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Elliot grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and leans against the island. “You get the heater figured out?”
“Yeah. It was the automatic setting, like you said.” I had to call him last night to get the heat working in our bedroom. “How was the flight?”
“Long. Dallas better not make it to the playoffs. I’m sick of flying down to Texas.”
“Aren’t they second in their division?” Elliot gives me a proud grin, and I roll my eyes. “I can’tnotabsorb it if you talk about it all the time.”
His grin just widens. “You need help with dinner?”
“No, it’s almost done.”
He nods, then heads into the bedroom. Nerves take full flight in my stomach. This isn’t hypothetical anymore. He’s back. I have to tell him.
“It’s sweltering in here!” Elliot shouts. I smile, but anxiety chases it away quickly.
I add the meat to the pan and start heating the tortillas. Elliot reappears just as I’m assembling everything. He’s changed into nothing but a pair of black mesh shorts. We’ve been officially dating for almost four years and I’ve known him for nearly twice as long, but the sight of him barefoot and shirtless still makes me feel like a teenager with a crush.
I hand him his plate and we take seats at the kitchen table. Elliot dives in immediately. Tacos are his favorite meal, which is precisely why I made them tonight.
He’s halfway through his plate before he realizes I’m only picking at my mushrooms. “You okay?”
This is Elliot. I trust him more than anyone else in the world. I can do this. Three deep breathes later, I let what I need to tell him fly out with a whoosh. “I’m pregnant.”
He blinks. Stares. Chews.
“Knocked up.” Nothing. “Expecting.” Silence. “Bun in the oven.” He swallows. “With child. Eating for two.” I sigh. “I’m out of synonyms, so can you say something?”
“Wow.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a scoff-snort mixture. “Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
I hop off my chair, walk into the adjoining living room, and return with the plastic Ziploc bag I stashed behind the couch cushions.
His nose wrinkles as I set it on the table. “You hid that in the couch? Didn’t you have to pee on them?”
“Seriously?That’swhat you’re concerned about? They’re in a bag!”
Elliot glances at the pregnancy tests again. “Are you supposed to take…” He counts. “Twelve of them?”
“I wanted to be sure!”
“How did you even produce that much pee?”
“Elliot! Forget about the tests! I just pulled them out for…I don’t know, evidence.”
He laughs. “Evidence?”
“Are you in shock?”
“I’mshocked, yeah, for sure.” He stands and walks over to me. “Usually when I get back from an away series, it’s just to discover you reorganized the pantry or bought new lingerie—not that I’m going to be a dad.” My breath hitches, because him saying that makes this more real than anything else has. His hands settle on my waist. “How are you feeling?”
“Worried,” I admit. “About telling you, about how you’d react. I know what happened with your parents, and I don’t—”
“We’re nothing like my parents, Auden.”
“I know, but we’re young, and this wasn’t planned. We’ve never discussed…I mean, I don’t even know if youwantkids.”
