26 23- Is he the right man for you?

"Don't blame Meredith." - Samantha's advice today pisses me off, but I can't blame her this time.

I haven't spoken to my friend since yesterday afternoon, slightly angry with her and her naivety.

I cross my arms over my chest after placing the bags with the newly bought clothes in the back seat, glancing quickly at her children to make sure they got into my car too:

"Ethan is not the right man for her." - I repeat for the umpteenth time what I would never have the courage to say in Meredith's face, but Samantha just squints, almost amused by my reaction:

"And tell me ..." - she imitates me by crossing her arms over her chest, then pointing at me with her index finger:

"Is he the right man for you?" - she asks unscrupulously, making me open my mouth, but instead of replying badly or saying something I'm sure I would regret, I decide to change the subject with a cold tone:

"Tomorrow morning I'll bring them back to you." - I point to Mary and Tommy inside my car, and then turn my back and leave her near the restaurant where she has to start working in less than five minutes, but not before she has taken on a mischievous expression which I try to avoid.

I'm not jealous of Ethan, I'm just worried about Meredith!

I would never give in to his provocations like my friend does.

"Aunt, can you make me two braids?" - Mary's voice brings me back to reality, while my expression changes from thoughtful to serene for her sweet tone:

"Sure." - I nod with a toothy smile, and then return my eyes to the road in front of me.

Shopping has always helped me to relax and clear my head from negative thoughts, although this time I could have avoided and should have contained to save money, but I couldn't help and I spent even more than usual for how stressed I was.

Jack's words have been haunting me all day and I don't know if I need to worry about his call yesterday afternoon.

I am sorry.

He seemed almost repentant of the attitude he has had over this last few years, or perhaps he was simply referring to the fact that he threatened me shamelessly, showing up in my office after he had not been heard in years.

"What movie did you choose?" - I clear my throat as soon as I stop the car in front of the villa, after realizing that today the two are quite silent.

I narrow my eyes when Tommy shrugs, and then glances quickly at his sister, who imitates him:

"It means I'll choose." - I say perplexed, shrugging and slamming the door as soon as I get out of the car, but not before Tommy hurries back:

«No, aunty!» - he begins to follow me with an alarmed tone, as I try to hold back a smile: he hates love stories so much that he has sworn not to give me the possibility to choose for him.

«Let's review the last one.» - he says with a confident tone, passing me to get to the door before I do, while Mary grabs my hand in a sudden gesture.

I try to hide the surprise and squeeze her little hand between my fingers, starting to feel a strong weight on my stomach, as I open the door to enter the house.

My smile goes out when I realize that I am not alone at home, but in the company of the other three roommates.

I couldn't expect to be alone at this hour, but I was hoping that ...

I glance briefly at Meredith, then avert my eyes when I realize she's looking at me too, but not before forcing a smile at Ian, sitting next to her while zapping from channel to channel with the remote in his hand.

With Mary's hand in mine I resume walking through the living room, giving a sidelong glance at Ethan beside the stove, but he's turned from behind and so focused on glaring at Tommy that he doesn't seem to notice me, so I head towards my bedroom with the child, hoping Ethan doesn't dare intimidate the kid out there.

«The pajamas.» - Mary's voice wakes me from my thoughts, while she waves the jumpsuit she loves so much in the air with the banal Gumble print on it, openly asking me to help her put it on.

I put the envelopes on the desk and decide to please her, even though Samantha has threatened me not to spoil her and not make her wear pajamas before dinner.

I smile when she raises her small arms high, then I help her pull the shirt off her head while her hair gets messed up.

I don't know why my friend doesn't understand how lucky she is: I would rather live in a trailer without a husband and with a daughter like Mary.

She is so sweet that if I were her mother I would never be able to get mad at her.

When the gynecologist warned me about the problem I would have when I became a mature woman, my face remained impassive: I did not know what it meant not to be able to have children and I did not see what the problem was.

Now, however, I am forced to hold back tears every time I look Mary in the eye and think about what it would be like to have an adorable small human being pooping everywhere and cheeks so red I want to caress them and fill them with kisses every time I get the chance.

I sigh and press my lips together, then approach Mary to the mirror and start fiddling with her hair to braid it into two braids, the way she likes it.

I take advantage of the fact that tonight I don't have to cook to spend time with her in my room, away from the chaos of the living room:

"Why are you down in the dumps?" - after a couple of seconds of silence I decide to ask her, remembering her brother's reaction a little while ago, but I try to convince myself that everything is fine when she just shrugs, although I continue to study her expression through the mirror.

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