Page 80 of Through the Storm

“No, just at Ben, Katy. And he’ll cool off,” Ella says. “Eventually.”

I glance at her. “Thanks for not telling him about Ben before. I know you’re a terrible liar.”

She gives me a small smile. “Girl code is girl code. Also, I love Ben. I didn’t want him to die.”

Rebecca leans forward. “So. Tell us everything about you two.”

I choke. “Rebecca!”

Ella recoils. “Ew, no. Please spare me.”

“I’m not giving details. I don’t want Ella to retaliate,” I protest.

“Emotional context,” Rebecca says sweetly.

That I can do. “He’s such a lovable idiot.” I sigh, sinking back. “He’sreally sweet. And earnest. He keeps looking at me like he can’t believe I’m real. I’m so screwed.”

Rebecca smiles knowingly. “You really are.”

“I already agreed to spend the day with him again tomorrow. He says he has a surprise for me,” I add. “I don’t know why he’d even want to hang out with me.”

Ella blinks. “You do know why.”

“I don’t,” I insist. “I’m pregnant. I’m gross. I cry constantly.”

Rebecca taps my knee. “You’re hot. And growing a human.”

Ella nods. “And Ben has always been soft for you.”

“I just don’t get why he still likes me like this,” I say. “With all the complications.”

Ella’s voice softens. “Because he always did. And you know nothing fazes him. He likes to laugh at even the most complicated situations.”

The pedicurist starts painting my nails, and my shoulders finally relax.

Ella grins. “Plus, if he messes up again, I get to mace him again. My self-defense instructor says I have a special talent for it.”

“Please don’t.”

“No promises. I do need to practice.”

When Ben told me he had a surprise for me, I did not expect it to be a birthing class. This cannot be fun for him. But he’s still squeezing my hand as we sit on folding chairs arranged in a semicircle, like we’re about to learn all the weird secrets of birthing a human.

There’s a plastic pelvis on a table. A laminated poster of a cervix. I already hate it here.

The instructor has two long braids and is wearing a long green skirt. She’s smiling a little too brightly, like she’s thrilled we’re all about to discover new forms of pain.

“And when the contraction peaks,” she says calmly, “you’ll want to breathe low and open your mouth. The sound should come from deep within your body.”

She demonstrates.

It’s… awful. A low, animal sound that feels like it belongs in a documentary I did not consent to watch.

My eyes burn instantly. Traitor tears.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “No.”

Ben leans in. “No?”