Rory
“Fuuccckkkkk,” Allie groans from her bedroom. “Go away.”
Guess that answers my question about whether she’s hungover, but I’m still going to need her to get up and talk. I need to hear more about last night, and she has something I need.
Spam yips, and I knock again.
“Time to get up, sunshine.”
“No.”
Something soft thuds against the door.
“I’m coming in. Don’t throw any more pillows.” I turn the knob and crack open the door, pausing as she ignores me and launches another throw pillow in my direction.
Spam slips past me into the room, tail wagging furiously.
When he takes advantage of a full laundry basket as a step to get onto the bed, I don’t try to stop him.
If she won’t wake up for me, doggy kisses it is.
“Ugh!” Allie says, trying to speak and keep her lips closed at the same time as Spam aggressively licks her face. “Go away, you little runt. I’m going to cook you for dinner.”
I step the rest of the way into the room and climb onto the bed. “You don’t know how to cook.”
I settle cross-legged at the foot of the mattress and wait for her to join the waking world.
“I hate you and your little dog, too. And I can too cook.” She pushes Spam to the side as she sits up.
He scoots closer and licks her face in response.
“You burn almost everything,” I point out.
“That’s why it’s a good threat. It’s not like I was planning to turn your hyperactive meatloaf into beef Wellington. Damn it, you weasel.” Allie does her best to block Spam, who is now kissing her neck.
Since she’s awake enough to sit up in bed, I pull Spam away from her and tuck him into my lap with a quick kiss to the top of his head. “How was last night?”
“Good.” She turns her head, looking toward the corner of the room, and presses a hand to her eye. “Fuck. I’m hungover.”
“That good, huh?” I got that impression from Nate, who left for work a few minutes ago.
“Ughhhh.” She reaches for her water bottle on the bedside table and takes a long sip. “Hand me the Advil. Top drawer.”
You wouldn’t think there’s such a fine line between being a hot mess and being wildly overprepared for every scenario, but there is, and Allie rides that line like a tightrope walker.
I follow her pointing finger and climb off the bed, setting Spam on the ground as I do. It takes a little digging, but I finally find a bottle of the pain reliever. It’s nestled between several unmatched socks and beneath a notebook labelled PLANS TO VANQUISH MY FOES.
I tap two tablets into my palm and hold them out to my hungover bestie.
She holds up three fingers, her other hand over her eyes.
Okay, then. Three tablets it is.
When I hold out the acceptable dose, she grabs them from me. She tosses them all into her mouth and chases it with a gulp of water, closing her eyes without even recapping the water bottle.
I wait patiently. This isn’t my first rodeo with Allie’s hangovers.
About thirty seconds later, she pulls in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and opens her eyes. Right on cue.
I still haven’t quite figured out if Allie has the miraculous ability to banish a hangover with some painkillers and a few sips of water, or if she’s just overdramatic in her initial presentation. My money is on the latter.
“Okay. Better.” Allie tucks her mess of blonde hair behind both ears. “What’s up? I still hate you, by the way.”
I offer a million-watt smile. “Love you too. And I have questions. Like, what did you do last night? Nate said something about Dylan bringing you home?”
At the mention of my brother, her face twists into an even deeper scowl. “Ugh. Yeah. Seriously, it’s like he thinks he’s my big brother, too.”
“As brothers go, he’s pretty decent. At least, in my opinion.”
Is he overprotective? Absolutely, and I’m pretty sure that’s every big brother ever.
Allie has no frame of reference—her sibling group is limited to her and her twin—so I can see how she might find Dylan to be a little over the top. Maybe you have to grow up with an older brother to really appreciate the way they look out for you.
Allie huffs out a breath. “I mean, he’s a good guy. I guess. But I’m a grown-ass adult, and I don’t need him to haul me out of the bar. I would have been fine.”
“He hauled you out of the bar?”
I’m going to need more information. I can’t picture Dylan manhandling anyone, let alone Allie.
She moves her hands in a noncommittal gesture. “I mean, not physically, I guess. But I was having a good time, and the shots were half price. Two for one. You should have been there.”
“Maybe next time,” I say, deadpan. “Once we sort out the whole”—I drop my voice to a whisper—“pregnancy thing.”
Nate left for work already. There’s no one here but Allie and me. But even so, it seems like I shouldn’t say the word out loud. Just in case. Like, if I say it at full volume, it will speak it into existence.
“Oh yeah. Stacey gave me those tests she bought for you. They’re on the dresser.”
I follow her gaze.
