Chapter 7 Savannah
Chapter seven
Savannah
Three days of waking up wrapped in Oliver’s arms, of his hand never leaving my belly when he thinks I’m asleep. Three days of stolen kisses in hallways, of whispered I love yous against bare skin, of him tracing the tiny swell under my sweater like he still can’t believe it’s real.
I’m standing in front of his bedroom mirror, trying to tame my sex-hair into something that doesn’t scream I just spent two hours letting your brother worship every inch of me, when the door creaks open behind me.
Ellie freezes in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide. I’m wearing Oliver’s black Henley and panties. My lips are swollen, my neck has a fresh mark just below my jaw, and my hair looks like I stuck my finger in a socket.
For one horrifying second, we just stare at each other.
Then Ellie’s face splits into the biggest, most evil grin I’ve ever seen.
“Oh. My. God.” She kicks the door shut with her heel. “You little harlot. Three days. Three whole days I thought you were ‘napping’ in the blue room.”
Heat floods my face. “Ellie—”
“Don’t even try.” She barrels across the room, grabs my wrist, and drags me out into the hall before I can protest. “Guest room. Now. You are spilling everything.”
She shoves me into the blue room, the one I haven’t slept in since Oliver and I made up, and locks the door behind us.
I open my mouth to lie, but the second I meet her eyes, the words die. I’m tired of lying to my best friend.
I sit on the edge of the unmade bed, pull the Henley down around my knees, and take the deepest breath I’ve taken in months.
“I’m pregnant,” I say.
The room goes perfectly still.
Ellie blinks. Once. Twice. Then she screams and launches herself at me.
“You’re pregnant?!” She tackles me backward onto the mattress, hugging me so hard I can’t breathe. “I’m gonna be an aunt?! Oh my God, oh my God, Savannah!”
I laugh through the tears that are suddenly pouring down my face. “Ten weeks. Halloween. It’s… It’s Oliver’s.”
She pulls back just far enough to look at me, eyes shining. “Obviously.” Then she smiles, “You’re going to be my sister.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “Like, actually my sister.”
I nod, crying harder. “Yeah. I mean, he hasn’t proposed or anything, but he loves me, El. He says it every five minutes like he’s making up for lost time. I love him so much it hurts.”
Ellie wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I knew it. I knew the second I saw the two of you together. He’s never been like this. Not with anyone.”
We’re both sobbing now, hugging and rocking like idiots, when the door flies open.
Mrs. Adams stands in the threshold in a red apron dusted with flour, wooden spoon in hand, looking like she’s aged ten years in ten seconds.
“Girls?” Her voice wobbles. “What on earth, Savannah, sweetheart, why are you crying? Eleanor, what did you do?”
Ellie doesn't pause before blurting out the news. “Mom, Savannah’s having a baby! Oliver’s baby! I’m gonna be an aunt!”
The spoon clatters to the floor as Mrs. Adams’s hands fly to her mouth. Her eyes fill so fast that tears spill over instantly.
“A baby?” she whispers.
I nod, biting my lip.
She crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into her arms like I’m still the scraped-knee ten-year-old who used to cry in her kitchen over broken cookies. Only this time she’s the one crying.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she says, rocking me. “A baby.”
Ellie is jumping on the balls of her feet, clapping like a maniac. “It’s a Christmas miracle! We need champagne! Wait, no, ginger ale for Sav. And cake! Mom, we have to make that coconut cake Grandpa loved—”
Mrs. Adams pulls back just far enough to cup my face, tears streaming. “Are you happy, darling? Tell me you’re happy.”
I look at her and reassure her I am. Terrified, overwhelmed, but so, so happy.
“I’m happy,” I say, and it doesn’t even shake.
Mrs. Adams kisses my forehead, then my cheeks, then pulls Ellie into the hug too until we’re a tangled, sobbing, laughing pile on the guest bed.
Ellie wipes her face on my shoulder. “I’m calling dibs on godmother. And I’m teaching this kid every embarrassing story about you two from age zero to now.”
I groan. “Ellie.”
Somewhere down the hall, I hear Oliver’s heavy footsteps. I smile through the tears, hand instinctively going to the tiny curve under the borrowed Henley.
He hasn’t proposed yet, but he will. When he does, I’ll be ready.