Page 15 of You Again

“Two extra-large dirty Dr Peppers,” I tell the cashier.

“Extra large,” Robert utters to my left.

I force a grin for the worker behind the counter. “Make them extra dirty.”

Seven

If this were just Fran’s house, I’d walk right through that pretty yellow front door and demand my best friend answer all my questions. But as it is, it’s Fran’s house and some man that she married. Some soccer-playing, Tesoro-residing guy that I don’t really know.

And sure, Callum seems nice and he seems to know me. He brought me a diet Dr Pepper with half a lime without me even asking for it last week, but I still don’t know him.

Which is why I stand outside Fran’s house and knock. And knock. And knock.

I don’t know Callum’s schedule, and for all I know, he might like walking around his house on summer afternoons in the nude.

Fran flings the door open, and I halt my next pound just before hitting her right on the nose. “Rose,” she says with the smallest of huffs. Fran doesn’t really get mad—she’s much too sweet. That hasn’t changed. “Why are you thrashing on my door?”

“It was a knock,” I grouch.

“It was a dozen knocks. Just come inside. No need to knock at all.” She grabs me by the arm and yanks me into her home.

“What if Callum’s having an afternoon nap on the couch? I don’t know. He could nap naked.”

“Nap naked?” She drags me over to the couch and pulls me down on the cushion next to her. “He would never. If he’s going to nap nude, he’ll do it in our bedroom. Because you or—” She stops short, then puffs air from her nose and mouth. “People you won’t let me tell you about might walk in.”

“You know the rule. Doctor’s orders. Low pressure. Only give me what I want. I don’t need to know about every person I’ve met over the last six years. We both know my sanity can’t handle it.”

Fran groans and crosses her arms. “Fine.”

“With that said...” I nibble on my lip. “I am here to ask about one certain person.”

Fran straightens up. She’s been waiting for this day. The day that I decide to ask.

I straighten, too, and study my friend. “Margo.”

With that one word, Fran leaps to her feet and heads in the direction of the kitchen.

“Hey,” I say, following after her. “Did you hear me? I’m asking. You are allowed to tell me something,” I snap. “Let’s go.”

Fran whirls around, facing me with one crazed look in her eye. “I’ll tell you something... I’m pregnant.”

“What?” I scrunch my face, trying to make sense of her words.

“I… am… pregnant. It’s twins, maybe even triplets.” She sucks a breath in through her nose, stares at me, then pats her awfully flat tummy. No before or after bump present. “Qu—ads. Quadruple⁠—”

“Liar.” I cross my arms and stare her down. Why is she lying to me?

“Am not.”

“Not normally. But you are not pregnant. If you were pregnant, you’d have hired dancers and there’d be balloons and a party and—you’d do some serious planning to tell me. You would never blurt out that you might be having quadruplets.”

Her jaw clenches and she grinds her teeth. “Fine. I’m not pregnant.” She leans her back against the kitchen counter. “I am pretty good at planning surprises.”

“Not the topic, Franny.” It’s something I’ve heard Callum call her. She would have hated the nickname six years ago, but today she doesn’t seem to mind. “Tell me about Margo.”

“Why?”

I reach for her hand and hold it in my own. “Because I want to know.” I press my lips together, waiting. When she doesn’t speak, I say, “I ran into Robert today.”