Page 52 of Josephine and Clay

“You alphabetized your supply cabinet last week because you were stressed.”

“That's not the same thing.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “It’s a little the same thing.”

I press my fingers hard against my temple. Think. Clinic. Feed store. Texts. Days blurring together. The night at the bar.

Clay.

My stomach drops so hard it almost makes me nauseous all over again.

No, absolutely not.

“We just…” I stop.

Penny’s voice is careful now. “You just what?”

I stare at the floorboards. My throat feels tight.

“It was one night,” I say, which isn't an answer and we both know it.

“Josie.”

I swallow. “We weren’t exactly planning things.”

Her brows pull together. “Meaning?”

Meaning he kissed me like he already knew what I’d sound like when I came apart. Meaning I let myself stop thinking for once in my life, and now my body is reminding me exactly how reckless that was.

Meaning…

“We didn’t…”

Penny doesn’t rush me. Which somehow makes it worse. I close my eyes briefly.

“I don’t think we used anything.”

Penny lowers herself carefully onto the armchair across from me. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I repeat, staring at her. “That’s your response?”

“It’s my calm response,” she says. “My panicked one is available upon request.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know.” She softens. “But joking is keeping you from spiraling, so I’m working with what I’ve got.”

I let out a breath that doesn’t help.

“It could still be nothing,” she says gently. “Stress can mess with everything. So can being overworked. So can not eating enough, or eating too much diner pie, or Buckhorn itself.”

Despite everything, my mouth twitches, but only for a moment, because the thought is there now, fully formed and impossible to shove back where it came from.

Pregnant.

The word moves through me like a shockwave.

“No,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “No. I can’t…” I shake my head. “I’m not doing this. I’m not thinking like this until I have a reason to.”