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She giggled. “Nope. Caffeine is a stimulant, and bad during pregnancies.”
“How do you know that?”
“My sister’s got five kids. I’m very familiar with pregnancy.”
I swallowed hard. “What else shouldn't I be doing?”
“If you want caffeine, go for tea. But no strong caffeinated substances. No alcohol, duh. Lots of iron and folic acid. Ginger suckers for the nausea. As healthy of a diet as you can stand until you get on prenatal vitamins. Then your body can handle a couple dozen donuts or so when you’re craving them badly enough.”
“Oh, good Lord.”
She rubbed my arms. “It’s going to be fine. Just make sure you get some rest.”
I sighed. “Thank you. For this. And for, you know, keeping it to yourself.”
“Of course. It’s our little secret. And just so you know? I’m happy for you. Clint is going to die with excitement once you tell him.”
The rest of my workday passed in a haze. Robyn was kind enough to help put some of my makeup back on. But that was the only thing I remembered. The only reminders I had of my day were the minutes of my meetings Robyn sent to me. Thank fuck she was a detailed-oriented person. Because I remembered none of this stuff. I was too preoccupied. Too ‘in my own mind’ to pull myself out of it.
I can’t go all week like this.
I started looking some things up online. I searched every version of ‘surprise baby announcement’ I could. Trying to find inspiration. Trying to swallow down my panic. Trying to convince myself that it would all be okay. Financially, we were okay. We didn’t have too much debt from my degree. Our vehicles were paid off. We didn’t dare touch our credit card unless it was an emergency. On that front, we were just fine.
It was everything else.
Clint and I had plans. And a baby didn’t work itself into those plans until much later. Much, much later. We had agreed on being older parents. We made a pact with one another that we’d start trying once we both turned thirty. But even then, we wouldn't push it. No fertility tests or checking my ovulation. None of that stuff that made couples crazy. We made an agreement that I’d simply come off my birth control. Simple as that.
“Wait a second,” I murmured.
I abandoned my internet searches and picked up my purse. I rummaged around, digging all the way to the bottom until I found it. That pale blue pouch that held my pills. I ripped it out of my purse and flipped it open. And when I saw what had happened, my jaw hit the floor.
Holy shit, I’ve forgotten my pills.
“Ten days?” I asked breathlessly.
I hadn’t just forgotten them. I downright didn’t take them. I picked up my phone and navigated to my calendar, trying to figure out why the hell it hadn’t dinged at me. Alarms were the bane of my existence. I could switch them off in a heartbeat and not give them a second thought. But I synced my work with my phone calendar. So, no matter where I was or what I was doing, when that alert popped up to take my birth control, I was on it.
“Shit,” I hissed.
There was no calendar notification. For the past ten days exactly, there had been no notification on my calendar. How was that possible? I’d had the same notification set for every single day for the past--
Oh, boy.
“Robyn!?”
My door whipped open. “Hey. What’s up?”
“When you make one of those recurring, unending things on a calendar, is it actually unending? Or, do those kinds of things have a termination date anyway?”
r /> “Oh. Yeah. No. ‘Unending’ really means ‘for the next ten years.’ Then you have to set it back up. Why?”
Well, fuck. “No reason. Just wondering. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. Sure I can’t get you anything?”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
I leaned back into my chair and ran my hand through my hair. Ten years. It had been ten years since I’d set that stupid calendar notification up on my phone. The one that followed me around everywhere. Through every phone change, every laptop change, and every work environment change.
