Chapter 19
HOLLY
Since Dexter’s busy tonight, I eat dinner alone: two oversized slices of cheese-y pizza and then a third I wasn’t planning on, but here we are. I’m halfway through when my phone vibrates.
FaceTime: Shelby.
Finally! We exchanged a text or two earlier this week, but Mom was visiting her, so this is the first real chance to talk. I wipe my fingers and answer.
Her face pops up, framed by glorious bedhead and a fluffy green robe.
“Look who’s awake,” I say. “Isn’t it like one in the morning over there?”
“I was asleep,” she says, mug in hand. “Then I started thinking about my favorite sister and her science experiment.”
“Very funny.”
“So?” she asks. “Any signs? Morning sickness? Sore boobs? Mood swings? Weird cravings?”
I shake my head. “Nope, not a thing. But I’m pregnant, without a doubt.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know?”
Shrugging, I say, “I just do.”
“You planning to take a test sometime before the baby’s due?”
“Tomorrow morning. Dexter’s coming over. We’re doing breakfast after.”
“Breakfast and a pregnancy test. Sexy.”
“He wanted to be there when I found out. I didn’t expect that, but it was... sweet. In a controlling, Dexter sort of way. But he’s trying to stay out of it, I can tell. I told him I’m making the decisions, and he agreed.”
“‘Agreed’ or ‘gritted his teeth and nodded’?”
I grin. “A little of both.”
She leans in, playing it casual. “So… any details you’d like to share about the night?”
“A lady never kisses and tells.”
“Oh, bugger off. Spill it. I’m an old hag with eye bags and three kids—let me live vicariously, slut.”
I smirk. “A lady. Never. Tells.”
“You were never a lady.”
“I am now,” I say, holding my chin high, and stuff the last piece of pizza into my mouth.
“Right then. Quickfire round.” Shelby taps a finger against the table, teacher through and through. “Yes or no answers only.”
“All right, go ahead.” I mentally scroll through my dessert options and head for the freezer.
“Was it over in under a minute?”
“No.”
“Full nudity?”
“Yes.”
“And his—” she tips her head, gestures low “—gentleman’s credentials? Showstopper?”
The kids must be within earshot. Shelby usually doesn’t censor herself unless she has to. I just grin at her question. Some things speak for themselves.
“Thought so. Have you done it again since?”
“No.” I open the freezer door.
She gives me a look. “Really?”
I start rummaging in the freezer for any trace of ice cream. “No.”
“Shame. Are things weird now?”
“No.”
“Good.” I glimpse Shelby leaning in on the screen, elbows braced, hands clasped. “Do you want to do it again?”
I hesitate.
“I knew it. You paused. Dead giveaway.”
“I’m not doing anything, Shelby. It was supposed to be a one-time thing.”
“Darling, people say that about tequila, too.”
I roll my eyes and grab the first thing that’ll hit the spot. “I’m moving soon. This isn’t the time to get... entangled.”
“Then don’t get entangled. Just get laid.”
With the pizza demolished, the cherry ice cream tub scraped clean, and Titanic sunk—again—I’m stuffed, emotionally wrung out, and officially wiped.
I peel myself off the couch, brush my teeth, and shuffle toward bed with my phone, debating whether I have the energy to scroll or just pass out.
Dexter’s text pops up.
Dexter:
What time are you taking the test tomorrow?
Of course. Apparently, Type A brain needs it scheduled, down to the minute.
Me:
Whenever I wake up. Around eight, probably.
A few seconds pass.
Dexter:
Good. I’ll be there.
No question. No “if that’s okay,” just a fact. After a moment comes another text.
Dexter:
Nervous?
I pause too long, and he beats me to it.
Dexter:
Don’t be. Whatever happens, I’m right here.
I send him a smile emoji. After that, I lock my phone, set it on the nightstand, and exhale. Tomorrow everything could change. Or nothing will.
The smell of coffee wakes me.
I blink, groggy. There’s noise coming from the kitchen. I stretch, and remember: Dexter. The test. This morning. When I walk out, he’s there in a crisp black shirt, black tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up. His jacket is folded neatly over one of my chairs.