Six white boxes sit front and center, each of them with PREGNANCY TEST in massive letters across the front.
“You just left them sitting there? What if Nate saw?”
Allie lifts an eyebrow. “He never comes in here. I think he’s terrified that I’d be sleeping naked or something.”
Not the most irrational fear, honestly. Her tank top is thin cotton and barely contains her huge boobs. One wrong move and she’s going to spill right out of that thing.
She stretches, one nipple popping free of her tank, like it could hear my thoughts and decided to put in an appearance.
“Anyway, it was a good time,” Allie continues, seemingly unaware of her nipple’s show-and-tell. “Stacey had a couple drinks and then went home, but I stayed, because why not? I was having a great time.”
“Um. Nip slip.” I point.
“Oh.” Allie looks down and then shifts her tank top to cover up, completely unconcerned about her wardrobe malfunction. “Maybe it’s a good thing Nate doesn’t come in here. But anyway, last night was fun. I made some new friends.”
I lift an eyebrow. “With whom did you make friends?”
She shrugs. “Don’t remember. I was kind of drunk.
Anyway, Nate started this group chat for ideas for that pageant thing, and my phone started blowing up.
I told them to leave me out of it, ’cause I was out at the bar, and then suddenly Dylan was at High Times demanding that I leave with him.
Like I’m a college kid instead of a grown-ass adult who can make my own decisions. ”
I sense there may be a few details that she’s missing here. Things that may explain why Dylan, of all people, felt the need to go get her from the bar.
Allie’s right, to some extent. She is a grown-ass adult. She can go out and drink. But if she got sloppy, the bartenders at High Times—or at Church Bar, for that matter—would have cut her off at some point.
Allie picks up her phone from the nightstand, unplugging it from the charger as she swipes to unlock it. “Here. Read all of this nonsense.”
She hands it over, and I read through a string of messages.
I toss the phone back to her after I finish reading. “First of all, add me to this chat. The level of drama is calling to me. Second, have you read your texts from last night?”
“Why?” She purses her lips and scrolls through the messages. “Aw, crud. I wasn’t coming across all that well in text. No wonder he thought I needed to be rescued.”
“Not coming across well? Babe, you were shitfaced. I’m glad someone cut you off.”
“Didn’t need to be him.” She drops the phone onto the mattress and folds her arms over her chest.
I shrug. I don’t really understand why Allie is so defensive when it comes to my brother. “I think he sees both of us as eight-year-olds, like we were when he left for college. I don’t really blame him. It’s nice to have him around, at least.”
“I’m not a fucking eight-year-old,” she says, so fiercely that I’m taken aback. She takes a breath. “Sorry. It’s just… I don’t need someone to look after me.”
“I think he’s just that kind of guy who wants to take care of people. Don’t take it personally.”
“So tell him to get a dog if he wants something to look after. Or adopt a baby, even.”
I snort. “Dylan with an animal? Can you even imagine?”
“Make good choices, puppy. Think about what you did,” Allie says, lowering her voice as she mocks my brother. “Poor animal.”
Yeah, that sounds about right. It works on the teenagers at the high school because, in general, they like and respect Dylan and don’t want to disappoint him. I’m not sure it would be quite as effective with a dog.
I smirk. “We could try it out. Have him watch Spam for a while, see if he whips my little guy into shape.”
At his name, Spam lets out a yip.
“Indoor voice, Spam.” Allie adopts a mock-serious tone. Then, in her normal voice, she adds, “I can’t even picture him with a baby. The pet thing is enough of a stretch.”
“Me either.”
Not because he wouldn’t be a good dad. He’d be amazing, just like I know Nate would be.
Nate would be the most amazing father. I can see him teaching a kid to play catch, doling out gentle discipline, being a chaperone at a school field trip.
But at the same time, I don’t see myself in any of those scenarios, and it makes me wonder if I’m cut out for motherhood at all.
When I wonder if that pregnancy test’s result was real, my worries have nothing to do with whether Nate would be a good father. It’s more about me.
I have no clue what to do with a child, let alone an infant. I can teach them to ride horses, sure, but that’s not really a baby activity.
And the rest of it? No idea.
I feel like there must be some How To Adult course that I missed. One where they go over the essentials: doing taxes, car maintenance, what a sump pump is, if you need one, and what to do with it. And a large chunk of that course is likely about what to do with an infant.
How else would anyone ever know what to do with one? It’s not like they come with an instruction manual. I think.
Allie strips off her tank top, totally oblivious to my internal spiral and also completely unbothered by being topless in front of me.
