She begins to look around, as if she suddenly feels awkward about bringing him up. I don’t blame her.
“It’s honestly fine. He just wasn’t a good fit.”
Now it’s her time to nod before she gives me her attention again, finally seeing my visibly rounded stomach. Despite being nine months pregnant I’m still relatively small, my shopping bags doing some of the work to hide my belly.
“Oh wow, Lottie, are you pregnant?”
I try to push out the panic I hear in her words, how she phrases it like an illness. I get it. We’re young, and kids weren’t really in the cards for us yet. I’m probably the least likely out of everyone we know to end up like this.
“Uh, yeah, I am.” I stand proudly, my hand coming to rest on my stomach despite the shopping bags weighing it down.
“Holy shit,” she says before catching herself. “Sorry, that was rude. I’m just surprised is all! I mean, I didn’t even think you wanted kids.”
Me neither.
“Sorry, who’s the father?”
It’s a rude question but one I’m asked frequently nonetheless. Just when I’m about to kindly go off on her, I spot Owen exiting the Apple store. Maureen’s gaze follows mine, her eyes darkening.
“Well, isn’t he a snack,” she says, practically salivating at the sight of him. I retract my claws, not wanting to maul my old friend. Owen and I are in a murky area—we’re not together, but neither of us are seeing other people.
“Yep, he’s my snack,” I let out. “A whole ten-course meal.” I have no idea why I say it. Well, I kinda do. I feel the need to piss all over him and if I weren’t pregnant, I know I’d do the same thing, maybe even more. What can I say? I’m slightly territorial. It’s bad and I know it—Owen isn’t mine. Hell, I’m pushing him to other women at every chance, but I won’t let her have him. Call me a bitch.
Owen finally reaches us, a smile broadcasted across his face as he looks me over, then my bump, something I’ve noticed him doing more frequently. He doesn’t even seem to notice Maureen with me, his concern focused on me and the baby.
“Hey,” he says, his hand coming out to take all my bags without me asking.
“Hey,” I whisper back, fucking ecstatic to see him.
“Wow, so you must be Dad?” Maureen interrupts our moment, and Owen stiffens as he turns to her. He plasters on a smile, not wanting to be rude, yet I know it isn’t genuine.
“Owen,” he says, reaching out to shake her hand. She looks to me quickly and winks in approval.
“I’m Maureen, an old friend of Lottie’s.” She pauses, blatantly eyeing him. “Well, Lottie, putting two and two together, I can see why you left Beck.”
It’s clear how she views it. I left or cheated on Beck with Owen and got knocked up. It pisses me off, but I say nothing. The last thing I need is to air my dirty laundry to someone who will call ten people. I’ve made my bed with Beck; I don’t plan on lying in it again and catching fleas.
Owen stiffens beside me, and I risk looking up at him, seeing the smile fall off his lips.
When neither Owen nor I say anything, Maureen takes that as her cue to continue talking, her hands animatedly in the air.
“So how did Beck take the whole thing?” She signals to my stomach, and I feel my eyebrows rise. “Was he heartbroken? When he reached out he didn’t mention anything had happened between the two of you, so I just assumed you were still together.”
“Beck is a sorry piece of shit who wouldn’t know the word ‘heartbreak’ if it bit him on the arse. He probably didn’t mention Lottie because he’s too much of a coward to admit the hell he put her through. She doesn’t need him in her life; she’s got all she will ever need.”
I’m taken aback, and from the way Maureen’s jaw has hit the pavement, it appears she is too. It’s an outburst I’ve yet to see from Owen, but one I wouldn’t hate to see again. Sure, I’m a strong, independent woman, but holy hell, it wouldn’t be terrible seeing him defend my honor. Screw airing dirty laundry—I’ll lay it all on the pavement for Owen.
“Um,” Maureen says, her manicured hands coming up to scratch her neck. “Wow, Lottie, I really didn’t know.”
I want to laugh. It’s probably the tenth time Maureen has said “wow” this conversation, but she clearly means well, so I hold it in.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Beck and I didn’t end on great terms, but he’s in my past now, so it’s just not something I bring up because he honestly doesn’t matter to me.”
“Of course,” she says all too quickly, her head nodding up and down like a little bobblehead. “Well, I hate to cut things short—we really do need to catch up, Lottie—but I’ve got a hair appointment.” She looks at her watch. “Well, five minutes ago! But text me and we can get a drink. Uh, shit, no, I mean a coffee!”
She leans in for a quick hug before waving at Owen and disappearing through the crowd.
Owen and I stand there for a few more moments before I turn to him, noticing his eyes staring off into the distance.
“Hey,” I say, nudging his arm. He blinks a few times, his tall frame finally turning to me.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m sorry I let her think I was the dad.” The words spill out of him, and I see remorse, but I also don’t fully see regret.
“You’re fine. She assumed,” I reply casually, beginning to stroll down Oxford Street, knowing Owen will stay by my side.
“But I didn’t correct her.”
“Who cares? I doubt I’ll see her again anyway.” To be honest, I couldn’t care less if people think Owen is my little girl’s dad. Lord knows any dad is better than Beck.
Owen stops behind me, people shouting
