Chapter 16 #2
I mean, I know how it happened, but what I don’t understand is why. I’m on the pill and have faithfully taken it since I was sixteen years old. I haven’t missed a day in years, even when I was sick a few weeks ago.
Parking in my garage, I get out and head inside with my purchase in hand. My legs feel heavy, like an inmate walking on death row, which sounds completely dramatic, even for me.
With an exhale, I stop by the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. I chug half the contents, making sure my bladder has the necessary fluids in it to achieve maximum stick peeage.
A big part of me wants to drag my feet. I mean, if I don’t take the test, it’s not positive, right? But I know that won’t cut the mustard, because now the seed is planted, I have to know. It’s the only thing that makes sense, and if I’m pregnant, I want to know now.
What happens after that can wait for a bit.
I head for the bathroom and remove the tests from the bag. I read over the instructions, noting how foolproof it seems to be. I mean, pee on a stick, replace the cap, set it on the counter, and wait. Seems pretty straightforward, but that doesn’t stop me from reading the directions a second time.
Then, I grab a stick and do my business.
When I replace the cap and set the used test on a strip of toilet paper on the vanity, I take a step back and try to breathe normally. My heart is pounding so loud, I’m sure the neighbors can hear it through the walls.
It says results can take three minutes, but when I check my watch and note it’s been about sixty seconds, I go ahead and glance at the test anyway.
That’s when everything inside me seizes up.
My heart stops beating, my lungs stop moving oxygen, my brain doesn’t seem to process anything but that single word in the display screen.
Pregnant.
Tears fill my eyes as the implications of this moment hit hard.
I’m going to have a baby.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, doing everything I can to wrap my head around this monumental moment. My hands shake as I pick up the test and reread the display. In a third of the time suggested for the pee to do its thing in the test, it confirmed what I’ve already known at heart.
I’m pregnant.
With Quinn’s baby.
I already know he’s the father, because there has been no one else in recent months, let alone the last couple or so weeks.
What I don’t get is how? Yes, we had unprotected sex, but I’m taking the pill.
The entire time I dated Richard, we didn’t use contraceptives and never got pregnant.
The pill did what the pill was designed to do.
I toss the test in the trash and wash my shaky hands.
When they’re dry, I grab my phone and stare at the screen.
There are two people I want to call right now.
My mom is the first person. She’d know what to do, and while I know there’d be no judgment from her, I know she’d want to know who the father is.
And I’m just not ready to tackle that particular conversation yet.
So, instead, I tap my ride or die’s name.
Me
911 emergency. I need you.
Her response comes almost immediately.
Sommer
Where?
Me
My condo.
Sommer
On my way.
I slip my phone into my pocket and walk to the kitchen.
I’m hungry, but I’m not sure I could keep anything down right now.
I didn’t eat too much earlier today, thanks to feeling queasy from the moment I woke up until I had a strawberry-banana smoothie and a blueberry muffin from the coffee shop.
Even after the queasiness subsided, in the back of my mind, I knew what the cause was, so when I had a break just after lunchtime, I went down to the diner and ordered some chicken and dumpling soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.
Now, that food has worn off and I really need to eat again.
However, my nerves over the impending conversation have me holding off on reheating leftovers or finding something quick and easy in the freezer.
Instead, I open a sleeve of saltine crackers and grab the jar of peanut butter from the pantry.
I’m slathering a scoop of peanut butter onto my third cracker when my front door opens.
“I brought a first aid kit and a bottle of vodka,” Sommer declares, practically sprinting into the kitchen and giving me a once-over. “Okay, well, I don’t see hemorrhaging, so I shouldn’t need this, right?” she asks, holding up the kit.
“No,” I reply, chewing the cracker.
“Okay, good, because I’m not a big fan of blood.” She sets it on my counter. “Vodka it is.”
“Uhh,” I mutter, running my hand over the top of my head and adjusting my ponytail. “Stop.”
Sommer looks over at me, hand in my cabinet as she was preparing to retrieve glasses.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I can’t drink.”
“What? I know you’re not a huge fan of vodka, but I was out of tequila. It’s okay though because we’ll mix it with lemonade and it’ll be f—”
“No, Sommer,” I blurt out, cutting her off. “I can’t drink. At least not for nine months,” I whisper.
She looks confused for a few seconds but then gets what I’m saying. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah,” I reply, tears filling my eyes once more.
Spinning around, she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the kitchen table. “You’re…pregnant?”
I nod. “Took a test right before I messaged you.”
“Well, I mean, it could be a false positive,” she says weakly.
“Yeah, but the word pregnant appeared on the test in under a minute. I’m pretty sure that’s telling. Plus, I’ve been so tired lately and my boobs hurt. Not to mention I was really nauseous this morning.”
“How late are you?”
“Four days.”
“Wow. Is it…”
“Yeah, it’s his. He’s the only one…”
She nods in understanding. “What now?”
“I don’t know, Sommer,” I reply softly, closing my eyes and trying to picture the next steps.
“Well, I’m here for you,” she assures me, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand.
I look up, meeting her gaze. “I have to tell him.”
“Yeah,” she replies with a small grin. “But there’s no hurry, you know.”
“I don’t want to wait.”
“No, but you can take a few days and wrap your head around the news. Nothing’s going to change that quickly. Tell him when you’ve had some time to think and breathe.”
Pesky tears fill my eyes once more, and I swipe the stray ones that fall away. “How do I do it? How do I tell him?”
She shrugs. “Hell if I know. I mean, you could try the one thing that got you into this mess. Men always pay better attention when their dick’s getting played with.”
I snort and shake my head. “That’s not going to happen ever again.”
She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Never say never, my friend. I saw that sexed-up glow you wore on your face afterward.”
I shake my head, trying to dislodge those images her words suddenly conjured up. The last thing I need to think about is the nights that got me into this particular situation. “I don’t know how this happened, Sommer. I’ve been on the pill and taken it correctly.”
“Did you use—”
Again, I shake my head. “No,” I answer, embarrassment sweeping through me. I know better than to have unprotected sex, even while on birth control.
“Oh. Oh! Charli! You were sick and on antibiotics.”
My mouth drops open as the timeline pieces click together.
I started on those antibiotics a few weeks ago.
I was still taking them the first time we went at it in my massage studio.
That also would have been about a week after I finished my period, putting me at prime baby-making time on the ovulation scale.
“Shit, fuck, shit!”
After a few minutes, she squeezes my hand a second time. “I know this is scary and a huge shock, but can I just say…you’re gonna be a kick-ass mom.”
My first real smile spreads across my face. “Yeah?”
“Oh for sure! Wanna hear what else I know?” she asks, and when I nod, continues. “This baby is going to be so loved. No matter what Quinn decides to do, you have a strong support system behind you.”
I nod, knowing she’s completely right. They’ll probably be overwhelming and overprotective, but it will come from a good place. The best of places. Because they love me unconditionally.
I just hope they don’t go overboard when I tell them I’m pregnant.
And not just that…
When I tell them who the father is.