The tension in Stacey’s room was stifling thick enough to cut with a knife.
Brent opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His mind raced caught between the weight of Megan’s news and the accusatory undertone in Betty’s question. His throat felt like sandpaper.
Stacey, however, leaned back on the couch utterly unbothered. "Not really.”
Betty’s eyes narrowed. "Really? Because it looks like I am."
"Betty, it’s not..." Brent started, his voice breaking slightly. He stopped himself taking a deep breath. He had wanted to tell her to lay it all out: about the pregnancy, the mess he was in, about of everything, but the words twisted in his throat.
"It’s not what?" Betty pressed, stepping further into the room.
Brent’s silence spoke louder than anything he could have said. He looked at Stacey, his eyes pleading for help.
Stacey sighed, standing up from the couch with an air of exasperation. "Give him a break, Betty. He’s dealing with some stuff right now stuff he needs to figure out on his own."
"Oh, I see. So you’re his new confidante now? That’s cute. What else has he told you that he hasn’t told me?"
Stacey’s expression darkened, her usual aloofness giving way to irritation. "Grow the hell up, Betty," she said, her voice sharp. "Not everything is about you. Brent’s going through something serious. If you cared about him at all, you’d stop making this about your ego and give him some space."
Betty flinched, her cheeks flushing. "Space? Are you kidding me? My life was fine before you got involved! It was okay when you weren’t in it, Stacey."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Brent stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides, while Stacey raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the venom in Betty’s words.
"Then maybe you should leave," Stacey said coolly, stepping aside to make room by the door.
Betty’s jaw tightened, her eyes briefly meeting Brent’s. For a fleeting second something vulnerable flashed across her face—hurt, betrayal—but she masked it quickly, turning on her heel and heading for the door.
She paused just before leaving, her voice low but laced with emotion. "You know what, Brent? When you figure out what you want, let me know. Until then, don’t bother."
The door slammed behind her, the sound echoing through the apartment.
Brent sank onto the couch, his hands dragging down his face. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut, but he couldn’t muster the energy to defend himself.
"You should have told her," Stacey said, her voice softer now, though still firm.
"I couldn’t. Not yet."
"Well,good luck with that, because now you’ve got a pissed-off Betty and a baby on the way."
"Yeah. Thanks for the reminder."