CHAPTER 51 Sophie Summers
One Word
Miller: I’m exhausted after a crazy first day. Heading to bed. Will try to call tomorrow.
That’s it.
No “Love you!”
No “Miss you!”
Nothing. Not even a check-in on how I might be doing. He left exactly zero room for conversation, and the thought leaves me feeling hollow and alone.
I’ve never dealt with feeling alone and abandoned by Miller. He’s always been my rock, but we’ve never been in a situation like this before.
I push those feelings aside and try to be the understanding girlfriend back home. But it feels an awful lot like in doing that, I’m simply being nothing more than a doormat.
And I hate that feeling.
I have to push it aside, though, because I’m releasing a book in three days.
In four days, I’m appearing at the Harts and Harps Book Nook in Las Vegas, which means I need to get packed up and ready for my short trip.
I’m flying in Friday morning, signing in the afternoon, and staying one night before I fly back home on Saturday.
I’m not entirely sure why I booked the trip that way. I could use an extra night or two away. It’s not like I have anything waiting back here for me with Miller gone.
Cassie’s busy with her patients and her kids. Grace is busy with her vineyard. I should be busy writing.
But it’s like when Miller left, so did my muse.
I stare at the blank screen for far too long before I give up.
I close the lid to my laptop and head up to bed, and I lie there staring up at the ceiling as I convince myself that tomorrow I’ll be brave enough to go back to the store and pick a test so I can finally learn the answer to the question that has been on my mind for the last two weeks.
Is two weeks enough time? Do I need to miss a period?
I have no idea, so I Google it. Apparently I could end up with a false negative…but I could also potentially see a positive.
I’m going to give it a try anyway. I can’t stand not knowing for a second longer.
I toss and turn all night, and I force myself to stay in bed until seven. I get up, throw my hair in a ponytail, and head to the store before breakfast.
I pick the one with the electronic readout so there’s no room for questions. I head home. I tear open the box without reading the directions, and I pee on the stick.
And then I sit there on the toilet staring at the screen as an hourglass blinks at me. I should’ve read the directions. I have no idea how long I need to wait. I don’t even know if I peed on the stick right. Maybe I’m supposed to do something different.
I set the test on top of the box, finish up in the bathroom, and wash my hands. I keep my eyes on that blinking hourglass the entire time .
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, and I’m just about to reach for the box with the instructions when the hourglass stops blinking.
My heart leaps into my throat, and a single word appears on the screen: Pregnant .
I exhale as tears pinch behind my eyes.
I’m not sure what to think. I’m not sure what to feel.
My first thought is that apparently two weeks is long enough for a positive. I wonder if I could’ve tested last week. I wonder if I could’ve known sooner—known when he was here so we could be together to learn this news.
Instead, I feel like I’m keeping a secret from him the very second I know the truth.
It’s early. Things could still happen.
But right at this very second, I’m growing Miller Banks’s baby in my stomach, and that’s a thought I never in a million years thought I’d have.
How will this change my life? How will this change things between us? How do I even tell him about this when he’s been pretty upfront about how he feels about having kids?
I slide off the edge of the tub and onto the floor as I start to cry.
What if he resents the baby or resents me or resents our relationship? What if he feels forced into a future he never wanted because of an accident?
How do we get past those very real and very scary issues?
I have none of the answers, but I’m starting to panic as I continue to stare at the single word on that screen.
My chest squeezes tightly as I start to pant.
My stomach rolls over.
I think I’m going to be sick .
I run to the toilet and heave, but nothing comes out. I haven’t eaten yet. I don’t know if I can ever eat again. I have to eat. I’m growing a baby.
I can hardly take care of myself some days. I can’t cook. How do I feed a baby?
How do I take care of another human?
How do I do any of this…alone?
I sit on the bathroom floor for a few seconds as I gasp and try to heave in gulps of air.
I finally draw in a long, steady breath.
I need to call Miller. I know I can’t tell him this over the phone, but I need to hear his voice. I need him to tell me everything’s going to be okay even though he has no idea what’s going on.
I press his contact, and the phone rings. And rings. And rings. It goes to voicemail after six rings.
I don’t bother with a message. It’s probably better he didn’t answer. It’s better he doesn’t hear the panic in my voice right now. I need to calm down.
A cup of coffee will help.
I run down to the kitchen, start the Keurig, and breathe in the heavenly scent of a fresh cup of coffee.
I tip the mug to my lips, and that’s when I freeze.
Fuck. I never got the answer to the question of whether it’s okay to drink coffee when I’m pregnant.
It’s one more thing I have no idea about. One more thing I may potentially have to sacrifice. One more thing that makes me feel helpless, clueless, and overwhelmed.
I need to make an appointment to see a doctor.
I need to research.
I have a book releasing in three days.
Oh, God. I think I’m going to throw up.