Page 93 of 32 Days in May

I let out an enraged groan in response, rolling over to bury my face in a pillow. It’s got to be six o’clock in the morning. The sun is still pale and milky, falling through the blinds in a gray rickrack. “Oh, now you want me in Evergreen?”

“Nadia.” She pulls on my pajama pant leg until I have to roll over to keep from losing them altogether.

“Stop,” I moan. “Go away.”

Liv’s standing at the foot of the bed, fists pressed into her hips. “Get up, put your shoes on, and get in the car.”

I slowly push myself up, narrowing my eyes at her. “What the hell’s going on?”

“You’re being evicted. Now. Let’s get a move on.” She’s gathering up the few things I’ve commandeered in the room—her hair spray, an extra deodorant—and throwing them into a plastic bag.

“Why? I thought I was resting—stop it, Liv. You’re not funny. I’m not leaving.”

Mike appears in the doorway, swinging a car key on his index finger. “Car’s packed, babe.” Then, to me: “Morning, gorgeous.”

“Mike.” I’m scrambling out of bed toward him. “Tell your wife I can’t leave.”

Mike immediately lifts his hands in an act of open resignation. “I am absolutely not getting involved in Fabiola drama. Car’s packed and I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Fucking guy. Liv’s moved on to rolling the duvet into a ball so I can’t wrestle the length away from her. I make a feeble attempt to fight for the blanket, crawling back across the bed and wrapping my arms around her as she turns away and shouts at me that I smell like shit.

“I would absolutely rough your ass up if you weren’t pregnant,” I threaten her through gritted teeth, trying to pry a corner out of her titanium grip.

“Oh, yeah? I could still kick your ass, weakling,” she grunts.

“You wish.” We’re moving in slow motion, like two turtles fighting over a single piece of lettuce.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said before about you and Evergreen and Marco—”

“Stop,” I cut her off. “We are not talking about him—”

“Just listen to me, okay? I know things have spiraled and I know it hasn’t been perfect, but you can’t just give up, Nadia—”

“That’s not my decision! He knows. I told him and he chose to leave. He said he needed time, and he bolted—”

“You are so much more than the last week!”

“And I’m not giving up, I’m just—”

“No more cloistering!” she yells at me. Like actually yells. “The life you’ve built for yourself is different. It’s weird and wild, but it’s better. You are better.”

Stunned, I sit back on my haunches on the bed.

“Forget about Marco for now, okay?” Liv huffs, smoothing down some hairs that came loose in our pathetic little scrap. “Let’s just go. You need to move.”

We sit in the carport, staring up at the second story of our family beach house, sharing a family-size bag of popcorn, Liv’s one and only craving.

If I wasn’t completely numb, I’d feel sick to my stomach.

“What do you think you’re having?” I ask Liv without taking my eyes off the balcony. That balcony was my favorite place when we were kids. I would wake up early so I could be there when my mom fired up the moka pot. She’d make me a cappuccino with extra milk and sugar and let me drink it with her as we watched the sun break through the marine layer. Maybe one day Liv’s little one would want to do the same. It would drive her insane to have a child that was as precocious and sensitive as I had been.

“Probably a boy,” Liv says, sucking the salt off her fingers. “Just have a feeling.”

“Sexist.” Then, I look over at Liv. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll be back this weekend to make sure you aren’t growing mold.”

“No, don’t do that. You’ve done so much already. I’ll be okay.”