Wasn’t there something about a boyfriend?

Isn’t that why she called it off after that first time?

Part of me wants to think that she’s lying about being pregnant or lying about being mine, but the rest of me hates myself for even hoping for something like that.

Yeah, I’ll ask her about the boyfriend, but I’m not going to try to get out of the responsibility if it is, indeed, mine.

I look up the phone number for Lady Bits online—the only number I had for it before was Jessica’s personal line.

Come to think of it, I haven’t checked my work phone since before I met up with José, Ian and what’s his name that bailed halfway through the meeting.

That doesn’t matter right now.

I call the number and pray for a friendly voice on the other end of the line, though I don’t expect one.

“You’ve reached Lady Bits, home of—”

“Linda?” I ask. It sounds like her voice, but I’m really not keen on taking that kind of chance right now. As much as I’d love to talk to Jessica, this is not the context.

“Yes?” she asks. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Eric,” I tell her. “I don’t have your phone number, and I wanted to make sure that we could keep in contact.”

“Oh,” she says. “Can I call you back in a few minutes? I’ve got a customer coming up to the front.”

“You don’t have my number,” I tell her.

“That’s all right,” she says. “I’ll just get it from Jessica.”

“No, wait!”

She’s already hung up.

I start to write Jessica another text, but decide against it. Instead, I press redial.

“You’ve reached Lady Bits, home of—”

“Linda, it’s Eric,” I tell her. “Take down this number.”

She sighs. “All right,” she says. “Go ahead.”

“All right,” I tell her, “it’s 555-2625. Did you get that?”

“Yeah,” she says, “555-2625. I really have to go now. I’ve got a customer waiting.”

She hangs up the phone and I feel like I’ve dodged a bullet. Okay, maybe not a bullet, but at least one bb from the shotgun blast.

The rest of it, it seems, is headed straight for me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I have no idea what to do here. There doesn’t seem to be anything left that I can do except for wait and hope for the best.

I’ve never been so good at waiting.

I pull my phone back out of my pocket and dial the number.

“Hello?”

“Hey Irene,” I say, “I don’t suppose Alec’s around, is he?”

“No, he’s out,” Irene says. “They’re just finishing up in Jersey. He should be back tonight, though, can I take a message for you, Eric?”

“Yeah,” I tell her, “no. I don’t know. I’m kind of gotten myself into a mess here, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Ooh,” she says, “lady problems?”

“Yeah,” I tell her, “but make that plural.”

“You sly dog,” she says. “What’s going on?”

“I really don’t know if you want to hear about it,” I tell her. “It has to do with one of your friends.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you got things going with Jessica and then decided to sneak around with that sister of hers,” Irene says. “She really needs to stop doing that shit. I mean, she’s pregnant for fuck’s—”

“Everybody’s pregnant,” I mutter.

“What was that?” she asks.

“No, it doesn’t have anything to do with Kristin,” I tell her.

“Then what’s going on?” she asks.

“I really don’t know if I want to talk about it,” I tell her. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Are you home?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Why?”

“I’m on my way,” she says.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I tell her.

“Oh come off it,” she giggles. “I love giving advice. You should really know this by now. Besides, you’re one of my friends, too.”

There really doesn’t seem to be any better option on the horizon, so I say, “All right. I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Irene does love giving advice. How useful it is, though, generally depends on how much she’s had to drink that day and from the sound of things, she’s already had a couple.

Before I set my phone down, I send Irene a text, saying, “You’re not driving, are you?”

I wait a few seconds and then pull up her number to call, but I get a text back, just one word: “Cab.”

Well, this should be embarrassing.

Chapter Twenty-One

Of All the Clothing Stores on the Upper West Side…

Jessica

I come into work a bit late, but I’m just glad I summoned the courage to come in at all.

Last night, the vengeful part of me wanted to fire Linda, but she can’t really be blamed for what happened. Yeah, I told her specifically not to sleep with Eric—of course, back when I said that, it was just because he was going to be working in the store—but still, unless it happened after Eric and I got together and she knew about it, I can’t really be too mad at her.

Still, when I walk through the front door and see her standing at her register, I have to clench my teeth to keep from unloading on her.

“Hey, Jessica,” Linda says as I walk past without looking. “What’s up?”

I just keep going until I get to my office.

The store is busy today, so I can’t very well just make up an excuse and leave. Cheryl’s here, but there’s just too much to do.

If nothing else, maybe work will help me take my mind off of everything.

Cheryl knocks on my door.

“Did you see?” she asks. “We’re bouncing back.”

“Yeah,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. (It’s not a large amount.) “It looks like things are really moving out there. You’re doing great work, Cheryl,” I tell her. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the store the last couple of days.”

“Not a problem,” she says. “I am loving this whole manager thing. There are a few things I wanted to go over with you, though.”

I’m so spaced I didn’t even realize she’s been holding a clipboard this whole time.

Cheryl goes over sales numbers by department over the past couple of days that I’ve been gone and makes some suggestions regarding how we might increase those sales in the departments that are still lagging.

She has some good ideas, I think, but I’m nowhere near paying attention. At the moment, I’m looking through the office doorway at Linda, trying to see if she’s showing yet.

“Jessica?” Cheryl asks.

“Yeah,” I answer, returning my focus on her.

“I was just saying that we’re starting to move enough product in the rest of the store that we might just have some leverage to renegotiate with Burbank and get a better deal so we can lower prices and get some more people in every part of the store,” she says.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “He seemed pretty full of himself when he left here last time.”

“That’s why I was thinking we might want to consider bringing in a negotiator to help us here, now I know that’s going to cost some money, but if we can talk Burbank out of throwing us the rest of the way off the ledge, I think we can really make a difference here,” she says.

“Did you have anyone in mind?” I ask.

“I was hoping you might know someone,” she says.

“Wish I did,” I answer. “I’ll keep my eyes out, though. If there’s any way we could even get him to sit back down with us before the term of that contract is up, I say it’s worth it.”

“Also,” Cheryl adds, “I think we’re going to need another full-time cashier, maybe two. I’ve been jumping in when I can, but even then we’re getting overloaded.”

“I’ll look into it,” I tell her.

“Great,” Cheryl says. She smiles and walks back out the door.

As she goes, I’m only just starting to realize exactly how busy we are.

I stand up and move to the doorway, my mouth dropping further as more of the store comes into view.

How did I miss that?

The store is full of people milling about, holding up clothes to themselves in mirrors, talking, laughing—what’s more, they’re buying.