Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I nod at her as we walk to the counter to pay and then back to the car. Grabbing the plastic bag in my hand, I walk to the bathroom as soon as I walk into the house.
Opening two boxes up, I pour the contents onto the counter. Each comes with a long white foil-covered stick. I tear open both and then look down at them. One has a blue tip the other has a bright pink tip. I pull the tips off each before I sit down on the toilet and start to pee on the first stick. Holding my pee for a second, I grab the other one and look down between my legs, just like I did with the other one, to make sure I’m in my stream.
I look over at Gabriella, who is leaning against the doorjamb. “I can’t be pregnant,” I tell her, the tears coming on full force now. I swallow down the sob as I grab the tips, covering up the top of each test.
I press the round button on my Apple Watch. “Set timer for three minutes,” I direct Siri, putting the sticks down on the counter before getting up and pulling up my scrub pants.
I can hear the ticks of the seconds go by. The sound gets louder and louder as the seconds go on. Gabriella doesn’t say anything to me. Instead, she comes to stand next to me as I look down at both tests. The one with the blue cap has a screen that looks like it’s flashing, while the other one is showing the liquid is filling it as the white center answer turns a bit blue. I put my head back, trying to calm myself down. Gabriella puts her hand on mine when the timer goes off on my watch.
“Are you ready?” she asks. I open my eyes, and nothing could prepare me for what’s coming. Nothing and no one could prepare me.
On the blue test, the word Pregnant is written in big bold black letters, while the other test has two lines down the middle. “I’m no doctor,” Gabriella declares, “but I think you’re pregnant.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ONE MONTH LATER
TRISTAN
The alarm rings, and my hand slides out of the covers to smack it off, but the phone falls on the floor. “Fuck,” I mutter, leaning off the bed and grabbing the phone that is still going off.
“I’m up!” I hear Penelope yell from down the hall.
“Okay,” I yell back at her. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she shouts back, and I can’t help but laugh as I throw the covers off me and get up to go to the bathroom. I close the bathroom door behind me as I walk over and go to the bathroom.
I slip on a pair of basketball shorts before walking downstairs and starting breakfast. “Pancakes or eggs?” I ask her when I get to the bottom step.
“Surprise me,” she replies, and I laugh, shaking my head. We returned two days ago because we had to get ready for the first day of school. It’s also my first day back on the ice with the team.
I walk into the family room first, turning on the television before walking to the kitchen. I press the coffee maker before walking to the fridge and grabbing the carton of eggs and pack of turkey bacon. I open the cabinet, retrieving a glass bowl and breaking six eggs into it. Walking over, I snag two frying pans, putting them both on the stove and turning the red knobs to low. Then I put a bit of butter in the pan before adding the eggs to one pan and four slices of turkey bacon to the other. Before Penelope came along, I usually just ate at the rink, and then I would have a chef prepare me meals that all I had to do was warm up.
I mean, I do that also now, but I cook a lot more than I did before. All her breakfasts I make, and I pack her snacks for school. Luckily, they have a full cafeteria, so I don’t have to pack her anything for lunch. I grab a plastic spoon from the jar beside the stove and start scrambling the eggs a bit before bending into the lazy Susan in the corner and taking out the toaster. “I’m ready.” I hear over my shoulder when I put two pieces of toast in the toaster.
I turn around, seeing her dressed in her school uniform of a white, button-down, short-sleeved cotton shirt, and a plaid pleated accordion skirt. It’s just like everyone else’s, except I made them sew in tight shorts under her skirt. I bought five of them with five pairs of tight yoga shorts and took them to a woman who sewed them in. There was no way she was going to go and not have shorts under there. “You look so pretty,” I tell her, and she does. She has little pieces of her mom in her, but she is all me, from her eyes to her hair and her chin. “Just like me.”