Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I smile. “A girl?”
“Well, how was I supposed to know?”
“We’ve been friends since, what, fifth grade?”
“Yeah, when you helped cut that gum out of my hair. You’ve always been ace. But don’t come at me acting like you’ve ever, once, shown a romantic interest in anybody. Now this guy has lit you up like the Fourth of July.”
He’s not just this guy. He’s not just somebody. He’s the man I’ve been waiting for, dreaming of. The second I saw him, I knew it, and now I can feel this baby growing in me. That’s technically impossible, right? But I feel it, like a seed greedily drinking water, taking whatever nourishment it can. Suddenly, there are tears in my eyes. I rub my face again.
“Hey, E…” Chrissy walks over to the bed, sits beside me, and wraps her arm around me. “It’s going to be okay.”
“What’s confusing you, Chrissy?” I ask, wanting to stay on the subject or at least not make my tears the subject.
“I’d be happy for you,” she says sadly, “if it wasn’t so complicated. That’s the confusing part.”
“If he wasn’t friends with Dad. If he wasn’t twice my age. If he hadn’t walked out on me. If this pregnancy wasn’t the definition of an accident?”
Perhaps it’s an accident, but not a mistake. I’ll never say that.
“Yeah,” Chrissy sighs. “I’m trying to think of some kickass advice. It’s tough.”
“It’s enough that you’re here,” I tell her, resting my head on her shoulder. “Do you think I should do another test?”
“That was the third one,” she points out in a soft voice. “Each one was positive. What are the chances they were all wrong?”
I nod. “I think I should go to the doctor and make sure before I…” I swallow, more tears trying to appear in my eyes. Through my bedroom wall, I can hear Eric in his room, yelling into his microphone as he plays some computer game.
“Tell Logan?” Chrissy offers softly.
I close my eyes as the weight of her words settles on me. He’s still in Canada. His team is doing well after that initial screwup. Logan is back on his game. Apparently, a quickie with his friend’s daughter got it all out of his system. I open my eyes and nod.
“Yeah, but I need to be sure first. He’s not going to be happy about this.”
“Why do you say that?” she asks sharply. “You have no idea how he’ll feel.”
“He walked out, Chrissy,” I reply just as sharply. There we go—more fantasy stuff. “He made it clear how he feels. He got his quickie, took my V-card, and ran out the door.”
“You don’t know how he feels,” Chrissy says. “Anyway, you said he didn’t know you were a virgin.”
I swallow, my belly bubbling, nerves slamming hard. “Which do you think I should tell him first, that I’m pregnant or I’m a virgin?”
Chrissy giggles, nudging me. “Well, only one of those is true.”
I reel back, shocked. Chrissy never tells vicious jokes, definitely not about pregnancies or babies. She looks at me, eyes narrowed, and then I get it. Duh. “I’m not a virgin anymore.”
“No, E. Having sex sort of makes that impossible.”
I’m sitting on the couch two days later during family movie night. Mom insists on it. She always acts as the glue of the family, even as I disappear into writing and college work, Eric into video games, chasing girls, and occasional homework, and Dad into work. Mom sits across the couch from me, swaddled in her blanket. She looks over and smiles. People say we have the same features and the same cheeks.
You okay? she mouths.
I smile and nod. Mom can tell I’ve been acting weird, a little distant. I’m doing my best to be normal around Dad, but every second in his presence is like being jabbed with a million tiny, invisible needles. It’s constant but not overbearing pressure. I’d almost prefer everything to blow up to break the tension.
Dad glances at Eric on the floor, both grinning as the bad guy’s tank explodes. Eric would never do something like this to Dad—just me, the crappy daughter.
I went to the doctor yesterday. It’s official. I’m carrying Logan’s baby. Now I have to work up the nerve to tell him. The action movie races toward its climax, and I try not to think of my climax with Logan, the flames, and the balcony. I decide it will be tonight. I’m not sure exactly where he is or the time zone difference, but if he’s awake, I’ll tell him.
And then… I can’t think about what happens next. I don’t think it will be good. It won’t be my dream of Logan telling me in his gruff voice, “We’ll make this work, me and you, Emma. That wasn’t just dirty talk. You. Are. Mine.”
He’s had six weeks to contact me. It’s not difficult. My email is listed on a website I use to publish some of my stories. It seems—and I hate to think this about my child’s father—he got what he wanted from me: a quick screw.