Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
She needs to stop nagging me. This whole conversation is making my head spin even faster than it needs to, and it’s making me dizzy.
“I’m pregnant.”
I gasp after my declaration—this is the first time I’ve said the words out loud, and it feels so…weird.
So strange.
I’m pregnant.
Pregnant.
Twenty-something, single, and preggo.
My brothers are going to kill me, therefore I haven’t told them or anyone; Molly is the first person I’ve uttered those two little words to. Well, Molly and Chewy, who’s curled up beside me next to the toilet, and he certainly isn’t going to tell my secret.
He snorts as if refuting me.
“Pregnant?” She enunciates the first half of the word, tone slightly higher pitched. My brother’s neighbor girl stands over me, stepping closer to hover between me and the door, worrying her bottom lip. “How old are you?”
I don’t see why that matters. “Twenty-five.”
“Oh. You look seventeen.”
I don’t, but I don’t know a single woman on this earth who doesn’t enjoy being mistaken for someone half her age—and if I wasn’t bent over this loo, I’d probably toss my hair back arrogantly.
“How old are you?” I ask in kind.
She looks to be between fourteen and sixteen years old, possibly a sophomore in high school, but then again, what the heck do I know about teenagers these days? She just told me I look like one myself.
This kid could be twenty for all I know.
And what’s Molly doing home from school in the middle of the day?
I go on to guess that she let herself in through the garage door, which means she must have the code. Guess she isn’t going to keep my secret—not if she’s working for and has a loyalty to my brother.
“I’m fifteen, but I have my temporary license.” Molly is obviously proud of that fact, chin raised with importance.
“You seem very mature.”
It’s becoming obvious to me why my brother values this relationship, despite the age difference. She seems dependable and smart—two assets people in the public eye look for in friendships. It’s not easy finding someone you can trust; everyone wants something.
“Pregnant.” Molly ignores my compliment. “Are you sure?”
She sure is a skeptical one, this strange teenager with the frowning, furrowed brow—she actually looks like Tripp when she makes that face.
I shoot her a look, in no mood to argue. “Yes. I’ve taken at least a dozen tests.” All of them in the bottom of a dumpster, no doubt on their way to the nearest landfill.
All except for one I kept as a souvenir. No idea why since I peed on it.
But…isn’t that what women do? Keep things as mementos so they can say, Look, baby, this is the test I took when I found out I was pregnant with you.
Baby boy or girl Wallace.
Except the baby isn’t all Wallace, is it?
Molly has her arms crossed and she’s gazing down at me. “How long have you actually been down on the floor? Maybe you should get up—drink something.”
She’s right, I should get up.
Drink something with bubbles.
Smart one, this Molly girl.
I’ve heard tidbits about her from our mother, know she is in charge of walking Tripp’s dog (who wags his tail beside me slowly). Every so often, Molly will assist Chandler at the stadium with small tasks to earn extra cash. Gets the mail when my brother and his girlfriend are out of town.
Putzy things, but important tasks nonetheless.
Chewy is thrilled I’m down on his level but senses I’m sick, every so often nudging my arm with his wet nose, wanting to let me know he’s still there.
The dog nudges me again.
“Yes, I probably should get up and drink something.” I pause, rethinking my earlier blurted-out confession, not wanting the entire world to know I’m having a baby before I’m ready to tell them, not trusting this girl, even though my brother certainly does. “Or maybe I’m not pregnant. Maybe it’s…food poisoning?”
Food poisoning.
That sounds perfectly reasonable, and perfectly legitimate.
“Food poisoning.” Molly looks dubious, narrowing her eyes. She knows I’m full of shit but doesn’t know me well enough to say it to my face. “What did you eat last night?”
Crackers, ginger ale, and more crackers.
It’s definitely not food poisoning.
“Um. Raw meat?”
“Raw meat!” she practically shouts. “Raw meat? First of all, who eats raw meat? Second of all, that’s disgusting—if you think you might be pregnant, you shouldn’t be consuming raw anything. I hear you’re not even supposed to eat shrimp!”
Not eat shrimp? That’s preposterous!
I loves me some seafoods.
I groan and roll my eyes, hugging the porcelain god, wondering out loud how she would know anything about pregnancy, given that she’s fifteen.
“What are they teaching you in health class? Have you covered the birds and the bees yet?”
“Lady, no offense, but the average age for initial sexual activity is twelve. Trust me, there’s more to learn on the internet than there is in health class at school.” Molly snorts, adjusting her stance, resting her hip on the doorjamb. “So like, not to be rude or anything, but why are you here? Did you come here just to puke? Was your brother’s toilet the closest possible toilet, or are you on the run? Are you hiding from someone?” She pauses. “The baby’s dad maybe? Are you safe?”