A Chance at Love

Chapter 8

#Luna

By the time I hit my fourth month, my belly starts to show a gentle curve. I’m really thankful that I can work from home as an author because dealing with morning sickness would’ve been way harder in a regular 9-to-5 job. Pregnancy is a time of change, both subtle and deep. Every day brings little shifts—a growing bump, a changing pace, unexpected tiredness. For me, it’s a mix of gratitude and challenges. Being able to work from home means I can take it easy on the tough days when my morning sickness is particularly bad, choosing comfy pajamas and mint tea instead of battling a busy commute and crowded elevators.

There’s something quietly incredible about the subtle feeling of two tiny humans wiggling inside me—a presence that not only changes my body but also messes with my sense of time. Some afternoons, when the sunlight hits my desk just right, I stop to rest my hand on my belly and daydream about the stories we’ll swap someday. It’s like the world hits the pause button, giving a nod to the slow, amazing chaos happening inside. But pregnancy isn’t all calm and cuddles—it also brings aches, worries, sleepless nights, and sudden, mysterious cravings for chips and chocolate ice cream. I survive it all thanks to my parents, Clara, and the soothing power of writing. Every part of this wild ride teaches me patience, strength, and the kind of tenderness that only comes from growing tiny humans.

Clara’s wedding plans are coming together pretty well, but honestly, sometimes the whole thing just feels a bit overwhelming because of how huge it’s all getting. I’ve had to remind my best friend more than once that she’s just a girl from Hell’s Kitchen, not some kind of royalty. That usually makes her pause for a second before she shoots back with a cheeky grin and a witty remark about being a Wall Street princess. I get that she really wants to make a good impression on Jordan’s family and friends, who she thinks come from “good breeding” — a phrase she says with a hilariously bad British accent. But honestly, considering Jordan’s dad used to be in a pretty famous rap group in the ’80s and grew up in tenant housing in a low-income area, I don’t think she needs to try so hard. Even Jordan seems to think she’s going overboard sometimes, but when Clara sets her mind on something, there’s just no stopping her.

Standing in the softly lit fitting room, surrounded by swaths of satin and layers of tulle, I catch a glimpse of my reflection and bite my lip. The curve of my belly—four months and growing—rests like a gentle secret beneath the empire waist of the bridesmaid dress. Clara is flitting between racks, her energy infectious, but I can’t help feeling out of place among the glossy, unwrinkled gowns and the other bridesmaids’ easy laughter.

“Is it too much?” I whisper, pressing my hands lightly over the fabric as if I could will myself smaller, less noticeable. Pregnancy is supposed to be beautiful, but lately I worry about every inch gained, every swollen ankle and rounded cheek. I know Clara says I’m radiant, but part of me aches with the fear of being a distraction—a pregnant sideshow in a moment meant for her. What if the guests whisper about the single mother-to-be waddling down the aisle, or if I can’t squeeze into the dress we picked two months ago?

Trying on dresses has become more complicated than ever. The tailor offers gentle suggestions for alterations; I nod, pretending not to notice how their gaze lingers on my bump. The other bridesmaids exchange stories about diets and gym routines, and I laugh along, but inside, I feel torn between pride and insecurity. I want to celebrate Clara and stand confidently by her side, but the voice in my head keeps questioning: Will I draw attention for the wrong reasons? Clara, sensing my unease, pulls me aside and embraces me, reminding me that her wedding is not about perfection but about love and friendship—the messy, beautiful kind we've shared since our high school days. “You’re not a distraction,” she says, her voice both fierce and gentle. “You’re family. And you’re part of every good thing that’s happening.”

So I breathe and try to believe her, letting the worries fall away for a moment. The dress may need letting out, my body may keep changing, but this day will be about more than appearances. Somehow, that promise makes the whole swirl of wedding plans and pregnancy feel a bit lighter—just enough to step out of the fitting room with my head held high.

Afterwards, we all head to a small deli for lunch. Since I can’t eat deli meat, I opt for a chicken salad on rye accompanied by a large pickle, though I can’t help but glance longingly at Clara’s pastrami sandwich as she chats about Vegas. “Hopefully Marcus will be there too, but everything’s been so hectic with his father being ill,” Clara says, while I debate whether to sneak just a tiny piece of the pastrami.

I look up when I hear the name Marcus. I know she’s referring to Jordan’s childhood friend, but whenever his name comes up, my mind drifts to my own Marcus. “He’s pretty serious, though, so he’ll probably feel out of place in Vegas, especially with Jordan’s other friends,” Clara continues.

Her cousin Marshall leans forward across the table, flashing a wide grin. "Come on, Vegas has this unique ability to unleash the wild side in everyone," he remarks with a knowing smirk. He’s speaking from experience, having performed numerous burlesque shows there over the years.

I chuckle softly and take a bite of my pickle. "If he turns out to be no fun, he can always tag along with the pregnant lady," I say with a playful tone. "I could definitely use an extra hand to manage when all of you become drunk and unruly."

Clara scoffs in mock insult. "Drunk, probably, but unruly," she grins, "okay, valid point."