First Comes Marriage (Aster Bay #3)

Chapter Twenty

Jamie: Baz, why does Tessa want me to ask you to ask your wife about a ceramic dick?

Ethan: Can you not talk about my daughter and dicks in the same sentence?

Jamie: Don’t blame me. Blame Sabrina.

Gavin: Kyla wants to talk to Sabrina too. Something about planning a dick smashing party for her friend Jo...?

Ethan: What the hell is going on?

Baz: Sabrina will call them tomorrow. We just got back from her parents’ house and she’s exhausted.

Gavin: You’re back early!

Jamie: I thought you were staying the whole weekend.

Ethan: Everything alright?

Gavin: If you’re home, that means you can come with us to the carnival tomorrow.

Baz: Maybe.

Gavin: It’s tradition!

Jamie: We let you off the hook for the cookout today but you are coming to the carnival. They brought back the big slide this year.

Gavin: I got a friction burn on my elbow the last time we went down that thing.

Baz: That’s because we’re too fucking old for carnival rides.

Ethan: You’re never too old for the Ferris wheel.

Gavin: Even if you don’t go on any of the rides, come hang out.

Jamie: And then Tessa can ask Sabrina her ceramic dick questions directly instead of going through me.

Baz: I’ll ask her if she wants to go.

Baz: But I’m not promising anything.

***

“Would you believe those men are all in their forties?”

Sabrina followed Kyla’s amused head tilt to where Sebastian, Gavin, Jamie, and Ethan stood sizing up one of those games where you threw the ball to knock over a tower of milk bottles. This was their third lap around the carnival games, pausing to discuss the likelihood that each game was rigged—highly likely—and which one of them was the most viable option for winning a stuffed animal—the consensus seemed to be Sebastian or Jamie. Halfway through their second circuit, Tessa had pulled Kyla and Sabrina off to the cluster of food stalls. Snacks procured, the women had retreated to a nearby bench to watch the men’s continued posturing as dusk settled and the streetlights came on.

It shouldn’t have been cute. Four grown men standing around a child’s carnival game and arguing over which one of them could win the most stuffed animals should have been the antithesis of cute. And yet, every time Sebastian scowled at one of his friends, each time they playfully jostled one another or burst into boisterous laughter she could feel in her bones, Sabrina’s heart cracked open a little wider, making room for Sebastian and his friends, for this town, for the two women seated beside her.

Tessa popped the final bite of her malasada into her mouth, licking the sugar off her fingers and moaning with pleasure as she ate the last of her fried treat. “God, that’s good. I swear, you’d never know this kid is only a quarter Portuguese with how much they like malasadas.”

“You don’t need to be Portuguese to appreciate fried dough,” Kyla said, tearing off another bite of her own fluffy, fried confection.

“Last week, all I wanted was chicken Mozambique. And chourico. My God, did you know the Pizza Stone has a chourico and French fry sandwich? Heaven.” Tessa ran a hand over her baby bump, frowning. “Shit. Now I want French fries.”

“On it,” Sabrina said, pushing to her feet.

“Sit down,” Tessa said. Then, raising her voice, “Jamie?” Her husband instantly turned his full attention to his pregnant wife. “Could you get me some fries? With extra honey mustard to dip them in?” He was moving towards the food stalls before she’d even finished speaking.

“He takes such good care of us.”

Kyla rolled her eyes, though she was still smiling. “We know, we know. Best sex of your life. You’ve told us already.”

“Just wait until you get pregnant. I’m telling you, the sex is on a whole other level.” Tessa sighed happily and rested back against the bench, her hand continuing to move over her belly with an absent-minded affection that made Sabrina’s throat feel too tight. She turned away, focusing her attention on the last dregs of frozen lemonade in the paper cup in her hand.

“Tessa and I have been talking,” Kyla’s lips curled into a smile as she glanced between Sabrina and Tessa. “We’d like to be the first to book a penis party in your new studio.”

Sabrina coughed as a chunk of frozen lemonade went down the wrong way at the phrase ‘penis party.’ “You heard the part about smashing the clay penises, right? Normally the women who book my parties have recently broken up with someone.”

Kyla’s grin widened. “We know. My friend Jo broke up with someone a few days ago and she couldn’t stop laughing when I told her about what you do. It’s the first time she’s laughed all week.”

“If you need help getting the studio set up, count us in,” Tessa said. “Well, Jamie will help on my behalf. I want to smash some pottery dicks before I go into labor.”

“We’ll all help,” Kyla agreed.

“It’s pretty much all set up,” Sabrina said. “I had workmen in the space the second I got to town.”

“Before you had your permits to open?” Tessa said with a mock gasp. “I knew I liked you. You’re a rebel.”

Sabrina laughed. “Hardly. I’d already purchased the kiln, and I figured I might as well get the studio set up.”

More like I blew every last penny I got from the divorce settlement on new equipment and the security deposit on the storefront. More like I suddenly realized boxes of equipment and a shiny new kiln couldn’t be stored in Aunt Lucy’s guest room. I hadn’t considered that it might take a while to get the proper permits to open the damn place before I spent everything I had on start-up costs.

