Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Lori
I’m still standing in the bathroom, staring at the box that reads “pregnancy test” when Cat knocks on the door. “Well?”
I open it and hold up the box. “I haven’t taken the test.”
“Why?!”
“I don’t know, Cat. I don’t know. I just can’t seem to make myself take it. Maybe that’s why I haven’t found a way to get the test. I’m afraid to find out.”
Her hands come down on my arms. “Honey, this is not you. You aren’t afraid of anything.”
“Apparently I am. I don’t know how I could worry over a baby when I just worried over my mother. And my father died and—”
“Deep breath. You are not pregnant, but if I’m wrong, and I’m not, you will be the best mother ever. Take the test.”
“Cole and Reese will be here any minute.”
“Reese is going to text me when they head up here. I’ll warn you. Take the test. Should I stand here and supervise?”
“No, you will not,” I say indignantly. “I’ll take it.”
“Hurry,” she says, waving me back inside and shutting the door behind me. “If you hear the door,” she calls out, “I’m expecting documents from the courthouse I ordered for my work-in-progress I want to show you. That means hurry, in case you didn’t hear my first hurry.”
“Right,” I call out. “Hurry.” I sit down on the toilet seat. What is wrong with me? I read the box. I’ve read it five times. It doesn’t seem to matter. I read it two more times and then tear open the box. The test is officially in my hand. I set it on the sink, and press my hand to my forehead.
There is a knock on the door. I stuff the test back in the box. I’m doing this in the morning. It says morning on the box. My phone rings and I snatch it from my purse to find my mother calling. “Hey, mom.”
“Why do you sound weird?”
“Because I was born that way?”
She laughs. “Ah, your father loved that joke. I miss him.” She sighs. “I miss you, too. We’re home. Can you and Cole come see us soon?”
“We’d like that. This weekend?”
“Perfect. And then I can thank Cole for that amazing trip to the Hamptons in person.”
“Great. Yes. I can’t wait to hear about it. I’ll call you later this week. Are you back at work?”
“Tonight. I’m headed there now. Talk soon, honey.”
We disconnect and there’s a knock on the door. I stand up, determined now to move past this test tonight. I open the door and suck in a breath. Cole is standing there, big and broad, and perfectly male while holding a pregnancy test in his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell. I didn’t start my period, but the doctor said it’s probably stress but I—I just—”
He drags me to him, his eyes dark, turbulent. Worried? I don’t know. Maybe. “Are you pregnant?”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to make myself take the test.”
He kisses me. “Take the test.”
“If I am—”
“Then you are. Then we are.”
I nod, my heart squeezing with all kinds of unnamed emotions. “Okay. I need to do this alone.”
“No.”
“You aren’t watching me pee on that strip, husband or not. You can help me watch after.”
He nods. “Okay.” He offers me the test.
I take it. “I have another one. This is a back-up.”
He kisses me again. “Hurry.”
“That’s the word of the night,” I say, my voice making this weird crackling sound. Like someone just pinched me or something. “I will.” He shuts the door.
I grab the box and this time I just do it. I pee on the stupid stick. I cover it with a tissue because I can’t look without Cole. I then wash my hands for a ridiculous amount of time and open the door. Cole’s eyes meet mine, and I feel that familiar punch of awareness between us, but it’s more now. It’s this new level of intimacy and shared nervous energy. “How long?” he asks, shutting the door.
“It should be ready now,” I say pointing at it.
“Why is it covered?”
“I didn’t want to look without you.”
“But you were going to take it without me?”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t. I was going to wait. And it says morning. It might not be accurate so even if it’s negative, we have to do this all over in the morning.”
“Take the tissue off of it,” he orders softly.
“You do it.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Holy hell. Why are we hesitating?” He pulls me to him. “Whatever the result, I love you.”
“I love you, too. Oh God. Just look.”
He nods and we both turn and he pulls the tissue. We both stare down at it. “What am I looking at?” he asks.
I swallow hard. “Negative. No baby for us.” My eyes burn and I cover my face.