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“Telling him that will only make him try harder.”
“Brat.”
I watched her grab one of the boxes off the shelf, and she turned the camera back toward her face. “Here goes nothing.” She opened the package and started reading the instructions.
“I think they’re more accurate if you test first thing in the morning.”
“Did your mistress tell you that?”
“Smartass. My wife told me that several years ago.”
“They are more accurate in the morning, but I can always take another one tomorrow.” She laughed weakly. “It’s not like it’s going to be positive anyway, right?”
“What are the chances?” I knew exactly what the chances were, but I wasn’t about to bring them up. Just because chances were slim, didn’tmean she couldn’t be in the small percentage of people whose birth control failed.
“I don’t even have to pee right now, so wish me luck.” She threw the phone on the bed again.
“You don’t have to leave me staring at the ceiling,” I called. “Bring me with you.”
“This is awkward enough. You don’t need to be in here with me,” she called back from farther away. “Hang on, I have to find a disposable cup.” Not sure what else to do with myself, I opened solitaire on my laptop, and started flipping through cards to keep my hands busy.
I could hear her retching again and felt horrible that I wasn’t there to at least rub her back or hold her hair. I tried not to stare at my phone, considering the view wasn’t helpful.
My screen was filled with a lot of aces and kings, but I moved them around randomly, my mind too busy to focus.
I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience—I might remember this moment forever as when I found out I was going to be a father, and I wasn’t even with her. It was stupid to get her to take a test when she had no one there in person.
“Sorry about that.” Her voice almost gave me a heart attack. The phone swooped until I could see her face. She was possibly even paler than before.
“Maybe you should wait until either Loïc or I can be there with you, just in case.”
“Oh sure, now you’re trying to talk me out of testing, after I spent five minutes trying to squeeze out enough pee to take the test.” She laughed. “Quit looking so worried. It’s going to be negative. I'm sure this is food poisoning.”
“Don’t let yourself get dehydrated. Do you want me to have something with electrolytesdelivered to the apartment?”
“I’ve been sipping Gatorade. It’s just a question of whether I can convince it to go down and stay there.”
“I love you, Nymph.”
“I love you, too, Sir.” She gave me a tired smile. An alarm went off, and her eyes widened. “I’m too scared to look.”
We stared at each other. The distance had never felt larger, and yet emotionally we were closer than we’d been since I had moved away.
“What’s the worst thing that can happen, right?” I asked.
“Part of me is excited at the possibility,” she admitted. “Is that horrible?”
“Of course not. It’s something we’ve wanted for years.” The ‘we’ part of that statement might have been a stretch—but, surprisingly, I realized I was more onboard now than I’d ever been.
“And it won’t screw up my show, right?”
“You’re the star. You’re too popular for them to get rid of you, and you have rights.”
She nodded. As she started walking, my stomach dropped, and sweat broke out along my scalp.
“I can’t look.” She gave a high-pitched, nervous giggle—a sound I hadn’t heard from her since we were kids. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only person on the call feeling discombobulated.
“Show me the test, and I’ll tell you.”
