Page 143 of Good For Me

Jas

Iwonder if this is what having a panic attack feels like.

My chest hurts, my palms are sweaty, and my head is pounding. And it won’t go away. I’ve felt like this since the moment River walked out of the house.

This isn’t good for the baby,a voice in my head says, and just like that I’m crying.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, rubbing my belly. “I didn’t mean that. I swear I didn’t. Of course I want you.”

I feel him move, right under my hand, and I gasp out a watery laugh. “Your Daddy would call that a sign,” I say. The crazy thing is, I think I would believe him. It sure feels like my baby is listening, like that kick was his way of telling me he understands, that we’re all good.

And I want to tell River that. I want him to be here right now so I can tell him that the universe just gave us another sign. So I can admit that I’m starting to believe all the other ones have been real too.

But I sent him away. I squeeze my eyes tight.God, please don’t let me have ruined this forever.

I grab my phone, wanting to call him, to beg him to come back. Instead I pull up one of the apps Rose downloaded for me. There’s some pre-natal yoga thing she’s been wanting me to try for weeks, a baby lullaby app I’m supposed to play near my belly at night, and this—Meditation for Mommies to Be.

I’m pretty sure meditation is a load of crap, but I need to get myself settled down before I really do hurt the baby. So I light a candle, turn off the lights, and lie flat on my back while a very pleasant sounding British woman talks about being aware of my body and attending to my breath.

I do spend a good portion of the time rolling my eyes—this shit is so not me—but it’s not quite as bad as I imagined it would be, and it does seem to help with my breathing. Some of the clamminess leaves my hands and the pain in my head recedes to a dull ache.

“Your Aunt Rose is pretty smart,” I tell my stomach. “You’re going to be lucky to have her. To have all of them.”

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be lucky enough to have them in my life too. Because a person could do a hell of a lot worse than Rose Ransome for a sister-in-law.

I hope she isn’t too pissed at me when I show up on her porch and demand to see River. Because that’s what I have to do. I have to apologize, to try to explain that I was just panicking. To apologize for even insinuating that I might not be as committed to this as he is.

To beg him to give me another chance.

I decide to text Rose before showing up unannounced. A moment later, she responds.

Rose:Sorry, Jas, he isn’t here. Everything okay?

So he didn’t go to his sister’s. Maybe his parents’? I could just call him, I guess, but I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone.

Then I think about the place he took me when I needed to be cheered up.“This is where I like to go when I’m sad,”he’d told me about his grandmother’s bar.“There’s no pressure here. I can just…be.”

So that’s where I start. The Purple Cat is crowded—it’s Friday night and there’s a band gearing up to go on stage. I get jostled a few times as I make my way across the patio, looking for a shock of blonde hair.

“Jasmine?”

I spin at the deep, familiar voice, heart dropping when I see that it isn’t River—it’s his grandfather. I hadn’t noticed how similar their voices sounded until this moment.

“Hi,” I squeak out. “Have, um, you seen River?”

I feel very silly all of a sudden. I must look like a mess. I didn’t even run a brush through my hair before rushing over here. Sure enough, River’s grandpa is studying my face with a worried expression. “I haven’t seen him,” he says. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” I say, trying and failing to make my voice bright.

I’m not fooling him in the slightest. He takes my elbow and leads me inside, away from the crowd gathered on the patio. “You look pale,” he says. “Why don’t we sit down and I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

I nod, throat feeling too thick to speak.

He leaves me at an empty booth and walks over to the bar, murmuring something to a waitress there. I look around the dining room. It’s much quieter in here, though I can hear a whoop of the crowd outside as the band starts up. I remember being on that patio, dancing with River, and the lump in my throat grows.

“Here you go,” Mr. Ransome says, sliding a glass of water across the table to me. I’m surprised when he takes a seat on the other side of the booth. We haven’t ever really talked one-on-one before and I’d kind of expected him to hand me off to Ruby or something.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks.