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I buried my face in my hands with a groan. Back when we were growing up this was the kind of crap that got you on Jerry Springer’s crazy talk show so you could throw chairs at your friends and relations. We used to watch it at Kendall’s house after school sometimes and laugh, but also have vehement conversations about what we’d do if anyone ever lied to and cheated on us. I had a Springer style chair throwing headed my way if I knew Kendall.
How the hell would I have that conversation with her? It was going to take some explaining on my part and then patience and endurance of the screaming and cussing that she would dole out as what I deserved for sneaking around and breaking girl code by hooking up with my best friend’s sibling…or in this case, all of her siblings. I was embarrassed as hell but couldn’t bring myself to regret any of it. For maybe the first time in my life I wasn’t filled with regret about practically everything I did.
Finishing my nursing degree was a source of pride. Being excellent at my job as an ER nurse was another accomplishment. Opening my heart to the Beckett men was one more thing that made me proud of myself. I could’ve stayed closed off and lonely, bitter and afraid, but with them, I was reborn. Everything I had thought I couldn’t have after I escaped from Eric was in my life now. I had my own place. I was a nurse working in a job I liked, and I had men in my life I could trust, men who treated me with respect and were supportive and caring. Men who set my body aflame. Instead of an empty life just going to work and coming home to sit alone and try to drown out my trauma, I had a real life, one that made me happy.
Now there was this huge question mark of, was I pregnant? My stomach dropped like I was on a roller coaster at the mere thought of it. I just got my life on track. I wasn’t sure I could take care of a baby and work full time and lose my best friend over my uncharacteristically wild sexual choices. I dialed Kendall’s number before I could stop myself. Consequences be damned, I needed my best friend right now.
“Hey, what’s up?” she answered.
“I’m late.”
“What? Did we have plans? Shit. I’m still in my pajamas.”
“No I’m late-late,” I said tensely.
“Oh, well. That’s different. Are you late like you should’ve started yesterday or late like I better learn how to knit booties?” she asked with a light laugh.
“The second one. I’m five days late and I missed a couple pills this month.”
“Was it two in a row or two on different weeks?” she asked.
“It was three. Two in a row and then another one a week later. I don’t think that matters though. It matters that I forgot to take them.”
“Well, relax, you used a condom anyway. Right? Right?” she asked urgently.
“Nope.”
“Just once?”
“Lots of times. Like a lot-a lot.”
“Since when do you have sex at all much less a lot-a lot?” she demanded. “And why haven’t I heard about it?”
“I need you. And apparently a stick to pee on. Help me?” I asked.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Fear not,” Kendall said as she entered thirty minutes later. “I have pregnancy tests and ice cream. Also since when do you live in like a Mission Impossible building? The surveillance shit out in that hall—”
“Thank Darren for that. When I moved back, they were all crazy about new locks and a camera and crap.”
“That’s Darren for ya. I should’ve recognized it since I have a similar setup at my place in addition to the doorman and the pepper gel on my keychain and the stun gun. We’re well guarded women,” she said, handing me the pint of mint chocolate chip. Just the neon green of it turned my stomach to look at. I handed it back to her.
“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll just get this over with.”
I ducked into the bathroom and followed the package directions like it was going to be complicated in some way. I did that three times, because she brought me three different brands of tests like a champion friend. I came out of the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
“Are you afraid they’ll get out and come after you? They’re pee sticks,” Kendall said. “Anyway, you’d be a fantastic mom. And I can be the cool auntie that does all the fun stuff.”
I managed a small smile. It was the best I could do.
“Come on. Loosen up. I’ll get the baby designer boots that it’ll outgrow in like a week, but it’ll have the best street style of any infant in this city. Imagine me, looking fabulous while I push the stroller down the sidewalks of Manhattan. Telling people who ask, ‘oh no, it’s not mine, it’s a friend’s, but I’m the stylist.’ And then they insist on photographing the baby in the latest deconstructed moto jacket and Gucci shades.”
