“It’ll be—”

“I know, I know,” Amber says hurriedly, cutting me off, and picking herself up before I can finish my sentence. “It feels different this time,” she says hopefully. “I’m not as scared as I thought I’d be, and Seamus is being very positive, too…so,” she shrugs, “time will tell.”

I give her a small, excited smile and nod in response. Wednesday it is, I think. “I need to message Seamus,” I realise, diving my hand into my bag to retrieve my mobile phone. Spying the time on my home screen, it’s reluctantly that I say to Amber, “I have to get to work soon, baby momma.”

She smiles broadly at her new name, as I type hurriedly:

*Congratulations, baby daddy! Best news ever x*

I go to put my phone back into my bag, when I spot the piece of paper that Buddy wrote his note and drew his drawing on lying in there, and I immediately start giggling once more. I must’ve shoved it in my bag this morning. Pulling it out, I hand it to Amber, who curiously accepts it, her eyes and mouth opening wide when she sees what’s on there.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you, doll, but you and Logan’s best friend, Buddy, are in competition for who can deliver us the best sexual present. After your gift of mirrors, Buddy was determined to better you, and this morning we found his attempt,” I smile.

Humour overcomes Amber’s face as she reads Buddy explanation under his drawing. “Dammit, a sex swing is good,” she then laments.

“Is it?” I question her. I’m not so sure. “I don’t think you can do as many things in a swing as you can do with the mirrors,” I muse. My mind starts showing me gratifying images of Logan and I under the mirrors that rival the erotic drawing of Buddy’s. I shake my head, ridding it of these thoughts.

“You’d know,” Amber grins.

I grin back. “Oh, Amber, those mirrors are the best present you’ve ever given me!” I laugh. If only I could go and play under them right now, I sigh.

* * *

Amber and I part company outside of Pierson House after a long hug, during which I mumbled for quite possibly the fiftieth time how ecstatic I am that she’s pregnant. I then wave her away and linger outside of the office for a minute before I speed dial my mom’s salon. Although she’s away, I’m hopeful that one of her employees will know something about the dating profile and I need to book in Mary-Gene’s appointment. Lucie answers — just the gal I want to speak to.

“Salut Lucie, c’est Gemima,” I say. Ordinarily, I’d love to chat with her for awhile but my unexpected lunch date with Amber means that I’m already pushing the edges of my allotted time for lunch. Getting straight to the point, I ask, “Has my mom mentioned anything to you about creating an online dating profile for me?” I ask, crossing my fingers and hoping she knows something about it. “My boyfriend won’t be too best pleased,” I add.

“Ah, about that… Wait, you have a boyfriend? That’s fast work!”

I grin. “Uh,” what do I say to that? I settle for, “Thanks. His name is Logan. He’s the best thing since sliced bread,” I tell her.

“I am French, I do not like sliced bread,” she quips. “That’s exciting news, Gem. I am happy for you…so is Bianco; he’s here, eavesdropping.”

“Hi, B,” I smile, and I hear him shouting hello in the background. “Before I forget, can you please book in a couple of back-to-back appointments with my mom on Friday evening for me? Anytime after six would be great,” I request.

I hear her tapping on the computer. “Sure,” she says. “All done. Now, uh, about that profile…Bianco and I have a confession: it was not your mom’s work, it was ours. After hearing your woeful tale at the Lonely Hearts Party, Bianco and I thought you could do with a good man and a good time, so we set it up,” she confesses.

The culprits are caught, I sigh in relief, as behind me I hear the doors of Pierson House open. “I’ll have you know that I had a very good night after that party,” I smile into my phone. “I was with Logan,” I tell her, letting her imagination make of my words what it will.

Behind me someone coughs loudly, making me jump and turn around. It’s Amélie; she’s standing, watching me, listening to what I’ve been saying. Shit! I feel my face flush. That’s embarrassing!

“I’m just finishing my lunch break,” I say weakly, my eyes wide and mortified.

“I don’t care,” she shakes her head.

Uh…OK.

“I’ll be thirty seconds,” I tell her. “Lucie, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Oui, très bien,” she says. “I’ll delete the profile,” she promises. “How did you find out about it anyway?”

“Logan’s best friend told me,” I say, trying to ignore Amélie’s eyes narrowing.

“Oh…is he single?” she wonders.

I laugh at the ludicrous thought of them together. “You don’t want to go out with Buddy,” I’m sure of it. “You’re too nice for him,” I say, without thinking through my present company. I blush again. Double shit! I did not think Amélie’s eyes could get any narrower, but they have. I remind myself how legendary her tantrums are, and how little I want to witness one first hand. Suddenly, I’m scared.

“Bye, Lucie,” I say mournfully. I tap the End Call button and slowly look up at Amélie. As innocently as I can, I say, “Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to say well done,” she says in her imperial tone.

“Well…well done?” Why can’t I help feeling suspicious?

“Yes, I’ve seen that you’ve completed three projects and signed on two new clients. That’s an excellent morning’s work, Gemima, so…well done.”

Phew! “Thanks,” I say, abruptly feeling safe from any tantrum.

She nods and we stand together in an awkward silence for a few moments, before she enquires, “Do you have everything ready for Wednesday? Implementing Mr. Leary’s garden?” she reminds me.

“Oh, yes, it’s all organised.”

“Very good. I’m looking forward to your full report on it, including photos, handed in promptly. No doubt Mr. Leary could use somewhere to rest his bruised hand after his fight last week…”

Ah, she knows too. “He’s fine,” I say, trying to steer the attention away from me, who told Amélie the morning after that nothing happened the night before. A slight bending of the truth.

“And the recipient of the attack?” she enquires. “He is your ex, no?”

Hmm…my earlier suspicions kick in, and I start to doubt that Amélie came out here to praise me. More like fish for details. However, it seems she already has them! How could she possibly know that Jerry was my ex? Does the entire construction and design industry have nothing better to do on the weekend than to gossip about Logan?

“It was not an attack. Logan did barely anything wrong,” I insist. “Jerry is my ex. Though, I neither know nor care how he’s doing,” I say.

She cracks a smile at my callous words. “Yes, it can be a little like that with ex’s, can’t it?” she says, knowingly.

I nod. “I, uh, really should get back to work.”

“Fine,” she permits. But before I can leave her company, she says, “Just one question, before you go: how long have you known?”

“Known what?” I wonder.

“About Mr. Jackson and myself?” she clarifies.

Mr. Jackson? Oh! That must be… “Buddy?” I check, and she nods. Fuck! What do I do now? Act ignorant, or confess? “I, uh…um…”

She surveys me shrewdly.

“Not long,” I finally own up.

“And your discretion—”

“Is assured,” I say definitely.

“Good.”

“How did you know I knew?” I ask.

“On the telephone, just now. Your face gave you away; it’s very expressive.”

Way to go, Gem, I chide. Where’s my damn poker face when I need it? “I’m sorry about what you overheard,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to be rude or indelicate.”

“I understand. Let us not talk about this again,” she says, an air of finality in her voice.