She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(18)

“Let me take that baby.” My mom stands from the table where Kenny and I have been trading the baby back and forth, while we do our best to eat the tacos Mom made.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Kenny starts, but Mom waves her off and already has her arms under Cal, lifting her from Kenny’s lap.

“Hush. I don’t mind playing fake-grandma while you get something to eat. Besides, this is exactly what Gage did to us. Joss is lucky to be here—he made such a fuss we weren’t sure we could handle another.”

Kenny eyes me, amused. “Demanding even before you could talk, huh?”

I grin and swing my arm over the back of her chair. “I like to think of it as motivated. When I know what I want, I don’t stop until everyone else knows, too.” I can’t tell if she understands that I’m talking about her. Kenny’s cheeks turn pink, and she ducks her head to focus on her plate, though she doesn’t eat anything else.

Later, we go up to the den, and I struggle to change Cal’s diaper, which is difficult because my hands are so big and her plastic legs are hard to maneuver. Kenny makes sure we feed her, and that it registers, and then Joss joins us and we play Sorry while Kenny and I trade the baby back and forth, jiggling her and walking her while she screams at us.

Joss leaves halfway through the game, citing insanity from the noise.

Kenny yawns, bouncing up and down, and swinging the baby lightly. “Why don’t we stay here tonight?” I say. “We can put in a movie while we wait the little one out.”

She hesitates briefly, and then she nods. Thirty minutes later, she falls asleep in the corner of the couch during our movie, Cal on her chest and not crying for once. I scooch further down next to her, wrapping an arm around her middle to bring them both closer. She turns into me just the slightest, sighing until her nose is pressed against my neck, and I wonder if my future could ever really be this perfect.





Chapter 17


Week 6: I Just Wanna Dance with You

Kennedy

“Are you sure I don’t look like a raccoon?”

“No.”

I glare at Gia, who rolls her eyes. Taking a q-tip, she grabs my chin and tilts my face up, running the cotton under each eye. When she’s done, I look in the mirror and breathe a sigh of relief. They are still lined—it’s just less.

Blinking a few times, I make sure the lashes aren’t sticking together, and that nothing dusts off onto my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I say, when I turn away from the mirror.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Don’t forget to step into your dress—if you put it over your head, you might smear.”

I slip out of my robe, and throw it on my bed. Gia holds out my dress for me, a black strapless tube that stops just below my knees, and leaves my arms and shoulders bare. When I step into it and hold it up, she drags up the zipper in the back.

I turn to the mirror, and, not for the first time, I feel a little nauseous about going to a dance with Gage. Our five weeks are up. We present our project at the end of next week, but there are no rules or guidelines telling us we need to spend time together this week. When he asked me, I wondered if he was joking.

“Hey, life-partner, want to go to the spring fling with me?”

We were at lunch one day, his friends there, too, because now I sat at a table with Cam and about half the baseball team, and everyone looked up at once. “I—” My voice wavered and I had to swallow, trying to not blush with all of his friends staring. “We already finished our five weeks together.”

And then he smiled—that cocky, happy, make-me-fall-in-love-with-him smile. “I know. I wasn’t asking for the project.”

And, just like that, we’re going to a dance together. He still calls me life-partner, but it feels like more. Which is why I’m a little nauseous.

“Maybe I should have picked the pink one. This dress is so plain.”

“Simple,” Gia corrects. For whatever reason, the minute I told her I was going to the dance, she took it upon herself to make sure I looked the part. I have to admit, I’m grateful. April’s at the hospital late, and, even if she were here, she’s about as stylish as me. Without Gia, I might have shown up in a jean skirt and Target t-shirt.

“Shoes.”

I take the black heels she hands me, thin straps over the ankle and toe, a lethal looking spike at the heel. “I might die in these.”

“They’re only two inches, Kennedy. You’ll be fine.”

I clip them and stand, wobbling when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” Gia says. On her way out the door, she pauses, looking back. “You look nice, Kennedy.” And then she slips out, leaving me to get down the stairs alone.

I hear Gage talking to the boys when I head down the stairs. Gia is the first one I see, standing off to the side, smiling, as Brandon and Rylon reenact a war they had earlier. Macy is standing next to Gia, a princess tiara on her head, and a wand in her hand. When she turns to look at me, she claps her hands.

“Hey,” I say to the room at large, descending the last few steps.

My eyes find Gage’s as he stands from his crouch in front of them. He’s wearing a black button down shirt, open at the collar, and tucked into black slacks. His belt and Vans are black. “We look like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”