Two blue lines.
Two pink lines.
One pink plus sign.
In my hand, blurry vision can do nothing to diminish the digital readout, bold as can be. Pregnant.
“These can’t be right.”
“I’m afraid they are, sweetie.” Jenna’s gentle hand makes large sweeping circles on my back where I’m crouched over the closed toilet seat. In front of me is the proof she’s right.
Denial, however, is quickly replacing her as my new best friend.
Pregnant. Knocked up from a one-night stand at the age of twenty-four.
My parents will be so proud. Shit.
“Oh my God.” My groan has nothing to do with the morning sickness that hasn’t abated despite it being three o’clock in the afternoon. Morning sickness my ass. More like all day and half the night. Everything makes me want to hurl these days. It shouldn’t be too shocking to be staring at a half-dozen pregnancy tests that confirm what I’ve already been smart enough to figure out.
No, the groan has everything to do with what in the hell I’m supposed to do now.
And, you know…my parents.
Shit shit damn.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Jenna asks, crouching down next to me. Her hand hasn’t stopped moving and I’m desperate for her to lull me to sleep. Put me into a trance and take me back in time to about six weeks ago. The night she got married. The night she stood at the altar and pledged her love forever to her new husband, Dan. The night Dan’s best friend from college walked me down the aisle following the happy couple. The night he then whisked me into his arms on the dance floor, licked tequila salt off my wrist, and then took me to his room.
Fantastic.
My baby daddy is a professional wooer.
“I had sex and got pregnant, Jenna. What else is there to explain?”
“Sassy when you’re knocked up, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
She nudges her knee into my hip. “You know what I mean. You’re being really tight-lipped about this. What are you hiding?”
“Wasn’t tight-lipped a few months ago.”
She snorts and slaps my back. “Gross. Those aren’t the details I need. This isn’t like you, you know? I can’t help it if your silence about getting pregnant is worrying me. Who’s the guy?”
I’d love to tell her that it’s no one she knows. But no…I had to go and get pregnant by the best man at my best friend’s wedding.
“Ugh.”
“Come on,” she says, pushing me harder. The force of her jostling makes my stomach roll, and I lift the toilet lid.
“Knock it off. You’re making me sick.”
“Sorry. Crap. But you’re going to tell me, right?”
Shit shit damn. Again.
“No. Don’t you have to get home for your husband?”
“Procrastination will only make me more rabid, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” She runs a washcloth under water and presses the cool rag to the back of my neck. “That feels so good, Jenna. Thank you so much.”
“You know I’m here for you, right?”
I nod into the toilet. Now that my skin is cooling, I don’t feel like puking. “I know. You’re the best.”
“Don’t forget it, either.” She kisses the top of my head and cleans up all the evidence of my one night of indiscretion.
And yes, I know it’s Braxton’s because while I’m twenty-four, I’m also very…particular. I’ve had three lovers in my life. That’s it. A whole three. Awesome. I have sex so rarely I wasn’t even smart enough to get on the pill. I figured I’d meet a guy, take my time, and when it felt right, then I’d go on it.
A one-night stand at my best friend’s wedding isn’t only cliché, it’s so far outside my zone of normal operating behavior I wasn’t the least bit prepared. Apparently, neither was Braxton. At least not that fourth time.
Ugh. Damn, it was good sex, though.
So is the guy. Which makes all of this so much worse.
I push away from the toilet and splash cold water from the sink onto my cheeks. She’s at the doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “I’ll be okay, Jenna. Thanks for coming today. I needed you.”
“All right. But I’m here when you need to talk, you know?”
“I know.” She slides her purse on her shoulder and pulls on her teal ballet slippers. I’m about to let her walk out the door, knowing I’ve hurt her by my secrecy, when I stop her.
“Jenna?”
She spins around, brows furrowed at my tone. “What is it?”
Another wave of nausea hits and I prop my hand on the counter, steadying myself. “I’m…I’m going to need Braxton’s number from you or Dan.”
She jolts backward and her jaw drops. “What would you—”
“Six weeks, J,” I say, before she can finish the ridiculous question. “Count back six weeks to what we were doing.”
“You didn’t.” Her head shakes frantically. Blond hair flies all over the place as I stun her into silence, which is a feat in itself. “You…what? My…”
I have to put an end to this blubbering. I walk to her and close my hands over her shoulders. Giving her a little shake, I snap her back into the present. “Yes. Six weeks ago. Your wedding. Braxton and I, well…Braxton and I spent the night together. And I didn’t tell you because you were on your honeymoon and then I just wanted to forget it. Okay? There. Yes, Braxton is the dad and I need to call him. But—” I wring my hands together. Good grief I’m muddling all of this up. “I need some time, Jenna. I need time to figure out what I’m going to do, what I’m going to tell him, okay?”
“Oh, sweetie.” She quickly closes the space between us and wraps me in her arms. “Of course I will. I’ll do anything you need.”