Chapter 7 #4
‘No, they were mine. Well, they were yours, technically. I stole some from your bedroom over the summer.’
‘Babe.’ She slowly rises until we’re eye to eye. There’s panic in her gaze. ‘Those were so old. They were from before Peter had a vasectomy.’
My stomach drops to my knees. That was four years ago, right after Lila was born. I didn’t even think to check the expiration date. ‘You could have told me that!’
‘I didn’t know you were going to steal them and fuck Zaid Yousef with them!’
‘Can you please stop saying that?’
‘I’m still trying to cope with it!’
‘How do you think I’m feeling?’ I shout back.
Silence hangs after my outburst as the realization settles in.
‘You have options,’ Edith says after a few seconds, her hand finding mine without looking down. She runs her thumb over my knuckles before squeezing gently. ‘Do you want to talk about them?’
I pause, my throat tight, then shake my head.
Despite the strange, stressful, and genuinely unbelievable circumstances, I made my choice the second I saw the positive tests.
I’ve wanted this for so, so long. I’ve wanted every part of it, from the good bits – first kicks, sleepy snuggles, and adorable useless little shoes – to the not-as-great – like morning sickness, sleep regression, and the terrible twos.
It’s an adventure I’ve been excited to go on for ages.
And I’ve finally gotten my wish in the wildest way possible.
A watery laugh bursts free, and I slap a hand over my mouth to contain my joy. ‘I’m going to have a baby,’ I exhale when I drop my hand again.
We lock eyes and stare for a moment – and then we’re screaming and hugging and I’m pretty sure Edith is crying even though I know she’ll deny it if I ask.
I slump against her when we’re done celebrating, my arms around her waist and my head on her shoulder like we’re slow dancing.
She rests her cheek against my hair and lets me lean, neither of us speaking as we sway.
Eventually, she murmurs, ‘You have to tell him. Even if you don’t want anything from him—’
‘I don’t,’ I interrupt, because the plan has always been to do this on my own.
‘—he deserves to know and to make his own decisions about how involved he wants to be.’
I nod reluctantly against the soft cotton of her shirt. ‘I know, but . . . when would I tell him? Where?’ I pull back to look at her. ‘He’s in a new country every week and this is not a conversation I’m having over the phone.’
I may not want to share the news on a call, but the idea of seeing Zaid in person again has my heart threatening to pound out of my chest. Honestly, I thought I’d never see him again except maybe in passing, like at a sponsor event or if I ever got the chance to return to the paddock.
It would have been casual and brief, nothing more than a head nod or a wave before moving on, and I’d be content with the memories of our one perfect night but not dare to get that close again.
I’d absolutely spend more time with him if I had a guarantee that no one would know or care.
I’d drag him to more outrageously themed places and feed him guilty pleasure foods all day long just to watch him fight a smile and lose every time.
I want to get to know him better. I want to open his book and read each page carefully.
But it’s a risk I already know the consequences of, and I can’t put myself through it again.
When I tell him the news in person, I’m going to have to be so careful not to let myself get sucked into his orbit, despite now being tied together in this borderline miraculous way.
Edith moves me until we’re both sitting on the edge of the bathtub, then pulls her phone from the back pocket of her trousers to bring up the grand prix schedule. ‘After Australia, he’ll be in Japan, then China. I’m guessing you don’t want to fly to Asia . . .’
I sigh. ‘I’d prefer not flying sixteen hours when I feel like shit.’
‘Understandable.’ She scrolls farther. ‘He’ll be in Miami at the beginning of May. We could do it then if you don’t want to hunt him down in the weeks he might be back at the Mascort factory.’
May. I’ll be out of my first trimester by then – out of the woods when it comes to a higher probability of miscarriage.
I can only hope nothing horrible happens, but there’s always a chance, and waiting to share the news is the safest bet.
It’ll give me some time to process too. Because right now? My head’s a mess.
As if Edith can sense my impending breakdown, she says, ‘Hey, let’s figure out your due date.’ She pulls up a pregnancy website I’ve already spent way too much time on and I give her the information she needs. ‘Looks like we’re having a November baby.’
I dare to smile at her subtle excitement. ‘We?’ I question.
‘Oh, I’m all in,’ she announces. ‘I’m already mentally designing your nursery. What do we think about a Peter Rabbit theme?’
What I think is that we have plenty of time to plan it all. There’s no rush. We can take it one day at a time.
But what’s a little more pressing is telling the man who wrecked my life that I’m having his baby.