He doesn’t look up. “You were out of food,” he says, pouring coffee. “Handled it.”
He hands me a mug. His hand brushes mine.
I take a sip. “Dexter. I’m a big girl. I’m capable of grocery shopping.”
“You are, but let’s not pretend you’ll do it. Now you don’t have to.” He takes a sip of his espresso.
I raise a brow. “Bossy.”
He shrugs. “Prepared.”
“You even get the apple juice?”
“Got it imported.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Correction: Persistent. Resourceful. Unpredictable.”
I recognize the words instantly. They’re from a TIME article that once tried to sum him up. Whether it bothered him, or pleased him, I never figured out. “You kept the flattering parts.”
“I kept the parts that mattered.”
I glance down at my cup and show him my hand, fingers trembling. “I’m nervous. You?”
He takes it, presses a kiss to my knuckles. “I’m not.”
Geez.
“Hungry?” He steps to the fridge, and when he opens it, I freeze.
It’s full. Like, genuinely stocked: fresh produce, oat milk, almond yogurt.
On the counter next to the fridge, I see that stupid vegan granola I like that’s always sold out, and even the overpriced cashew butter I pretend not to care about.
Oh! And he even got some fancy bread with all the seeds in it.
“When did you do all this?” I ask, reaching past him to grab the creamer.
“You can get a lot done when you don’t sleep till eight.”
“Yeah, but at what cost?” I mutter, yawning. The truth is, I slept like crap. Nerves, mostly. My stomach’s been in a knot since 3 a.m.
He glances at me. “Want some avocado toast or not?”
“I always want food.”
He nods. “Coming right up.”
“Thank you. For the groceries. For the coffee. For… all of this.” I take a sip. “And while you do that, I’ll go pee on a stick.”
“Do your thing.”
“Your life would be so boring without me,” I chirp and set the mug down.
“So boring,” he rumbles, peeling the avocado.
In the bathroom, I set the test on the counter, take a breath, and start to get it over with. The nerves are there, coiled just under my ribs, but so is a strange certainty. I feel pregnant. This is just a formality.
I wash my hands, hum a little.
Then glance down.
Negative.
I reread the box just to be sure. Maybe I read it wrong and missed something.
But I didn’t. If I was pregnant, there would be two red lines. The test I took only shows one. Which means I’m not pregnant.
Damn.
I was so sure. The timing had been right. My body felt different. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the test, frozen. It’s like my brain short-circuited somewhere between “sure thing” and “not this time.”
A knock breaks the silence.
“You good in there?” Dexter’s voice is calm, but not casual.
I can’t answer, my throat is too tight.
Another knock, followed by the door creaking open. “Holly?”
He steps in, sees the test stick in my hand, and doesn’t say a word.
He just crosses the space, takes it from me, checks it himself…
and doesn’t say anything. After a breath, he sets it on the counter and pulls me straight into his arms. He gathers me in close, and tucks my head against his shoulder where I can breathe him in.
“I’m sorry, princess,” he says low.
That’s when the tears hit, harder than I expected. I press my face into his chest and grip his shirt like I’m drowning.
“I really thought I was,” I whisper.
“I know.” His hand cradles the back of my head now, fingers firm. “Look on the bright side,” he says, his voice lighter.
I sniff. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“We just have to try again. Harder.”
That pulls a small, choked laugh out of me. “Harder, huh?”
He presses his forehead against mine. “Exactly.” His thumb swipes gently across my cheek. “No holding back. Full commitment. We go all in.”
The tears stop when I have to snort. I look up at him through blurry lashes.
“We keep going and going and going.” He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Until it happens.”
That shouldn’t make my heart flutter. But it does.
He leans in slightly. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, and maybe I want him to. But he doesn’t. Instead, he presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes like he’s making a vow.
I don’t breathe.
“You want just the avocado on your toast, or should I load it up?” he murmurs.
I nod. “You’re already here, might as well go big.”
He gives me one more squeeze, and walks out without waiting for a thank you.
I stare after him.
With a deep breath, I toss the test in the trash and exhale.
It’s okay. It doesn’t always happen the first time. I hop into the shower. This isn’t the end of the world.