Chapter 8
Cole
LYDIA DOESN’T SPARE me a glance during the wedding pictures. She’s reapplied her makeup since I saw her in the bathroom, and if it weren’t for the way she touches her stomach every now and again you could never tell she’d been throwing up in the bathroom an hour ago. I really butchered my apology in there, and I wonder if she’ll give me a chance to try again. I was just so thrown by Ashley’s sudden appearance. I’d known she’d be at the wedding since she and Delia had become friends over the course of my relationship with Ashley, but having her barge in right as I was about to recite the most heartfelt apology of my life definitely messed up my mojo. I’m shocked she wants to get back together after the way she ended things, but I can’t think about that now. I have something akin to a primal instinct to speak to Lydia.
The photographer dismisses the wedding party so she can move onto shots of just the happy couple, and everyone starts to head inside where the caterers have started setting up appetizers. I zero in on Lydia, busy typing something on her phone. Seizing the moment, I make my way over to her.
“Hey, can we talk?”
She jumps a mile high at my voice, dropping her phone into the grass in the process. I swoop down to get it, and she practically shrieks at me to just leave it and she’ll get it. But it’s too late. My fingers have already closed around the phone, and I’ve seen what’s on the screen. She has it open to a screen with large blue letters that read, “Due Date Calculator.” Due date? A bunch of pieces start falling into place like Plinko chips hitting their mark. The vomiting. The touching of her stomach. The due date calculator. She and I having sex a month ago. Me being the only guy she’s ever slept with. The due date calculator.
“You’re pregnant?” My shock makes the words come out in a whisper, but she still whips her head around, fearful someone’s heard.
“Shh,” she snaps. “Let's go somewhere else and talk about this.”
Silently, because I seem to have lost the ability to speak, I follow her all the way to the parking lot and into the backseat of the limo we took to get here from the church.
“Listen,” she says as soon as the door is shut, “I don’t know for sure, okay? I just…” She swallows. “I just think I am.”
“What do you mean you think you are?” Apparently, I’ve found my voice. “Didn’t you take a test?”
She flushes. “Excuse me if I’ve been a little preoccupied with other things today and haven’t gotten around to it.”
I stare incredulously at her, then I turn and rap on the glass, hoping the limo driver is still up there. A second later he lowers the divider.
“Hey, can you drive us to the nearest drugstore?” I ask him. “There’s a big tip in it for you.”
The limo driver just nods, then raises the divider once more.
“Typical man throwing money at a problem,” Lydia mutters. “You do realize we have a reception to go to.”
“Josh and Delia will be taking photos for another thirty minutes at least.” I brush off her concern. “No one will even miss us.”
In response she just crosses her arms across her chest and stares out the window, but now that I’ve started talking, I can’t stop.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “We had sex a month ago. How are you just now realizing that you might be pregnant?”
Thunder flashes across her eyes. “Excuse me, but since that sex you so casually speak of, was my first and only time, you shouldn’t find it hard to believe that I don’t give much thought to the timeliness of my period. I’ve never had to worry about being pregnant before.”
“Okay, fine,” I relent. “So what? You just started throwing up today and suddenly realized your period was two weeks late?”
“Yup.” She raises her eyebrows and moves her head side to side along her neck, like she’s daring me to question her further.
I open my mouth to reply, then promptly shut it. There’s just nothing left to say. It’s not as if her finding out a week earlier would have changed the fact that she’s almost certainly pregnant. A new realization hits me, and I sink back against the seat as all of the fight leaves my body. I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve been having sex for years without any consequences and now, when I’m only seven months away from achieving a goal I’ve had for even longer than that, it’s all going to come crashing down. Because of one infuriating woman.
“Cole?” Lydia’s voice is anxious now. She’s sensed the change in me.
I know I should put aside my own feelings and worry about her, but I just can’t seem to get past all of the ways this is going to affect me . So instead of doing the right thing and offering her even an iota of emotional support, I say tightly, “Let’s just get the test.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence. When we arrive I’m about to offer to go in and grab the test for her, but then I spot a teenager snapping photos of her friends. Even all the way down here in Florida, thousands of miles from Michigan, fear grips me. I can picture the news headline if someone were to spot me, or worse, take a picture of me buying a pregnancy test. Unwed Mayoral Candidate Impregnates One Night Stand . I’d be kissing my family values platform goodbye.
“I’ll wait here,” I tell her. She shoots me a surprised look that turns into a frown, but doesn’t push it.
I watch her go, regret and anxiety twisting my stomach into knots.
She takes so long inside that I start to wonder if she decided to take the test in the store’s bathroom, but when she finally emerges her facial expression gives nothing away. She just marches across the parking lot with a plastic bag in one hand and, curiously enough, a jug of orange juice tucked under her other arm.
“Did you take the test?” I ask her as soon as she’s closed the door behind her.
