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“Yeah, fuck, we’re a team,” I conceded.
“Then we’re both finishing school,” she ground out. “Together.”
“Listen, I don’t want to fight with you about this.”
“Then don’t,” she cut me off. “Because as far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal. You’re finishing school and that’s that. Apartments and houses can come afterward.”
“You’re not thinking clearly here.”
“You’re not thinking at all.”
“Molloy.”
“Lynch.”
Frustrated, I reached into the brown paper bag on her lap, grabbed a soggy chip, and grimaced the moment it touched my tongue.
It tasted like shit.
With a mouthful of chips, Molloy offered me a sheepish smile. “Too much vinegar?”
I gave her a look that said always, before asking, “How are you feeling?”
“About the vinegar?”
“No, genius, about being pregnant.”
Anxiety flashed in her eyes and I watched as a small shiver rolled through her. “Oh, I think it’s safe to say that I’m sufficiently terrified to my core. You?”
Oh, I’m right there with you. “I’m fine.”
“Fine.” She arched a brow in disbelief. “Bullshit.”
Of course I was bullshitting, but I had the wherewithal to not reveal just how panicked I was to the girl who’d clearly gotten the shorter end of the straw in this deal.
“Are you mad?” she asked again, but this time she chewed on her lip nervously before adding, “That I’m having it?”
“Having it?” I frowned. “That’s generally how this kind of thing goes.”
“Not always.”
“Don’t go there.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah, I did, and I didn’t like where this was heading one bit. “I would never ask you to do that.”
“But if you could choose?” She swallowed nervously. “Would you?”
“No, Molloy.” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t want you to do that.”
There was a hopeful note in her voice when she said, “You wouldn’t?”
“Never.”
Relief flickered in her eyes. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirmed. “If you didn’t want to have my baby, I’d understand. Hell, I’d hold your hand the whole way over and back, but I know that’s not what you really want.”
