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“Lisbetta Anne-Marie Morelli, open this door.”
Her voice is muffled this time. And thick with misery. “It’s unlocked.”
I open the door to find her sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, her head in her hands. “I can’t look at it. I’m going to throw up.”
I pick up the little test, not caring that my sister peed on it a few minutes ago. There’s only one line. My heart thuds. I read the instructions—once, twice, three times. Just to be sure.
There would be two lines if she were pregnant.
No lines if the test were broken.
One line means she’s definitely not pregnant. Oh, thank God. That’s what I want to say out loud. Instead I force myself to say a calm, casual, nonjudgmental, “Negative.”
“Are you sure?” Then my sister jumps up. She does the same thing I did, reading the little instruction packet to be sure. “Oh my God. It’s negative. Oh my God.”
Then she bursts into tears.
I guide her back to the settee, where I comfort her until her heart-wrenching sobs turn into little whimpers. Then I guide her gently into my guest bedroom, where I tuck her in a ridiculous amount of blankets. I turn on the sound machine and set the fan to high. I make sure the drapes are closed tight so that no morning light can seep in. Then I look down at her. She’s already sleeping. There are faint shadows under her eyes. How much sleep has she lost worrying about this? I lean down to give her forehead a kiss. I know she’s technically an adult now, but I can’t help treating her like the precocious little girl from years ago.
Part of me wants to wake her up and demand to know who had sex with her.
The more sane part of me knows that she already has four overprotective brothers. She doesn’t also need an overprotective sister. There’s a reason she came to me. Because she knew that somehow I would keep a cool head.
I return to the living room and stand there for probably far too long.
It’s been a strange twelve hours.
Another knock at the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
It’s my brother Leo, the one closest to me in age, standing in the hallway with a curious expression on his face. With black hair and dark eyes, he’s a quintessential Morelli. All of us got that from our father. My mother’s red hair and green eyes stand out whenever she’s in a family photo. Though I can see the shape of her eyes in my brother.
He’s dressed for the office. “Hey.”
I lead him into the kitchen and start coffee. That’s for him. I prefer my caffeine in the form of Diet Coke. He goes to my fridge and pulls out a can, which he hands to me the moment I turn away from the coffee.
“Don’t make too much noise. Lizzy’s here.”
He glances toward the bedroom. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, because he doesn’t need to know about the pregnancy scare. It’s true that we share pretty much everything. We also came together to protect the other siblings from our dad’s drunken rages. If Lizzy were actually pregnant, this would turn into a strategy session. But since it was negative, he doesn’t need to know.
The heart palpitations alone cannot be safe.
He looks skeptical. “She slept over?”
“If you must know, she was worried about starting college. She came over and had a little emotional breakdown, and I put her to bed.”
“Damn it. Does she need a tutor? A pep talk? Does she need—”
“All she needs is a good day’s sleep. Shouldn’t you be at work right now?” Or at home. Ever since his marriage he’s been pretty much glued to his wife, Haley’s, side. Finding out she’s pregnant only made him ten times more clingy. I don’t know how she deals with him.
“I’ll be at work soon enough. And I need you to come to the office this week. I have papers that need your signature.”
I crack open the Diet Coke. It’s cold, bubbly, and most importantly, reliable. “You know, you should give Haley my seat on the advisory board. She’s your wife.”
“I want you on the advisory board. That’s why you’re on it.”
“But Haley—”
