Chapter 23 Annabelle #2
“Oh. Just . . . deodorant. Tampons. Ibuprofen. Girl stuff.” I put the bag on the counter so he’ll stop asking about it. “Just cramps.”
Phantom cramps. Imagined cramps. The kind you start noticing the second an app tells you your period is six days late.
He stares at me another beat, like he wants to say more. But then he backs off with a shrug and walks into my personal space to kiss me on the temple. “I’m gonna shower, babe.”
I nearly collapse from relief.
I wait a heartbeat.
One.
Two . . .
When I hear the shower go on, I scurry to the guest bathroom in the hall, knowing it’s going to take him quite a bit of time to shower, and I have a decision to make: call Lucy and ask her what to do—or just take the test myself and not concern Maverick with it.
It could be a nothing burger.
False alarm.
And I would have worried him for nothing.
On the other hand, I don’t want to live with this knowledge myself . . .
My thumb hovers over my best friend’s contact. Then, before I can change my mind, I hit Call.
It rings once.
Twice.
“Babe,” she answers on the third, chipper as always. “Tell me you’re calling because you left him and are moving in with me once you get home.”
Very funny.
I roll my eyes; the background noise in her phone is so loud I can actually hear people chattering, a radio. “Where are you?” I ask.
“Wrangling Harris around town. I’m his new sidekick.
” She laughs. “I swear, I’ve spent more time inside of his truck this week than I’ve spent in any car in my entire life combined.
” She sighs dramatically. “We’re sitting in his truck right now about to walk into the stadium—I was dying to see the locker rooms, and he has a quick meeting with the trainer. ”
Translation: Make this quick.
“Um. So,” I whisper, sinking onto the toilet lid and clutching the phone to my ear. “Things here are great but . . . I might have accidentally made a human.”
There’s a long pause as she translates that sentence.
A sharp inhale of breath.
“Annabelle!”
“I know.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“You’re—wait, did you take a test?”
“Not yet. I’m in a bathroom; he’s in the shower. I panicked and bought a three-pack. The box has a QR code on the side of it for the app.”
Lucy lets out a choked laugh. “Of course it has an app. Because capitalism won’t stop until your uterus is Bluetooth enabled.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” she says gently. “But also—okay. Do you want me to stay on the line while you take it?”
I chew the inside of my cheek, staring at the stupid little test still sealed in its plastic wrap. “Yes and no,” I say at last. “I don’t want to do this alone, but I also don’t know if I should tell him yet. What if it’s nothing? What if I worry him for no reason?”
There’s a pause.
“Babe . . .” Lucy’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I think you should wait.”
My eyes flick to the closed bathroom door. “Wait?”
“Yeah. Wait until someone’s with you. Preferably him.”
I groan. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Annabelle, I get the urge to know. Believe me, I do. But if this test says what you think it might say? You shouldn’t be alone. And Maverick deserves not to be blindsided.”
Good point.
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, nodding even though she can’t see it. “But what if he freaks out?”
“Then he freaks out. If he’s even half the guy he’s seemed like these past couple weeks? He’ll want to be there for this moment. For you.”
She’s so right. He would want to be here.
I look down at the test in my hand again. It suddenly feels heavier. Like it’s trying to tell me Lucy’s right.
She keeps going, gentle now. “This doesn’t have to be a solo act. You’re literally married to the guy.”
Not really . . .
“You don’t have to take it now, right this second.”
I nod again, swallowing hard. “I know, but it will kill me to wait.”
She’s quiet for a second, then: “Do you want me to stay on the line until he’s out of the shower?”
“No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, Lucy.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
There’s silence, and I imagine her nibbling her bottom lip, something she does when she has more to say. “You’ve been in Arizona for a week, and I haven’t seen you once. It feels like an eternity.”
It actually doesn’t. It’s going by in a blur.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t go back to Washington tomorrow—we can hang out the way we had planned to.”
She agrees. “I know—but I’ve been gone too long already, and the girls at the yoga studio can’t hold down the fort another day. A huge group of women are arriving for a wellness retreat, and I have to be there.”
Lucy has a staff of three other yoga instructors, but of course, no one does it better than the owner. I smile faintly, thumb brushing along the seam of the pharmacy bag. “I know you have actual responsibilities and bendy, flexible people count on you.”
I am neither of those things.
Lucy sighs dramatically. “Ugh, don’t remind me. You’d think a group of grown, professional women could make their own celery juice in the morning, but apparently that’s too much to ask.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “I miss you.”
“I miss you. I should stay. I really like it here, even though it’s hot as hell.”
“Nah, I’m managing just fine in this penthouse apartment.”
We sit in silence for another beat, the kind of quiet only best friends can share without it feeling awkward. The kind that makes everything feel a little less terrifying.
Lucy finally says, soft again, “Whatever it says when you take it—whatever happens—call me or text me; I have my phone. I mean it.”
“I will.”
We end the call, and I tuck my phone in my lap. The sound of running water continues to be heard down the hall.
One breath.
Two.
Then I do the thing I called my best friend about: open my robe, pull down my underwear, and sit down on the toilet seat. Rip open the box for the pregnancy test, tear open the wrapper.
Pee on it.
Set it aside and wait, hoping nothing will have changed in five minutes’ time, when, in reality, everything might . . .