"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"I know." She nods. "It's why you haven't responded to him."
"I never meant to hurt you. It should've never happened."
She tilts her head, pinching her brow.
"If I could take it back, I would," I say. "You're my best friend, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I'm not going to sit here and make excuses for why I did what I did. None of it is enough. It was all a mistake."
"I don't think it was," she says, surprising me. "I think in a way, I walked you both into it. It was all right in front of my face. I saw it but chose not toseeit. I'm hurt. I'm angry. But it's because you guys hid it from me. I would've gotten over the idea of the two of you eventually, because let's face it, you guys were inevitable."
"Inevitable? How so?"
"You're waffles not pancakes," she says as if that explains everything. Her eyes drift to the table where my favorite sketch of Mateo taunts me. It's the one of him holding the back of his neck and giving me a shy smile.
"I think that one sealed the deal on my scholarship," I say.
She nods. "He told me you got that."
"I was going to tell you."
"Like you were going to tell me about "JaggedLines?"
"Eventually," I say. "I was waiting for the right time."
"Were you going to tell me you're pregnant?" she asks.
My eyes go wide. "I…How?"
She points to the open bathroom door, where a small stack of tests sits on the counter.
I swallow.
"I haven't taken one yet," I admit. "I picked them up last week and finally built up the courage to take one today."
"Or five?"
A chuckle bubbles out of me. I can't help it. "Yeah, or five."
"Do you want a hand to hold while you wait the fifteen or whatever minutes?" she asks, her eyes welling with tears.
I nod, blinking back my own tears.
"Go pee on a stick then," she says. "Or five."
"Ads…" I let the thought trail off.
"Would a cup be better?" she asks, standing. "Probably, because otherwise you'll have to pee for a really long time." She says the last part as she shakes her head, walking toward my kitchen. When she comes back, she hands me a small plastic cup.
I take it from her outstretched hand, and she follows me to the bathroom. She takes the tests back to the living room and clears off the coffee table. I pee in the cup while she opens each test.
"This one is a plus sign and five minutes," she says. "This one is two lines and eight minutes. God, why are they not all the same? Why did you get five different brands?"
"I need to be sure," I say, washing my hands. I'm not sure why I bother since I'm about to dip sticks in my pee anyway, but I do.
Addie has all the tests laid out on their instructions.
"They're in order of least amount of time to most," she says. "You ready?"