She frowns at me. “What? In there?” She indicates the drug store. “No way. I’m not telling our potential future child that I found out that I was pregnant with them inside a CVS restroom with toilet paper all over the floor.”
I ignore the tremor of panic that ran through me when she said “our child” and ask, “Then what took so long?”
She bristles. “If you must know, I was talking to the cashier. She was kind enough to give me some morning sickness tips.” She dumps out the contents of the bag, and I see that in addition to the test, she’s also purchased a bottle of B6 vitamins and a sleep aid called Unisom. Weird, but not important right now .
“You talked to the cashier?” I exclaim, remembering Josh’s earlier jokes about her comradery with a cashier named Hilda. “You didn’t tell her about me, did you?”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Now that you mention it, yes I did. I asked her if she too had slept with a world-class jerk named Cole Jacobson.”
I scowl at her. “Listen, I can’t have it out there for the world that I got someone pregnant, okay?”
“And, by the world,” she slumps back against her seat, “I assume you mean Ashley Allen.”
I cock my head at her. I hadn’t even thought about how Ashley factors into all of this. Obviously she won’t be happy, but I have more important things to think about. Like my campaign.
“I’m not worried about Ashley,” is all I say.
“Whatever. I’m really not concerned about your love life.” She raps on the divider. “Hey, Joe,” she says to the limo driver, who I had no idea we were on a first name basis with, “would you be a dear and drive us back to the reception hall now?”
“Of course, Lydia.” Joe nods. “You want a cup for that orange juice, because we have cups in that little compartment there.” He indicates a covered storage area between the seats.
Lydia positively beams. “Wow, thanks, Joe. That’s exactly what I need.”
“Any time, Lydia.” Joe smiles back, then rolls the divider back up.
I gape at her.
“What?” she asks as she removes a cup from the compartment.
“Do you talk to everyone?” I ask her incredulously.
“I like people, Cole,” she says, like I’m a recluse who hides when the doorbell rings.
“Yeah, I like people too,” I tell her, automatically reaching over to help her with the seal on the orange juice when I see her struggling with it, “but I also respect their privacy.”
“I can do it.” She tugs the juice back from me, but I’ve already gotten the seal partially off, so some sloshes onto the skirt of her dress forming a quarter-sized stain.
“Great, so that’s two outfits you’ve ruined now,” she huffs.
“Just trying to help,” I tell her, putting my hands up in surrender.
“I think you’ve helped enough,” she retorts, gesturing to her stomach.
I snort, annoyed by her snarky tone. “You really have no idea what’s at stake for me here, do you?”
“What’s at stake for you ?” She’s appalled. “I’m sorry I must’ve missed the part of this where you’re the one who’s about to find out if your uterus is going to grow to 500 times its original size over the next eight months.”
She’s right, but I still can’t stop myself from biting back. There’s just something about Lydia that works me up. “Yeah, well I’m sorry you might have to go up a few dress sizes, but I’ve got my entire political career to think about here. ”
She recoils as if I’ve hit her. “I might go up a few dress sizes?” She shakes her head disdainfully at me. “You chauvinistic pi–” she breaks off, her brow furrowing. “Wait, did you just say your political career?”
Before I can answer there’s a loud ringing noise, and both of us reach for our simultaneously ringing phones.
“Noo,” she moans, “it’s my mom.”
“Mine’s Josh.” Clearly we’ve been missed. I glance out the window and thankfully we’re turning into the parking lot. We both forget our argument as the limo pulls up to the reception hall’s entrance.
“Thanks, Joe!” Lydia calls, blowing a kiss his way as we dash out of the car. I resist the urge to comment, hating the fact that despite how easily Lydia gets under my skin, I wish she would talk that way to me. Nicely, I mean. Like she doesn’t hate that she’s breathing in the same oxygen as me.
We scramble through the front doors, Lydia discreetly tucking the bag with her purchases into her purse.
“There you are!” Her mom hangs up her phone and storms over to us. “Cole,” she says, “was Lydia keeping you? I swear, honey, first you throw up and now you’re holding up the entire start of the reception. It’s like you’re trying to ruin Josh’s wedding.”
This is so blatantly unfair that I can’t help but speak up. “Mrs. Hamlin, with all due respect, Lydia has been feeling under the weather all day and still managed to put on a brave face for the sake of her brother. I hardly think she should be accused of trying to ruin the day.”
I swear both women’s jaws drop to the floor. Mrs. Hamlin has always liked me though, so I’m not too surprised when she simply sighs. “Well alright then. I'm sorry, Lydia. I suppose I got a bit carried away. What matters is that you’re here now. Chop chop.” She gestures us forward. Lydia shoots me a “how did you do that?” look, and I just shrug. Her mom may like me now, but if that test comes back positive, I guarantee I won’t even be on their Christmas card list.