Chapter 9
Tessa
Weirdly, no one seems to notice that I haven’t said a word for over an hour in the car, where I’m sandwiched between Hazel and Callie. Hannah is driving, and Dylan is sitting in front, telling Hannah to change lanes and pass slower cars every five seconds.
Yes, it would make more sense for her to drive, but at least with Hannah behind the wheel, we have a better chance of survival.
Throughout our drive, most of the discussion has been about whether Benson Boone should get rid of his mustache. Callie acted personally offended at the suggestion, which led to a long discussion about facial hair in general.
That brought my mind back to Fitz and the way his two-day scruff felt under my fingertips. Even though it was a month ago, I can feel the sensory overload like it’s happening right now, and a ripple of goose bumps tickles my skin.
Now that I’ve had some time to rethink my proposal to oversee the renovation of the ranch, I wonder if a part of me hopes to run into Fitz again if I spend time at Loveland Ranch. Hannah hits a bump, and a new slosh of nausea reminds me that I have a bigger issue at hand.
“Did you all eat Grandma Ann’s tuna?” I ask, putting a hand on my stomach to encourage its contents to stay inside me until we can stop at a restroom.
“I did,” Hannah says. “Did she do something different this time? I swear, it used to have a crunch to it. Celery, right? This time, I think she used pickle relish.”
I immediately regret the question because the discussion of pickle anything makes me feel worse. “Could we pull off for a quick bathroom break?”
My sisters groan the same way they did when we were little, and we tried to take a road trip. No sooner had we left a rest stop than one of us would need a bathroom.
“Hold it,” Dylan barks from the back.
“Not healthy,” Callie singsongs next to me. “Haven’t you heard of a UTI?”
“Oh yeah. And I know exactly how you get one. Tessa, you having sex with a new dude?”
My face gets hot, and I look out the window.
“Please, guys. I’ll be quick,” I beg, fighting a feeling of dread.
The nausea has been getting worse. I didn’t think much two days ago, when the smell of a bagel made me gag, but now…
the thudding of my heart coincides with my stomach flipping over itself.
No, it can’t be…
The night with Fitz…
When was that…exactly?
I start doing a little mental calculation of the date when we were at the ranch for my birthday, which was a month ago. My mouth goes dry, and my pulse goes into overdrive.
Fitz and I used protection. I’d know if something went awry…wouldn’t I?
It’s day twenty-nine without a period. I know, I know. Who gets to day twenty-nine without worrying about an accidental pregnancy? Me. I’m the one with the irregular cycle and the not-regular sex life who doesn’t usually give it a thought.
Only I’m thinking about it plenty right now, calculating when I may have been ovulating. The weekend at the ranch is pretty much right on the money.
As soon as we pull into a mini mall near the freeway, I race inside a Starbucks and rid myself of Grandma Ann’s tuna, along with any thought that this is plain old food poisoning. My hands shake, and my stomach gurgles with an uncomfortable queasiness. It’s not just my stomach that’s upset.
My breasts ache, and my lower abdomen feels full like I’m about to get my period. I mean, maybe that’s what’s going on. I should calm down. I’m just letting my imagination get carried away.
I wipe down my face with a wet towel and look at my watery eyes in the mirror. How did this happen?
Well, I know how, obviously. But also…how?
I drift back to those few minutes of lust when I wanted Fitz so badly that I almost didn't insist on using a condom.
His hands on my skin…
His breath on my neck…
How every electron in my body was pairing up with his protons…and how I didn’t want it to end…
At least he had the good sense to stop, but the tiny inkling in my brain persists. What if we didn't get that condom on soon enough?
When I make it back to the car, I do a heroic acting job, smiling and thanking my sisters profusely for putting up with my “tiny bladder” and grit my teeth for the rest of the ride home.
The moment Hannah drops me off at my driveway, however, I go straight to my Jeep and race off to the pharmacy for a couple of pregnancy tests. Yes, a couple. In case I need to take it again to be sure.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m peeing on a stick and starting a timer.
Then I start pacing. And checking the stopwatch on my phone. I know it’s too soon, but my anxiety ratchets up, and I want the hands of time to speed up.
Forcing myself out of the bathroom, I walk to the kitchen and chug an entire glass of water before checking the time again. Still a minute left.
I take out a nail file, but I can’t focus on such a mundane task, so I toss it aside and sit there watching the timer run down until it gets to zero.
Seconds later, I take a deep breath, hold a hand against my chest, and look at the stick.
And there it is, a little pink plus sign staring back at me.
My chest feels tight, and I struggle to breathe. My pulse must be in the thousands, and I’m sweating bullets. But it’s my brain that’s lagging here, unable to process what I’m seeing.
I’m pregnant.
I look at the other pregnancy test in the bag and contemplate a redo. These things are wrong all the time, right?
Right?!
Blinking at myself in the mirror, I see a woman panicked at the most basic womanly life event because I’m still struggling to understand how this happened. I didn’t plan it. And I plan everything.
A wave of dizziness hits, so I sit on the bathroom floor and experiment with some breathing exercises, focusing on breathing in, holding my breath for three seconds, then exhaling. Finally, my pulse slows a tiny bit, and I feel steady enough to stand.
I’ve spent my whole adult life, and a good part of my youth, for that matter, being a responsible workhorse in the family, thinking of everyone’s needs, putting them before my own. I’ve looked out for my siblings because they’re the only family I’ll ever have.
And with my focus on work and my lackluster experiences with men, I didn’t put great odds on creating a family of my own.
I’m not the kind of person who gets knocked up with a surprise pregnancy.
Then again, I’m not the one who runs off for a one-night stand with a hot cowboy.
Or maybe I am. Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I thought.
And amid the overall feeling of freaking out at the prospect of impending parenthood, a part of me likes the newer version of myself that I’m getting to know.
She’s interesting. She goes home with the cowboy.
She gets excited about legal cases. She offers to renovate a decrepit ranch when she has no idea how to do that.
Oh, and she’s pregnant with a cowboy’s baby.
Don’t all send your congratulations at once.