She selects a shirt from the drawer and pulls it over her head. “If you don’t use all of those, I’ll take a few. You never know when you might need one.”
“Who are you having sex with?”
Allie fluffs her hair and pinches her cheeks. With those tiny moves and a new shirt, she’s managed to transform herself from Hangover to Business Lady. It’s remarkable.
“Anyone I want.” She winks. “The world is my oyster.”
“As long as you don’t have sex across the hall from me.”
Allie arches one perfect eyebrow. “Um, you’ve been having sex across the hall from me. You’re not exactly subtle, lady.”
She and I have been friends long enough that the comment doesn’t faze me any more than the sight of her nipples.
“It’s my house. Kind of, at least.”
“You may have a point.” She turns to the mirror and gives her hair another fluff, then changes her underwear right in front of me, too, pulling on a black thong before she slips into a pair of jeans. “If I find someone to fuck, I’ll go to their house. No worries.”
I look at the package in my hand. She’s so easygoing about all of this. About life in general, really. I wish I could be more like that.
Allie adds a coat of mascara to her already enviably long lashes, then turns to me. “I’m going to go to Lone Brews to work for a little while. Are you heading to work soon? If you are, I’m going to bum a ride.”
I look back at the pile of boxes with their incriminating labelling. “I’m going to take another test. Then I’ll be ready to go.”
I juggle the pile as I carry them into the hallway bathroom. I’ll have to figure out where to keep them eventually, but I’m not quite ready to stock them in the en suite bathroom that I share with Nate.
It’s not that I care if he sees them. After all, we’re not keeping things from one another.
Not anymore.
The only reason I haven’t told him that I’m taking these tests is because I don’t know that there’s anything to tell.
As soon as there’s actual information, I’ll let him know.
I survey the options and pick a box at random.
The rest of them, I tuck under the sink, just behind the tampons.
“Are you done yet? What does it say?” Allie calls from the hallway.
“I haven’t even peed yet. Calm down.”
I take a deep breath and rip open the top of the box. The instructions are folded at the top, and even though I’d like to think I don’t need a how-to manual on peeing on a plastic stick, I pull out the paper and read it, just to be sure.
Yep, the same steps. Pee on stick. Wait three minutes. Receive what’s possibly the most important news of your life while sitting alone in a bathroom.
Got it.
I set the plastic test on the edge of the counter with my phone next to it for timing purposes.
I reach for my waistband, then pause as my phone vibrates and grab it before the movement knocks it off the counter.
Mandy’s name lights up the screen.
“Mandy?” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Hey, kiddo. Sorry to bug you. You on your way over?”
I pull the phone away from my ear and check the time. “Soon. Do you need me to bring something over?”
“Any chance you can get here sooner?” Her tone is its usual calm, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency that’s not normally there.
“Of course. Everything okay?”
Her sigh tells me it’s not. “It’s Jax. He’s colicking.”
Fuck.
The twenty-something gelding isn’t one of Mandy’s. He’s owned by a boarder, someone who pays Mandy both for the use of the stall and for helping to care for him. Even though I don’t ride him, he’s one of the sweetest boys in the barn.
“Are you sure?”
It’s a silly question. Of course she’s sure. Mandy has a sixth sense for what’s going on with horses. She’d sense it before a trained vet.
And for a horse, colic can be life-threatening.
“I hope not, but Mindy is on her way, and so is Andi.”
Jax’s owner would have been Mandy’s second call, right after the vet.
“Can you come over? I need to stay with Jax, and I can’t do turnout and grain at the same time.”
“I’m on my way.” I end the call.
“So?” Allie asks the second I open the bathroom door.
I shake my head. “Haven’t taken it yet. I have to get to the barn.”
Allie will have to walk to the café.
She must read the urgency in my tone because she nods. “Okay. Talk later.”
Two minutes later, I’m backing out of the driveway, Spam on the passenger seat and a pregnancy test in the front pocket of my backpack. My own potential crisis pales in comparison to a horse with colic, but I can’t completely put it out of my mind.
Maybe if Jax is okay, I can take the test while I’m at the barn.
Mandy might have more insight into how to read these stupid things anyway.
And once I know for sure, I’ll feel better about things.
I nod to myself, thinking through the plan.
Make sure it’s negative, and then I can tell Nate the whole silly story.
How Allie and Stacey and I stared at blurry lines and how we bought so many tests and weren’t we silly.
He’ll think it’s hilarious.
Unless it’s positive.
Then I have no idea what to do.