I wrote in at the bottom that he doesn't get half of my blogging income or half of my Honda Civic. That made him smile, but he agreed.

The point is, I can afford to fly to London so if this is what Violet wants, I'm going to support her.

Also, I'm spiraling. She's only just mentioned an interview and I've already mentally relocated her and planned my first dozen trips.

"The job is with Sutton International," she says, naming the parent company of the tour company I just resigned from. "In their London offices. It's in design and development, which means if I get the job I'd be working with the team that refurbishes and redesigns the hotels they operate in the European market.”

"That sounds perfect for you!" Beyond perfect. This would be a dream job for Violet. She loves historic properties. She loves design, and she's always been an anglophile.

"I also have another interview lined up for next week, locally," Violet says. "It's with a good company. It'd be a good fit for me and it's more money than I was making before."

"But it's not London," I fill in.

"It's not London." She sighs in agreement. "But I don't know. London is notoriously expensive. Can I really move there by myself? To another country? That's insanity. This local job is the safer choice. The more rational choice."

"Violet, listen to me. Are you listening?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck being safe. You are going to that interview in London. If you get offered the job, you take it. You'll figure out the rest, you always do. And I'll always be here for you if it doesn't work out. You'll find a place to live. A tiny little flat somewhere that you'll spend all your money on but it will be fine because you'll be in London, living your best life."

"Yeah, it would be pretty amazing, wouldn't it?" Violet's gone all dreamy on me and I know she's envisioning long walks past old buildings on questionable cobblestone sidewalks, but it makes her happy and that makes me happy.

"Jennings lives in London," Violet says after a pause. "I got the call for this interview when I still thought there was something happening between us, and now that there's not, it's sorta taken the wind out of my sails. You know?"

"Fuck Jennings."

"I did," Violet replies without a hint of irony. "That's the problem."

"I love you, you're my macaroni."

"You're my cheese. Love you too."

17

Daisy

I'm a lady who lunches now.

Just kidding. I've taken over Kyle's home office as my own and I work from there. But I also lunch, because working for yourself means you set the schedule and besides, sometimes those lunches are working lunches.

Sometimes they're lunches with your new sister-in-law. Like today. Kerrigan knows we eloped because unlike myself, Kyle is not a pussy. I'm going to tell my family too, I am. Next week after Violet has her interview in London. I can't possibly derail her focus right now by dropping a wedding bombshell on her.

That would be rude. We all agree on that, right?

What Kerrigan doesn't yet know is that she's going to be an aunt, something I won't be able to hide for much longer because my stomach has sorta popped. I can still hide the bump by not wearing tight-fitting clothing, but it's there. Naked, it's really obvious. I've never been pregnant before so I have nothing to gauge this by, but I swear it happened overnight. For what felt like forever my stomach showed no visible signs of this pregnancy, which I suppose is normal when the baby was the size of a blueberry. Now that we're heading into peach-lemon-apple territory it's not staying hidden anymore.

Kyle is into it. Like, into it.

When he got home last night I was examining my bump reflection in the bathroom mirror, which quickly escalated into a repeat of the first time we christened his bathroom. Me, naked and bent over the counter. Him, still dressed from work, pounding into me like we hadn't seen each other in a while. Then we took a shower together and he obsessively ran his hands all over the bump. The breast tenderness has disappeared too, so I think I've officially moved into the second trimester.

I've got a doctor appointment next week with my new OB/GYN in Philadelphia. So many changes in so little time, but I suppose that's normal. Normal-ish. Life works like that so often. You can live a year of Groundhog Days and then bam, everything transitions at one time.

The doorbell rings, but as I'm running to answer it the lock turns and Kerrigan pokes her head inside.

"Hiiii," she calls out, still half hidden behind the door.

"What are you doing? Come inside." I reach the door and close it behind her as she steps into the foyer. I'm not sure why she's ringing the doorbell, she lives here when she's not at school.

"I didn't know if it was safe to walk in," she explains. "I don't want to accidentally walk in on the two of you doing it. It's not that I can't afford the therapy, but a therapist is not a magician and a recovery is not guaranteed, so why chance it?"

"It's the middle of a workday. Kyle's at work." I laugh, but she might have a point. We've been newlywed sexing all over the place and I honestly forgot she does live here on a part-time basis until just now.

"Sure," Kerrigan agrees, drawing out the word, "but I don't know what you guys are into. He might have come home for a nooner. Don't know. Don't wanna know." Kerrigan shakes her head, her ponytail cheerfully swinging.

"Fair enough. I guess ringing before you unlock the door doesn't hurt."

"I'll call in advance," Kerrigan says, following me into the kitchen.

Tubbs is lying in a ray of sunshine on one of the sofas across from the kitchen. He lifts his head and yawns at our arrival, then does a dramatic stretch before jumping from the sofa with a loud thump and walking over to wind himself between Kerrigan's legs.

"Did you want to hang out with Tubbs before we go?" I ask, because I'm not sure what the etiquette is when visiting your cat. "I'm kinda hoping you never get your own place and take him with you because we've already become really good buds. He hangs out with me while I work and he's really non-judgmental about naps."

"Why would I take Tubbs with me? He's not my cat."

Not this again. "Who does this cat belong to then?"

"Kyle," Kerrigan responds easily, like it's very obvious. "Did he try to tell you it was my cat?"

"He did."

"Nope, his cat." Kerrigan bends down to scoop all seventeen pounds of Tubbs up, cradling him like a big, fat baby. "Kyle found him in a dumpster by his office and brought him home. He was scrawny and had fleas and Kyle's been insinuating he's my cat ever since but he's really not. Kyle just has a rescue complex or something."

"He was scrawny?" I don't know why, but I'd imagined Tubbs was always this ginormous.

"So scrawny. And his name is McGee. Kyle started calling him Tubbs when he got fat. Because Kyle overfeeds him."

Kyle overfeeds me too. I wonder if I'm also a rescue project.

Wait a minute. He said Tubbs was svelte! "So he's aware that Tubbs is fat?"