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I shook my head. “I have no idea. Andrew’s? Maybe. We hooked up one more time after we broke up, but that was seven or eight months ago—”
Logan cut me off again. “You’d be pretty far along by now. Wouldn’t you be showing?”
I looked at my stomach. It was pretty swollen. But all this time, I’d been telling myself it was bloating. If not for my irregular periods, I would’ve been much more on the ball with this thing.
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” I put my hand on my belly, feeling for some telltale sign of firmness.
“Alright, well, we can narrow it down. When was your last period?”
I switched the phone to speaker and pulled up my period tracking app, something my mom had insisted I use if I wasn’t going to be on birth control to regulate my period. I was now regretting that decision. Then I recalled the last time I’d been on birth control. It made me so crazy I’d almost driven into the median on the highway one day. And I didn’t want to go back to that. Irregular periods were more manageable than depressive episodes.
I scrolled through the calendar until I found the red dots marking my last period. “Six months ago,”
I exhaled. So, this didn’t rule out Andrew, but the idea of having a baby with Andrew was mortifying. I should’ve never dated him in the first place, but he was Logan’s boyfriend’s best friend, and she always wanted to go on double dates. At some point, he thought we were together, and I thought we were fooling around. So, I set the record straight and broke up with him. And I told Logan no more double dates.
“Okay, so they usually track from your last period, but your period is super irregular. Could you narrow it to when you would’ve ovulated?”
Thankfully the app had that information too, so I scrolled past the calendar to find where it told me my cycle length and the rough estimate of when I’d ovulate. “I was ovulating on the eighteenth.”
“The eighteenth of what? That doesn’t help us.”
“Oh, right. The eighteenth of May.” There was another silence from Logan. “Are you still there?”
“Do you remember what happened on the eighteenth of May, Skye?” Logan said in the annoyingly condescending voice she sometimes used when it was something obvious to her, but I was being obtuse.
“No. I have no idea what happened on the eighteenth of May, Logan. I don’t keep track of mundane days.”
“Oh, this wasn’t a mundane day,” she said knowingly.
Breathing out in annoyance, I opened my calendar on my phone and scrolled back to May. There it was—highlighted in bright pink and inputted into the calendar in all capitals.
RENAISSANCE REVIVAL CONCERT
“Holy fuck,” I said in disbelief.
All-knowingly, Logan replied, “You, Bestie, got knocked up by a rock star.”
Holy shit balls. Roman Knolls was my baby daddy.
ONE
CASH
February
Ihated doing these things after the show. It was a necessary evil since it was important for us to interact with our fans. This was the kind of thing they wanted to be able to do, while I wanted to take a shower before having to hug a bunch of screaming, fanatical women. But my desires were trumped by the money fans were willing to pay to come backstage and meet us.
A roadie passed me a bottle of water as I walked through the back of the venue toward the meeting room where everyone was waiting. Roman trailed behind the band, asking somebody to bring him something to drink. It wasn’t water he was looking for. His partying was officially out of control. Not that he’d been in control when the band started, and rumors had drifted around about why he and Hunter had split ways last year.
Now, the other band members and I were privy to exactly what could have been the tipping point. It was getting to where I didn’t want to work with Roman, despite being considered one of the biggest up-and-coming bands in the world right now.
“Through here,” our manager said as she pushed the door open, and the sound of screaming fans instantly joined us in the hallway.
I let Nico and Tate go ahead as I cracked the lid off my water bottle, pouring half of it down my throat and the other half over my head. I was already soaked from neck to toes, so it didn’t make much difference. Although, it did briefly cool me.
Running a hand over my hair, I pushed the excess water out before shaking it off and heading inside. The excited sounds made me think there was a huge group of people waiting, but I was shocked to find only fifteen in the room. Most were women and a few unlucky guys dragged along by their girlfriends. Or maybe they were fans themselves.
My manager ushered us to the table where pens and markers were laid out among the swag we were meant to sign. I glanced at the door, only to find Roman still hadn’t entered. Not that I needed to see him to know. The fans would tell me.
