White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) by Samantha Christy

into the dressing room and drawing the curtain as her laughter follows me.
    I decide to strap on the medium-sized tummy that reads ‘six months.’ The large, ‘nine months’ one is humongous. There’s no way I will ever get that big. I pull one of the new dresses over my head as Erin talks to me from outside the room.
    “I know I don’t have a right to ask anything else of you since you are doing this one, larger-than-life favor for me already, but . . .”
    “What is it? Just spit it out,” I say through the curtain, already knowing I’ll do anything she asks. Erin is one of those people you don’t turn down. She gives so much of herself in everything she does. She’s compassionate, friendly, and selfless. It still shocks the hell out of me that she doesn’t have swarms of friends vying for her attention.
    “Griffin can’t cook, but I don’t want to be burdened with it all the time after the baby comes,” she says. “I was hoping you could maybe give him some cooking lessons, you know, being that you work in a restaurant and have access to loads of great recipes and all.”
    I sigh. “Not that I don’t want to—” o kay, I sooooo don’t want to “—but, why don’t you just teach him yourself? You’re a good cook.” It’s true, she’s had me over for dinner a few times.
    “You know our schedules don’t mesh very well. He works a lot of evenings and I know he’d never agree to it on the weekends, especially since he’s a little hesitant to do it anyway.”
    “Hesitant? You mean, he hasn’t agreed to it?” I ask, peeking out of the curtain. “And, in case you forgot what you said two seconds ago, he works nights, so he couldn’t cook for you anyway.”
    “Oh, he’s agreed to it alright.” She winks at me. “I was very convincing.”
    The way she says it has me picturing him naked and against a wall while Erin gives him a blow job.  I hide behind the curtain again, wallowing in my jealousy because she gets to see him naked.
    “He’s just not exactly thrilled about it,” she says. “I was thinking he could help me by cooking during the day. Then I could re-heat it when I come home after work. You know, you could teach him to make casseroles and stuff.”
    “Not thrilled?” I ask. “About learning to cook, or me teaching him?”
    She laughs. “Learning to cook, of course.” I peek out and raise a brow at her to see if she’s telling me the truth. She gives me a pleading look. “Please, Skylar. I’ll pay you.”
    “You’ll do no such thing,” I say.
    “Oh, then you’ll do it?” Her face lights up.
    Shit.
    “He could come by the restaurant during your least-busy times. At say, two or three in the afternoon. Whatever works for you would be good. Or he could come to your apartment if that would be more convenient.”
    Double shit. “No, no, the restaurant would be fine. We’d have a lot more options there than I have at home.”
    She pulls me out of the dressing room and into her arms. Did I just agree to this?
    “Thank you. I’ll owe you big time.”
    I look down at the price tag on the designer dress I’m wearing. “You don’t owe me anything. Buy me this dress and we’ll call it even.”
    She pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. Her eyes go straight to my belly with the artificially-augmented baby-bump.  Her eyes tear up. She puts her hands on the bump as if it were really an extension of me. “God, I hope I get to feel him move.”
    I draw my brows at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure you’ll feel it, just not for a while yet, according to that gigantic book you have me reading. But you have my permission to grope me whenever you so desire.” I look around after I replay the words in my head. “That sounded wrong.” I giggle, but she doesn’t find it funny. I wonder if she even heard what I said.
    She looks sad, eyeing my false tummy.  Maybe she’s wishing that Bean was growing in her instead of me.
    Of course that’s what she’s wishing