I hate them both so much. More like my jealousy is manifesting as hate. Whatever.
The voice comes from my left. I turn toward it, pasting on what I hope is a pleasant expression. “Oh. Uh, yes. First one.”
“How exciting! You must be thrilled.” The woman claps in delight for me. “Is your partner parking the car?”
“No, I—” I swallow. “He, uh… he couldn’t make it today.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Work?”
My hand drifts toward my phone. I could call Bastian, if I wanted to. He’d be here in twenty minutes. Maybe less, if he drove like the maniac I know he is.
This is what I chose. Backing out now would be a compromise of my own values. I picked this hill—time to die on it.
“My husband was the same way with our first,” the woman continues, oblivious to my internal crisis. “Couldn’t get time off
