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But we haven’t talked about anything like that.
Yes, you did. Daniel said he likes things the way they are.
Adding a baby is definitely not ‘the way things are’. Does he even want more children?
Also . . . do I want a baby?
The thought echoes over and over with no definite answer. I picture me holding a slimy newborn, all red-faced and screaming from getting squeezed out of my body. I flash to feeding a sleepy cutie, or confused at a no-good-reason crying fit, scared I won’t know what to do.
But I am who I am. I have to know the truth.
I force my eyes open, looking at the window.
Pregnant.
As soon as I see the word, I know.
I want a baby. I want Daniel’s baby. A tiny piece of him that will always be mine, no matter what. It might not have been planned, but it’s happening and I’m thrilled. I’ll figure out the rest of it as it happens.
I want our baby.
Happy tears pour from my eyes, mixed with tears of uncertainty about what Daniel’s reaction is going to be. I have to find a way to tell him that won’t freak him out.
Something that’ll make him realize what a good thing this is. Because it is a good thing.
I take a steadying breath and bury the pregnancy test deep in the trashcan because I’m not putting it back in my bra when it’s pee-covered. I walk back through the lobby, my feet feeling like lead and my head filled with helium.
In my office, Ricky and Billy take one look at me and smile. Billy holds out his hand, and Ricky passes over a folded bill. “Told you so.”
Ricky ignores that and focuses on me. “Are you okay, Tiff? Anything you want us to do?”
My feet shuffle beneath me, continuing mindlessly to my chair, where I plop down, letting out a deep breath. “Honestly? I need a few minutes alone, guys. Thank you, but could you . . . go?”
Ricky hops off my desk and comes closer to give me a gently weird little head-hug, like my belly is suddenly rotund and large, even though it’s still as flat as always. “You let me know if you need anything. I work for you now too, Tiff.”
“Thanks, Ricky. But for now, just keep your mouths shut,” I order, although it comes out sounding a lot like I’m pleading. “I need to tell him. He needs to hear it from me. Can you do that?”
Billy stands up. “Yeah, we can do that.”
Ricky nods but also grins. “You want to make it a surprise? I can help you plan that if you want.”
“Man, why go through all the trouble when all you gotta do is say ‘I’m pregnant’? That’s it. Ta-da.”
He shakes his splayed hands like saying that is a magic trick but an easy one that’s no big deal in the slightest. Then again, for him it probably is.
“No, I’ll figure out how to tell him. Just let me do it. Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Whatever.”
They leave, and suddenly, my office is silent. I sincerely hope I can trust them to keep their mouths shut.
Alone, my mind whirls.
Then I remember, I’m not alone. Not anymore. And never again.
I place a palm on my stomach, rubbing my nonexistent bump. “Hi there,” I whisper. “We’ve got plenty of time, but I wanted to introduce myself. Hi . . . I’m Mommy. And I’m very excited to meet you when the time’s right.”
Chapter 25
Tiffany
There are weddings, and there are quick weddings. They are not the same thing.
A wedding has all the things you’d expect—an officiant, a marriage license, and the couple—plus approximately a million other details, like formal wear, flowers, food, drinks, cake, music, place cards, tablecloths, and décor. It’s a lot.
For a quick wedding, you only need the basics—the officiant, license, and couple. Oh, and maybe a flight to Vegas or a shotgun, I think.
Harper and Ace want somewhere in the middle. The accoutrements of a wedding with the speed of a quickie. So here we are, trying to pull off the impossible with zero time. Not to mention, I’m quite distracted by what I’ve got happening.
Like not telling Daniel yet. I haven’t figured out the right way to do it yet, and Billy’s recent suggestion that I send it in a text message is definitely not helping.
Do I make a whole celebratory production of ‘woohoo, guess what?’ or a quiet moment that acknowledges this isn’t what either of us planned? Or like this wedding, somewhere in between?
The stress of indecision and weight of this secret are making me a bit grumpy. “Whose great idea was it to get married so soon?” I ask as we put together centerpieces. “Don’t people usually have like a year to do all this stuff?”
Harper takes the hot glue gun from me, adding a dab to the green foam half-dome we’re using as a base, then wrapping it with a pre-cut length of lace. “Ouch, ouch, ouch . . .” she says, getting burned for the zillionth time. Neither of us is going to have finger prints by the time we finish these, but she’s totally in the zone and happy with life at the moment. “Yes, but we’re impatient. I’m ready to be Mrs. Young.” She glues down another bit of lace and squeals. At first, I think she must’ve really burned herself good this time, but then she explains, “Oh, my God, I’m going to need all new classroom things! New name tag, new door sign, new bulletin board, ah!”
