Free Say Forever by Tara West Page A

breakfast." Andrés picks up a strip and takes a bite. "Mmmm." He frowns, and I can tell he wants to spit it out, but then he chases it down with a large swallow of coffee. He's so not fooling me.
    I scowl down at the little plastic cup of pink goo by my napkin. Yogurt. Ugh. What happened to eggs and pico de gallo? Surely chicken protein and vegetables isn't unhealthy. "I don't like yogurt," I say as I push the cup toward Andrés.
    He picks it up and sets it back down in front of me. Then he sprinkles some brown crap that looks like granola on top of it.
    "It's got calcium, mija. Our baby needs it." He bats his thick lashes and looks at me with sad, dark eyes.
    Damn. I know I can't refuse him.
    I sigh as I pick up a spoon. I wonder if Andrés realizes how much sugar is in this crap. I try not to concentrate on the taste of strawberry and cinnamon overload as I swallow a spoonful and wash it back with a gulp of coffee.
    "Easy on the coffee," he says. "You only get one cup a day."
    I clench the handle while eyeing him over the rim of the cup. Sadly, it doesn't look like he's kidding.
    One cup! How will I have enough energy to get through the day? I'll be napping by noon.
    Oh, well. I heave a sigh as I sink into my chair. I don't have a job at the moment, so I guess I'm free to take a nap. I stifle a yawn as this feeling of fatigue washes over me. Why did I even bother getting out of bed?
    Andrés is already tapping on his phone. His workday has officially begun. He'll be texting and emailing his assistant managers the rest of the day and even during dinner.
    I mentally make a list of things I can do. I don't have any wedding planning until I hear back from my mom. I guess maybe I can paint at home. I've got a few blank canvases, and I've been dying to paint portraits of my brothers.
    I groan when I think about what's in those paints. Unless I get the cheap, kiddy finger crap, I doubt I'll be doing any painting for a while.
    I sink even lower in my seat as I absently swallow a spoonful of the yogurt granola crap.
    That's when it hits me. My life isn't mine anymore.
    ***
    Looks like I don't have time for that nap after all. After calling my doctor's office and finding out she can't see me for another two weeks, I was contemplating going back to bed. I was feeling so exhausted after only one cup of coffee, I had to drag myself out of the house when my mom called. She's already hired a wedding planner, and we're meeting at a posh lakefront restaurant.
    I search for a decent country song on the radio, stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, hoping I'm not late. I can't see what's causing the delay because there's a garbage truck ahead of me. I've got the heater turned off and the windows rolled up, but it still doesn't help to mask the smell which permeates the car. It's so strong, I'm fighting the urge to open my door and vomit all over the freeway.
    This truck is a metaphor for my life: I'm just trying to get ahead, but there's always this big pile of shit blocking my path.
    I pop a stick of gum in my mouth, hoping the smell of spearmint will overpower the truck's fumes. I tap out an erratic staccato on my steering wheel, before fidgeting with the buttons on my shirt and then checking my reflection in the mirror. My nose isn't so big and red, anymore. My sinus infection is finally clearing up. Remarkably, I actually look pretty today. Though my pregnancy hormones are sabotaging my psyche, they're doing wonders for my skin. My cheeks have a natural glow and my eyes are greener than ever. Even my hair has a healthy sheen, and I didn't use any product.
    I only wish I felt as confident as I look. I have to admit I'm kind of nervous about meeting this planner. My mom has been a steamroller, crushing all my wedding ideas. I can only imagine what two of them will do to my wedding. All I want is a small reception at Tio's ranch, where we eat tamales and cake and dance to a Tejano/country band. Instead, I'll be wearing some cotton candy