Page 85 of The Summer Plans

“When are you moving in?”

“He asked me to, but I can’t uproot the kids like that.”

She gestures at my outfit then around the room. “Do you need me to point out everything in this room that belongs to you? Hell, it even smells like you in here.”

“I brought a few things from my place. It’s just temporary until the kids get back.”

Chuckling, she grabs a cup from the cupboard and fills it with water. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I roll my eyes, blowing a bubble with my gum.

“Are you… chewing watermelon bubble gum?”

The bubble pops. “Yeah, you want some?”

Her eyes go wide. “Does he know?”

“Does who know? What are you talking about?”

“Does RJ know you’re pregnant?”

My mouth drops open, and my gum falls out onto the countertop. Raven reaches over and picks it up, tossing it in a trash can behind her, then washes her hands.

“How… how did you…”

“You only chew fruity gum when you’re pregnant. The rest of the time you prefer minty gum. Spearmint’s your favorite.” When I don’t say anything, she continues. “I’m really good at pattern recognition. And this isn’t part of your normal routine.”

Crap. I wasn’t planning on telling her about this today when I haven’t even talked to RJ yet, but I’ve been so emotional it feels like a huge relief. “He doesn’t know yet. I just found out.”

“Does he know about your history?”

“He does.”

“Didn’t you use protection?”

“It’s not like we knew we’d be hooking up so neither of us packed condoms. But I have an IUD—or I did.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’d only had it in for a month, and apparently, even though it’s rare, it’s more likely for them to fall out in the first three months.”

“What would make it fall out?”

Your brother’s huge dick banging against my cervix.

That’s probably not the actual reason, and it’s so incredibly rare according to my research, but I can’t help my smirk.

Raven makes a gagging noise. “Nope. Don’t answer that.”

Swallowing my laughter, I opt for honesty. “I’m scared to tell him.”

“What? Why? Because of your history with miscarriages?”

I shake my head. “No. He made this comment that’s been stuck in my brain. The kids got me drunk and I threw up—long story, I’ll tell you later—and he said giving me a bath reminded him of bathing an unruly toddler and he was glad he was done with that stage of his life.”

“What a fucking idiot.” Her nostrils flare.

My hands fly up in defense. “I’m butchering it. His words were kinder than how I’m retelling it. To be fair, he didn’t know I’d get pregnant. I’m thirty-eight and had an IUD. I wasn’t expecting it. And we were not at the ‘Do you want any more kids’ phase of our relationship. He probably didn’t mean it like that, but what if he did? Now I’m in my head about it, afraid to tell him that I could be having his child—if I don’t lose this one too.”