5. AVA
AVA
The Body Remembers
Four weeks and five days. Not that I’m counting.
I'm absolutely counting.
It’s been four weeks and five days since Kai Donovan took my number, told me he wanted to take me out, and then proceeded to never text me.
Weeks of my chest stupidly clenching every time I think about his hand on my chin, asking if I was nervous. Of checking my phone like an idiot every time it buzzes, only to find Lucy sending me memes or Mom asking if I'm eating enough vegetables.
I knew better. That's the part that makes this worse.
Men who look like Kai get chased, enjoying it for as long as it's convenient. Then they move on to the next woman willing to climb into their bed.
I know this.
I've watched my own father do a version of it. His cheating multiple times is enough evidence. He wants to "reconnect" this weekend, which is code for pretending the last decade of abandonment didn't happen.
My mother invited me home like she might be able to buffer the awkwardness with homemade pasta and questions about my love life. She stirs the pot with her slender fingers, humming. Her pale eyes look satisfied.
Biscuit trots past Mom’s ankles. She’s a brown-and-white mutt with one ear that stands up and one that flops. She circles twice around Mom’s ankles and drops onto the cool tile with a huff.
I drop into a chair at the kitchen table that's older than I am. The vinyl tablecloth still has the burn mark from Lucy's fourteenth birthday candles.
Nothing in this house changes. It's the one constant comfort of coming home, that the refrigerator hums the exact same way it did years back.
My father’s frame fills the doorway. He has the same easy grin that used to make my mother's friends sigh when he walked into a room. His hazel eyes crinkle at the corners like he's been waiting all day just to see me.
Biscuit lifts her head. Her body goes stiff, ears flat. She lets out a growl.
"Your dog still hates me," he says, glancing down.
"Hey, Dad."
He crosses the kitchen and kisses the top of my head, smelling like the cigarettes he swears he has quit.
"I was thinking we could grab dinner on Monday to catch up properly."
My stomach churns. “You said this weekend.”
“Yeah? And Monday is just a day after.”
“Then why not have dinner tomorrow, Sunday?”
He scratches his head. “Um, something came up.”
"I have a client consultation on Monday."
"Cancel it."
Rage fills me. I clench my fists. Then I remember it’s my father, who doesn’t understand commitment.
"It's a six-figure renovation, Dad."
"Reschedule it, then." He says this like my career means nothing.
My eyes narrow.
"You can ask one of your staff to go in your place."
“The client wants to see me personally,” I retort.
“Think about it, Ava. I want to know what's going on with my girl.”
This is the thing about my father. He demands impossible attention because he wants a relationship he opted out of decades ago.
Then he sounds like I should be grateful he's asking.
I carefully unclench my fists and breathe in deeply to calm myself.
That’s when I hear Mom set down a plate on the table hard. Lucy, who has come back from the store, glares at Dad from the other end of the kitchen as she taps her foot.
“Stop trying to destroy my daughters’ careers, Dennis,” Mom says. “First Lucy, now Ava. Can’t you choose better times to reconnect with them?”
“If you’d just agree to accept me back, Joanie, we wouldn’t have this problem?” Dad replies.
“Don’t you Joanie me.”
"I'll think about dinner on Monday," I say, mostly to end their argument. I’m leaving this town on Sunday evening.
His face brightens like I've said yes.
“See you later, Joanie.” He pecks Mom and leaves.
A sickening blush appears on her cheeks.
I grab a glass of iced tea and excuse myself before dinner is even on the table, claiming I need air. What I actually need is to not watch her forgive him again.
I’m at the back porch steps when nausea hits me. It must be the California heat, which is heavier and stickier here. I press my palms against the wooden railing to steady myself.
I barely make it to the bushes before throwing up.
“Ava?”
Mom’s voice behind me is alarmed. Lucy holds me and pats my back. I wave them off, spitting and gripping the porch railing like it owes me something.
"I'm fine. It’s something I ate."
"You haven't eaten anything since breakfast," Mom says.
I straighten up. "It’s probably a stomach bug."
She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Her eyes are sharp and assessing.
"Have you been sick?"
"I'm fine."
"Nauseous?"
"It's hot, Mom. Everyone feels gross in this heat."
"Your breasts hurt?"
Lucy makes a sound that might be a laugh.
"Can we not discuss my boobs right now?” I ask.
"When was your last period?"
The question lands like a slap.
"Mom?"
"I'm not trying to embarrass you. I just want to know."
I open my mouth to deflect. Close it again.
