Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Dad cradles my bump and tells the baby how he can’t wait to meet her.
“Her?” I ask.
“Yes, I want a girl,” he says.
“And you?” I ask Mom.
“A boy.”
“I don’t know why,” I say to them. “I thought the opposite.”
“I already have you and your sister,” Mom says.
“Yes, but you have two girls and two boys. I’m surprised you have a preference.”
“Boys are easier.” Mom shrugs.
“Well, I want a girl because I want Oliver to grow up the way Quinn did, protecting his sisters.” Dad holds his hand up. “I know Ollie isn’t going to be a big brother, but close enough.”
I can’t argue with his logic. Quinn was the best big brother either of us could ask for. Even before he was officially my brother, he punched some kid for saying horrible things about my father. He didn’t have to do that, but he did, and I’ve always been so grateful for him.
“Do you want the opposite for Elle?”
My parents shake their heads.
“Interesting.” Their thought process truly is. Dad wants granddaughters while mom wants grandsons. I just want a healthy baby.
“We should probably find Elle,” I say and lead them toward her bridal suite. When I left, the hairstylist was fighting with her hair. I knock and then open the door.
“Is Ben with you?” Elle asks.
“Nope, just Mom and Dad. Noah has Ben tied up in the bar.” We step in. I eye the stylist, who looks frustrated. I’m not sure if it’s Elle’s hair or Elle herself.
“Oh, great! He’s going to be drunk.”
“Unlikely,” I tell her. “Ben doesn’t drink, remember?”
“Well, he might on a day like today.”
Dad kisses Elle on her cheek. “I’ll go check and then I’ll come back.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
“Do you need help?” I ask the stylist. “We have the same type of hair, maybe I can get it to do what my sister wants.” I step behind Elle and see that she’s on the verge of tears. Leaning down to her ear, I whisper, “Don’t worry, I got you.”
“Thanks, P. I’m wicked hormonal and nothing is going right.”
I pick up the curling iron and begin wrapping her hair around the barrel. When the light changes, I pin the curl and move to the next section of her hair. Our mom takes the stylist to the other side of the room, hopefully explaining Elle and her pregnancy hormones and how they’re all over the place right now. She has morning sickness, sometimes all day, while I’ve escaped the curse, so to speak. I’ve gotten sick only a couple of times and it was because food didn’t agree with me. Nothing more. But my sister . . . I fear this may be her one and only pregnancy, even though she has other viable embryos.
After a handful of minutes, I’m done curling. I give her pinned curls a light spritz of hairspray and give them a chance to rest.
“How’s your makeup, do you like it?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay, I’ll fix it.”
I pull a stool in front of her and fix what I know she doesn’t like. At one time, Elle loved the drastic look. It was an easy way to tell us apart. She used to opt for dark eyeliner and dark lipstick. This was during her grunge phase, when she couldn’t figure out if she wanted to take the next step with Ben or not. Once they finally got together, she toned everything down and went back to the natural look.
Even though we’re twins, I’ve always been jealous of her natural beauty, which is just like our mother’s. Everything came effortless to Elle, whereas I feel like I had to work at everything. Except for understanding football. My knowledge there came from Noah, Nick, and Liam. I barely remember anything my father may have taught me and even now, all these years later, a picture of us only sparks a memory that I’ve learned from my mother.
Elle keeps her eyes closed and her breathing normal. Her hand rests on her bump and every so often she whispers, “I’m worthy of being your mother.”
My sister is scared. She never saw herself as the motherly type or even a mother, and yet here she is, eleven weeks pregnant with her first child. A child, I might add, whose father is over-the-moon excited for. I thought I was a bit obsessive when I went to look at furniture for a nursery, but Ben has outfitted not only their house in Malibu but also at our grandfather’s house until their newly built home in Beaumont is ready. Ben’s bought two of everything so the baby isn’t confused and doesn’t prefer one over the other.
As if babies cared.
“There,” I say when I finish the last of the touches. “Have a look and tell me what you think.”
Elle turns slowly and waves her hands near her eyes. “You made me look beautiful.”