a girl raised by multiple parents, I knew there were possibilities. I could be Freya’s girlfriend. Or Freya and Max’s girlfriend. I’d only recently felt stirrings of sexual desire, but I wanted to be a part of this. Whatever this was.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and . . . I’d like you to be our nanny.”

Fuck.

She smiled at me as she pumped lotion into her hands, worked it between her fingers. “We’re so comfortable with you. And you know so much about babies. We’d pay you, of course. And then your parents couldn’t be upset.”

What I felt in that moment was a disappointment so crushing I could scarcely breathe. For the first time, I knew the truth. Freya didn’t see me as a friend or a soul mate. She viewed me as an employee. A kid she could hire to take care of her brat while she worked out and got her nails done and hiked/drank wine/had lunch with her real friend, Jamie. Her #bestfriend. I was not an emotional person, not prone to tears and outbursts, but I felt my chin wobble.

She was watching me, waiting for a response. I would tell her that I knew the truth about her baby’s father. I would demand that she let me move in with her, insist that she treat me like a friend, an equal. Freya would be angry at first—I knew this about her. She would scream and yell, throw pottery at me or even slap me. But then she would take me back. She’d have no choice.

But she wouldn’t love me; not the way I wanted to be loved.

“You’re hurt,” Freya said.

She knew me after all. She could read my pain.

Freya moved toward me. “I still want you to be my photographer, Low. We’ll still do our photo shoots when you’re not taking care of the baby. You can take pictures of the kid, too. You’ll be my nanny and my artistic partner.”

I croaked a single word in response. “Okay.”

“Thank God.” Freya smiled at me, a bright, genuine smile. “Max and I were starting to freak out a bit.” She placed her clean hands on her bump and sighed. “Will you post the video for me? I need to go lie down.”

I wouldn’t see her again for three weeks.





47


jamie


It could have been the promise of spring in the air, the crocuses peeping their sleepy heads aboveground, tightly furled buds appearing on the naked trees. It might have been the slight uptick in business as tourists came to the island for long weekends, braving the still unpredictable weather and sporadic ferry schedule. But I knew that my positive outlook and lightened mood were due to my reunion with Freya. Everything else was just gravy.

She had invited me to lunch and put my world to rights. As it turned out, she had been pining for reconciliation as much—if not more so—than I had.

“I really missed you this past month,” she said. “I actually considered moving back to LA.”

“Oh my god,” I gasped. “I thought about going back to Vancouver.”

Freya grasped my hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry for what happened that night. I was wrong to disrespect your values. Let’s forget about everything and never fall out again.”