“Either way, sounds like you’re basically ready to open! When can we do the party?” Kyla asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Not that we want to rush you! But maybe in three or four weeks you’ll be ready? That should let us squeeze it in before the baby comes.”

When was the last time she had friends like this, real friends who immediately accepted her as one of their own? Maybe never… “Three weeks sounds great.”

“Perfect! I’ll text Jo. I know she’s got some modeling jobs lined up for the next few weeks, but maybe we can do it after those.” Kyla dug out her phone and began typing away as Jamie arrived with Tessa’s French fries.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Tessa asked as she settled the cardboard tray of fries on top of her stomach.

“Are you talking to me or the fries?” Jamie asked. Tessa rolled her eyes but tilted her chin up to accept his kiss. “Now watch while I win our baby their first teddy bear,” he said before striding back over to his friends.

“He’s going to be such a good dad,” Kyla said, nudging her shoulder into Tessa’s.

“He is.” Tessa popped a fry in her mouth, then turned a quizzical look Sabrina’s way. “Do you and Baz want kids? I bet he’d be adorable with a baby.”

“Oh, I—we haven’t really talked about it.” Sabrina stumbled through the answer as she got to her feet, that tightness in her throat back with a vengeance and a restless energy settling into her limbs. “I’m gonna go grab a drink. Water. Or something. Do you guys need anything?” Tessa and Kyla shook their heads, their eyes wide as they watched her freak the fuck out. “Okay! I’ll be back!” she said too brightly as she turned and walked away from the bench, away from the group of men jostling for position at the carnival game counter.

She ducked around the corner of the hall of mirrors, leaning against the wall of the vividly painted trailer and tilting her head back as she willed her heart rate to slow. Did she and Baz want kids? If only that were the question.

Ever since she was a teenager, when she’d spend every other week doubled over in pain as her ovaries did everything they could to twist and force her into submission, Sabrina had been cautioned that kids might not be in the cards for her. Sure, the worst of the pain had gone once she’d hit her mid-twenties—except, of course, for those times when her ovaries created cysts the size of citrus fruits, as if they wanted to be sure she hadn’t forgotten about her diagnosis.

Incurable—except with surgery.

Controllable with medication—sometimes.

And the reason she’d never let herself seriously consider wanting children, at least not intentionally. At thirteen when the doctors had first diagnosed her PCOS, becoming a mother was the farthest thing from her mind. But at thirty-one…

No. You will not feel sorry for yourself. You will not mourn things you’ve never even wanted before.

But what if Sebastian wanted them?

All the more reason to remember that this is nothing more than sex. And health insurance. And convenient co-habitation.

All the more reason to remember that it’s temporary.

Because Sabrina knew how this story ended, no matter how good it was right now. This was the honeymoon phase, and she knew from experience that didn’t last. She knew at some point, whether it was next week or three years from now, at some point she’d look at Sebastian and she wouldn’t even recognize him anymore. At some point he’d remember that she wasn’t what he wanted. She wasn’t enough.

And yet. After the way he’d stood up for her with her parents, after the way he’d looked at her as he demanded she touch herself, she’d let herself start to believe.

Don’t be stupid, Sabrina.

One way or another, this was going to end. She had already given away too much of herself in her last marriage. She couldn’t risk that happening again, no matter how different Sebastian seemed. Once she could purchase her own health insurance, they would file for divorce, like they’d agreed. And the sooner, the better. No need to wait until Christmas. Maybe then she’d at least have a hope of preserving the friendships she was beginning to form. Maybe this time, when the papers were signed and the dust settled, she could keep her place in this town, even if she couldn’t keep her husband.

Still, she couldn’t help but hope that maybe they could always be…whatever they were, even once they were no longer married.

“Sabrina?” She opened her eyes to Sebastian’s scowl, and her chest ached. It was his worried scowl, so different from his angry scowl or his embarrassed scowl or the thousand over scowls she’d begun silently cataloging over the last few weeks. “Are you alright?”

“Fine!” she chirped, and the word sounded false even to her own ears. “Did you win?”

He eyed her carefully, as though debating whether or not to allow her to change the subject. “Not yet. But we can go if you’re not feeling—”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, this time making more of an effort to mean it. “Besides, we can’t go yet. We haven’t ridden the Ferris wheel.”

“I thought you were afraid of heights.”

“Why would you think that?”

“On the plane— ”

“Oh! No! It’s not the heights, it’s more the giant metal deathtrap hurling through space at a thousand miles an hour.” She chuckled and some of the worry seemed to slip from his face, his shoulders relaxing.

“But a giant metal wheel of doom is fine?” His lip turned up as he teased her.

God, how she loved that little quirk of his mouth.

“Bring it on,” she said.

He held out his hand to her and her heart fluttered in her chest as she took it, interlacing her fingers with his. There was something unexpected about holding his hand like this, alone, with no one scrutinizing their every move, something unbearably intimate about feeling the roughness of his palm against hers just because they wanted to. Just because they could.

Something that didn’t feel temporary at all. Something that made it all too easy to imagine how it would be if this thing between them was real. If she could keep him.