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Put Me in Detention(109)

Author:Meghan Quinn

That makes sense, but still . . . Pike?

“You asked Pike?” Greer asks, looking upset. I can understand how she might feel, because out of all of us, she’s probably the closest to Keiko at this point. Stella was the one who started a friendship with Keiko, and when Greer joined in, she sort of became the mother hen of the group, and accepts Keiko’s quirks more easily.

“I did. I assumed you three would be far too busy and overloaded with the actual planning, so I asked someone who wasn’t involved. If I’d hired a professional to plan this impromptu ceremony that was your idea, I would’ve chosen the following ladies to stand by my side, in order.” She clears her throat. “Greer.”

“Yes.” Greer pumps her arm.

“Stella.”

“Ha, not last.” Stella points at me.

“Pike.”

“Hey, you said ladies,” I complain.

“And then Cora.”

Stella and Greer both chuckle.

“I see how it is,” I say. “And here I thought we were closer than that.”

“Did you?” Keiko asks, truly confused. “Because if we were closer, wouldn’t you have informed me of your nuptials to Pike, rather than him?”

“Oooo, she’s got you there,” Stella says.

“I mean, it’s a valid point,” Greer agrees.

Trying to remain calm, I speak in an even tone. “I didn’t think you would’ve understood the complexities of my marriage, nor understood that under no circumstance could Arlo find out, but you told him anyway.”

“Because I wasn’t officially informed. I assumed you didn’t consider me an esteemed companion to announce your nuptials to.”

“Keiko, of course you’re a good friend, it’s just hard getting you to understand why I have to do things a certain way.”

She nods. “I am quite different, aren’t I?” She sniffs.

The room stills.

Is she—is she going to cry?

Oh God, I can’t see Keiko cry. That’s going to be too much for me to handle.

“You know what, Keeks? I’m sorry I even brought up the whole ‘man of honor’ thing. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t cry.”

She lifts up the hem of her shirt, exposing her stomach and cotton bra, and dabs at her eyes. “I don’t tend to become emotional, but Blanche/Seymour has forced me to endure distress during odd times.” She takes a deep breath. “I apologize. Shall we get back to the meeting?”

I lean over and press my hand to Keiko’s arm. “Hey, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I know we can get at each other sometimes, but I really do adore you. You know that, right?”

To my surprise, Keiko nods.

And that’s probably the most real interaction I’ve ever had with her.

I’ll keep it close to my heart forever.

Greer shuts the door and blows out a heavy breath. “Holy. Shit.”

“I know,” I say, eyes wide. “Who knew Keiko was going to be an emotional wreck tonight? I’m glad we cut the meeting short so she could leave and gather herself.”

“At one point, I tracked that she sobbed for five minutes straight.”

“She started this pregnancy eating everything in sight and snarling if we even looked at her, but now she’s a whole other woman with emotions, and it’s freaking me out.”

“Me too.” Greer and I walk to the kitchen as I wait for Pike to pick me up. I told him I finished early. He was finishing up grocery shopping, so he’s on his way once he checks out. “I wasn’t expecting that at all.” She leans against the counter. “I also wasn’t expecting her to show us a live video of a birth.”

“I think Stella turned green.”

“I feel bad for Romeo,” Greer says. “I don’t think Stella is going to let him touch her for weeks after that.”

“I don’t blame her. I got slightly nauseous myself. I mean, I’m all for childbirth, but when you’re three crab cakes and a cup of salt-and-vinegar chips in and not expecting it, it can make anyone’s stomach roll.”

Greer straightens from her position against the counter just as the door to the garage opens.

My eyes flash to her and she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I swear to Christ, Greer.”

She clasps her hands together. “Please, just talk to him.”

I point at her. “You are not my friend.”

My body says flee, so not even thinking about shoes or walking barefoot in December, I head for the front door, but I’m stopped by the snag of my wrist.