Because the truth is I don't actually know. I haven't needed to track it since I went on the pill in college specifically so I'd never have to have this conversation in a moment of crisis.
I do the math anyway.
Almost eight weeks ago.
The number doesn't mean anything until I remember Kai and I in his penthouse.
“No, it can’t be. I’m on the pill,” I tell her, like saying it out loud fixes whatever already happened.
"Pills aren't always enough." Mom's voice stays gentle even as her face goes pale. "Especially if something interferes. Antibiotics. A missed dose. Taking it inconsistently."
I close my eyes in pain. I was so busy that week that I missed taking the pills for a few days. On the day of the gala, I took it late.
“I need to go to the pharmacy," I say.
"Lucy, go get the pregnancy tests from under my bathroom sink," Mom says.
"I'm not pregnant," I say at the exact same time Lucy says, "On it."
I stare at Mom. "Why do you have pregnancy tests under your bathroom sink?"
She gives me a look like the answer should be obvious. "Because I have two daughters. I like to be prepared."
"For surprise pregnancies?"
"For whatever my girls might need without wanting to make a trip to the pharmacy first."
Before I can decide whether that's sweet or mildly terrifying, Lucy comes back carrying a box of pregnancy tests. She sets it on the table with the care of someone handling an explosive.
"This seems excessive," I say.
"Multiple tests for accuracy." She pulls out three individually wrapped tests. "Let's go."
"I'm not pregnant."
"Ava. Go."
There's no arguing with Mom when she uses that tone.
The bathroom tiles are cold under my feet. My hands shake as I unwrap the first test.
Minutes later, I'm staring at two pink lines on two different tests, then a plus sign on a third.
I sit on the edge of my childhood bathtub with three plastic sticks lined up on the counter as evidence.
I’m pregnant.
My business is finally making enough for me to live comfortably in LA. I've saved enough for a down payment on my dream house. But we're expanding, and right now, the business needs almost everything I have.
This isn't the time to be carrying the child of a man who's already proven he says all the right things in the dark and means none of them once the sun comes up.
I didn't plan for this when I was fucking Kai in his living room and his bed.
I shouldn't have—
My hand moves to my stomach.
The thought stops there.
Because beneath the shock and the worry and the million questions racing through my head, something warm spreads through my chest.
Something that feels suspiciously like love.
Already?
I can regret being careless. I can regret trusting Kai. I can wish the timing were different and that I had any idea what the hell I'm supposed to do next.
But I can't wish this baby away.
My eyes burn at the realization.
There's a knock on the bathroom door.
"Ava?" It's Mom's soft voice. "Come out, baby."
I open the door. My mother takes one look at my face. She gives me a comforting hug that makes me want to shatter into a million pieces.
Lucy is sitting on the edge of the couch when we get to the living room, her expression caught between fury and concern.
"Whose baby is it?" she asks.
"Does it matter?"
"It matters if I need to drive somewhere and break a kneecap."
That startles a wet and humorless laugh out of me.
"The hockey player from the gala."
"The captain who got your number and ghosted you for weeks like a coward?"
I nod.
"Ava." My sister's voice drops into the register she uses when she's about to say something I don't want to hear but need to. "Are you going to tell him?"
"I don't want to."
I have to think of how he never called or texted. No "Did you get home okay?" Not even a lazy midnight you up?
For him, it was one night.
For me, it was apparently memorable enough to end up pregnant and forgettable enough that he walked away without looking back.
How pathetic would I look showing up on his doorstep now?
"What do you mean by ‘you don’t want to?’” she asks, flinging her ponytail.
"He doesn't know me, Lu. He’s probably forgotten my last name."
But of course I know I have to tell him. I just don't want to face the humiliation of seeing him again after he never bothered to call.
She stands up and starts pacing. "You need to tell him. Pregnancy is not a casual detail. It's his kid."
"I know what it is," I snap.
"Then why aren’t you…"
"Because he's a professional athlete who probably has a different woman in his bed every weekend!” My voice cracks. “I was supposed to be smarter than this."
Lucy rushes to me and hugs me. “I’ll be here to take care of you and the baby.”
I hold onto her, my forehead dropping against her shoulder. She smells like the same coconut shampoo she's used since high school. For a second I just breathe her in.
"You know I'd do the same for you, right?" I say against her shoulder. "If you ever showed up pregnant by some idiot athlete, I'd be the one driving to break kneecaps."
She squeezes me tighter. "You'd bring snacks for the stakeout."
"Obviously. I'd bring the good ones."