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“Whenever it does,” Rosie said, “Gideon and I are so ready.”
Another thought struck Lyssa: If the test turned out to be positive, how on earth was she going to give the news of her accidental pregnancy to her friends without feeling like she’d stolen their dreams right out from under them?
Chapter Thirteen
It was the longest twenty-four hours of Lyssa’s life. After flying everyone home on his private jet, Daniel wanted to drive Lyssa into the city. She told him she was perfectly happy taking BART out of SFO, since he and Tasha were heading down to Portola Valley to check on the new house now that their mom was so eager to get the move rolling.
Of course, instead of heading to her apartment, she dashed to the drugstore and bought five different pregnancy tests, practically running home to use them all without looking at any of the results until she was done.
She washed and dried her hands, then finally looked at the row of tests lined up on the countertop. All five said the same thing.
She was pregnant.
She didn’t have any symptoms, because of course she’d looked that up. In fact, she felt sharp, energized. There could have been fatigue and tenderness and mood swings. But she felt better than normal. She put her hands on her stomach, where everything felt exactly the same as always, no fluttering or swelling.
Yet five pregnancy tests couldn’t be wrong.
And now that she knew for sure? A slow unfurling of joy bubbled up from deep within her.
She hadn’t planned for this baby. She hadn’t even known she wanted this baby. But despite knowing her life had just changed forever, there was an undeniable and profound new light coming from deep within her soul.
The light of a love she knew would always be true, always be pure, always be solid and unconditional, no matter what.
Ever practical, however, she had so many questions—and concerns—about how things were going to play out.
First and foremost, she needed to understand how this had happened. Of course she understood the birds and the bees. But she’d been on the pill. She hadn’t missed a day. She hadn’t started the pack at the wrong time. She hadn’t been sick and thrown up a dose. She wasn’t on a medication that could interfere with it.
Her one-bedroom apartment was small, and it was only a few steps from the bathroom through the bedroom to the one main room with a kitchen and living area. Barefoot, she flopped down on the couch, crossed her legs, opened her laptop, and typed into the search bar: How did I get pregnant on the pill when I did everything right?
The simple answer? The pill, when used correctly, was only ninety-nine percent foolproof. Which meant she was one percent with a bull’s-eye.
From that point forward, the questions came fast and furious.
How would she tell her parents?
How on earth could she tell her brothers without them losing it?
And what was Cal going to say when she told him? Surprise! We’re the one in a hundred odds, and I’m going to have a baby. Our baby.
She felt sick for the first time, but it wasn’t because of the baby inside her. It was because she was trying to imagine a good way to tell Cal and realizing there wasn’t one. Especially when she’d assured him there would be no problem having sex without condoms because she couldn’t possibly get pregnant on the pill.
Cal Danniger hadn’t signed up for an insta-family. Heck, given how fast he’d fled the island after their second time together, he hadn’t even wanted to sign up for a date. She was certain he loved his life exactly as it was. Footloose and fancy-free with no one to answer to.
Her chest clenched as it grew harder and harder to breathe. She wasn’t a person who tended to live racked by fear and anxiety. Though she’d been a fun-loving, career-oriented girl in the city who went to shows and movies and bars and dance clubs, she was honestly okay if that phase of her life was over.
But she was still terrified that Cal might think she was trying to trap him into being with her—which she most definitely wasn’t. And nearly as terrified that when her brothers found out who the father was, they would hate Cal. And worse, they’d tear him to pieces.
The shock of it all was a good excuse to hibernate for the weekend, to process what had happened on a subconscious level before she had to go out into the world and actually deal with it.
She watched movies, good ones and bad ones, but even the funny ones made her cry. She ate a carton of ice cream—comfort food, not because she had cravings. Her mom called, and she let it go to voicemail. Her friends called, and she didn’t call back. Late Sunday afternoon, she was watching Bridget Jones’s Diary for the second time—because the kiss at the end was the absolute best kiss ever, except for Cal’s real kisses—when her phone pinged with a reminder.
