"I actually want fucking Italian food! How is that appeasing you, oh Grand Master Chef?" She patted her belly and left both hands resting on the bare skin that poked its way out from underneath her tank top. "My belly is hungry and it wants some pasta, okay?" She honestly didn't believe she was saying that just to make him happy. Not at the moment.
"You said Chicken Parmesan before, and it stuck in my head. That's all." Somehow, she'd imagined her birthday going a lot more smoothly than the bumpy road it seemed to be heading toward. It was still better than last year, when Andrew hadn't been speaking to her, but did it really have to be this hard?
"I'm sorry. I'll stop. I really would like some dinner, though." She backed up against the counter again, leaning on it to support herself. It shouldn't have been such a big deal.