Page 31 of Worth the Risk

It was a little disappointing when I checked the list of treatments available and realized how few options I had. In the end, I chose a head and neck massage and a hydrating facial.

The others chose things I couldn’t do—mud baths and massages and aromatherapy—except for my cousin Kirsten.

We were both in fluffy white robes as we followed the spa employee down a hallway. I wasn’t particularly close with Kirsten. I remembered spending a lot of time together when we were kids, even though I was six years older than her.

Back then, our dads—who were brothers—worked together at the family company. Then, ten years ago, a new branch of the business was opened in Washington, so Uncle Mac moved to Seattle to run it. He took Gordon and Kirsten, and I only really saw my cousins during big family events.

Unfortunately, Uncle Mac was too much like my father and hardly ever pulled himself away from work even for the big events. He’d be here on Saturday for the ceremony as well, but at least his kids came to celebrate with all of us in advance.

“Are you having fun here on the island?” I asked as we entered the room where we’d receive our head and neck massages.

Kirsten wasn’t easy to read. She wasn’t the type to smile much or fill the space with small talk. She used to be more outgoing as a child, but I supposed that a person could change a lot in a decade.

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it’s not exactly spring break in Cancun, but it’s nice.”

My eyebrows popped up. “Not much impresses you, huh?”

“I’m just happy to be out of Seattle. My friend Lewis texted me, and guess what? It’s raining today.”

I chuckled. Okay, so she had a bit of an acerbic sense of humor. I could work with that.

As we settled into side-by-side cushioned chairs, we fell into easy conversation. She told me about going to an edgy club inside an old industrial warehouse to celebrate her twenty-first birthday a month ago and spending her weekends at a skate park.

I told her my much less exciting stories about attending the recent hospital gala and a weekly yoga class. We were very different people, but it was still nice to reconnect with her. Then, the massage began, and it was amazing.

The chairs reclined, and we each had a masseuse sitting on rolling chairs at our heads. There were cucumbers on my eyes and a diffuser filled the room with the scent of lemongrass. The world outside of this peaceful room disappeared.

A low groan slipped from my lips as the masseuse’s fingertips glided across my scalp in interlocking circles. I could feel stress melting away in the quiet room. Thumbs sank into the tight cords of my neck and down my shoulders, and muscles I didn’t even realize were tight uncoiled.

If things were different, I would have loved to have a full-body massage, and I made a mental note to look into getting one back home after the baby was born.

Not that I expected to have much free time with a newborn.

My stomach flipped at the thought of having a real, live baby to care for. I’d mostly wrapped my mind around the idea of being pregnant, but the end result—a baby—was an overwhelming reality that I would have to face soon.

“Just relax,” the masseuse said in a soothing voice.

I let out a long breath and tried not to let my shoulder muscles tense back up.

It wasn’t that I was necessarily unhappy about becoming a mother. I hadn’t even gotten to the point where I felt excited or happy. Every time I imagined a little life being entirely dependent on me, I just felt scared.

What if I failed as a parent? Between my mom leaving and my dad neglecting me, I’d never had a solid example of what a healthy relationship could be like between a parent and child.

I wanted to believe that I could still love my child the way a parent should, but what if I was wrong? What if I was missing the building blocks required to form that attachment?

I wanted to talk to Ford about all this. I somehow knew that if anyone could make me feel better about it all, it was him. He had a way of cutting through my doubts and helping me feel confident in a way that no one else ever had.

At least, he could before. Now, I wasn’t so sure. We were broken, and I meant what I said. There was no going back.

What I still wasn’t sure about was whether there was a way forward.

As I tried to relax again, my hand drifted to my stomach. It was silly, really. I wouldn’t even begin to develop a baby bump for months, but there was something monumental about knowing that there was a life growing in there.

The massage ended, and the masseuse removed the cucumbers from my eyes. I glanced over at Kirsten to see that she was already looking at me.

Or rather, she was staring at my hand resting on my stomach. I quickly moved it away, but there was already a knowing look in her eyes.

“So… you knocked up?”