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“No, thank you anyway. I’m going to turn in early. I’m pretty tired. That lunch really upset my stomach. I’m sure I’ll be better in the morning.”
I excused myself, glad he wasn’t a gentleman who insisted on seeing me to the door. I bolted for the elevator and got my key out trying to breathe slowly and hold back the bile I felt rising in my throat, as much from my interactions with Ray as from the damn egg salad.
I made it into my room, kicked my shoes off and scrambled to the bathroom, barely making it in time to bring up the dinner roll I’d eaten complete with the burn and aftertaste of that sip of gin I’d had. I coughed, rinsed my mouth and went for my suitcase. I got out the paper bag and reached inside.
I read the package directions four times before I took the test with shaking hands. I sat on the edge of the toilet lid, hand over my mouth, waiting for the timer on my phone to ding. I snuck a peek at two minutes. It already showed two blue lines.
Oh. No.
What in hell was I going to do?
I knew I was late. I knew it had been about a month since the fire, since Noah and I had spent the night together the first time. But I hadn’t really thought it was anything but stress making my cycle weird. Then when I added in the queasiness, the exhaustion, the weird desperation for cranberry juice (or the Corn Nuts I ate at the airport, because who even eats those?), it made a terrible kind of sense. I was knocked up at thirty-two by an arrogant asshole who both worked for me and who frustrated the ever-living shit out of me. This was not a situation I wanted to be in, but I’d made choices that got me here. Careless choices, for once in my life, and now it was time to face up to what came of that.
I peeled off my clothes and got into my softest pajamas. I got between the too-tightly-tucked hotel sheets, clutching the stick. I dialed Trixie and added in Michelle on Facetime. When they answered, I held the stick up to the camera on my phone.
“Oh shit!” Michelle said, clapping a hand on her mouth.
“Uh, welcome to the unplanned pregnancies club,” Trixie laughed. “Had hot sex without a condom? Now you’re a mom!”
“A mom,” I mumbled. “I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it, sweetheart,” Michelle said. “I could’ve told you Noah’d be… virile. Hell, sometimes I think looking at him could get you pregnant.”
“Yeah, he has that energy,” Trixie said.
“That’s not helpful.”
“What? He’s hot. Kind of a jerk, but hot.”
“Oh, good. I always wanted a hot, jerky baby,” I snapped. They laughed.
“It’s NOT FUNNY,” I said, tears hot in my eyes.
“It is actually,” Trixie said. “I’ve been there. We know what causes pregnancy so if you didn’t do the birth control thing, you get to do the mom thing. I have bottles and stuff you can have. And nursing bras. God, I miss those. So comfy. And my jeans with the stretchy panel. Those things are awesome.”
“Thank you. I think. I don’t really want to think about stretchy panel pants and bottles and—nursing. Jesus. What am I going to do?”
“I’d say you better tell Noah, first thing,” Michelle said.
“What if he says it’s not his?” I said, sudden horror dawning on me. He slept around. He probably thought I did too.
“Why would he say that? Does he have no memory of shooting his wad that night?” Trix said.
“I bet he remembers it. And he’s not a complete ass,” Michelle said, defending him. “I know he’ll at least step up and pay child support and stuff.”
“I don’t want child support. It’s embarrassing enough without him thinking I’m after money. I make plenty of money, thank you very much. I just need to find a place outside Rockford Falls to raise this baby so it doesn’t grow up being talked about because we hooked up at work.”
“It was at work?” Trixie said incredulously. “
“I figure I got pregnant when we went back to my place after the fire at the work site,” I said grimly.
“What can I do to help?” Michelle asked. “I can, like, order books from the library about childbirth and pregnancy and being a single mom. Help you find a good daycare, that sort of thing. I’ll even pretend to be your lesbian wife at birthing classes.”
“Thank you, but I don’t think having a fake lesbian wife is the answer for me right now.”
“Keep it in mind. It would save you a lot of questions about who the dad is. Everyone would assume we used a sperm bank, and that we’ve kept our illicit affair secret because of oppressive small-town values,” she said.
