“Well, I wasn’t exactly searching for husband material.” I couldn’t help the sass that crept into my voice.
“Apparently not baby daddy material either,” she shot back and I took my sister’s subtle hint to ease up on the attitude. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a point. Of all the men I’d slept with, I wound up with two of the worst potential candidates for my baby’s father.
“I guess not.”
“So,” she hedges. “What’s the plan now? Are we still moving on to phase three, or are you having second thoughts?”
My hand holding the spoon dropped to my stomach. “I’m doing this, Lins. I mean, I would’ve loved to know which one was the father, but I’m not changing my mind.”
“Good! I mean, I’m here for you either way, but selfishly I’m excited to be an aunt.”
I laughed, and it felt good. The last few weeks had felt so heavy, and it was one large emotion to the next. The shock and disbelief of finding out bled into the pure panic and scrambling to figure out what I was going to do. I’d finally settled squarely in acceptance, and while I was still scared shitless about becoming a mom, excitement had started edging its way in too.
A thought occurred to me, and I was suddenly anxious. “You didn’t tell mom or dad or anyone, right?”
“No, of course not! You told me not to.”
“You promise? You talk to mom all the time.” It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. Linnea was incredibly good at keeping secrets when she wanted to, but she really was excited to be an aunt, and that made me nervous about her ability to keep this from our parents.
“I swear on Mocha’s place in the afterlife that I didn’t tell them.”
Relief instantly replaced the anxiety making me doubt my sister. Mocha was our childhood dog, a chocolate lab that was as sweet as she was lazy. I’d never seen a dog care so little about the idea of fetch, and if you’d try to play tug-of-war, she released her end as soon as you grabbed yours. Linnea loved that dog more than anything and anyone else growing up—including Garrett and I. Swearing on that dog’s afterlife was what Linnea always did when she wanted to prove that she was telling the truth.
“But, Darse . . .” She trailed off and I waited her out. “Youaregoing to tell them soon, right?”
“I think my growing uterus kind of makes it impossible for me not to,” I joked, but Linnea didn’t laugh. She never kept anything from our parents. It was a side effect of being the favorite child—she was comfortable enough with them that she didn’t have anything to hide.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to tell them I’d gotten myself knocked up. Especially since I knew that the very first thing they’d want to know is who the father was, and I could picture the exact ways their faces would morph in response to me telling them I wasn’t sure. It would be shocked disappointment to begin with, a little anger sprinkled in my father’s, and then my mother would try to cover hers with understanding and joy that she clearly didn’t feel. What I didn’t want or need right now, when I was still trying to process it all myself, was my parents’ pity and poorly-veiled chagrin. I didn’twant to be made to feel small, not when I was growing more excited by the day at the prospect of being a mom. And whether it was their intention or not, that’s exactly how I’d feel. Small.
Getting into it with Linnea was pointless. She didn’t see my parents the way I did, and how could she when her experience with them had been completely different? So, instead of saying any of what I was thinking, I decided to placate her.
“I promise I’ll tell them. I just need some more time to figure out how.” I placed the lid back on the ice cream tub, and returned it to the freezer.
“Okay. If you need help with that, you know I’m here for you, right?”
I dropped my spoon in the sink, letting washing it be a task for tomorrow.
“I know you are.”
“They’d be there for you, too, if you’d let them, you know.” Her voice was quieter, like she knew I’d disagree with her, but couldn’t stop herself from saying it anyway.
“Yeah, sure. Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I think I’m going to head to bed.” I rushed so that there wasn’t room to continue that topic any further. It wasn’t a lie either. Now that I was on my feet and moving, it suddenly felt like each of my limbs weighed a hundred pounds and I’d just gotten back from a marathon. I wanted nothing more than to collapse onto my bed and sleep for three days straight.
“Go get some rest, and keep growing my niece or nephew. I love you, Darcy.”
“I love you too.” I hung up the phone and let out a sigh, dragging my body through the motions of getting ready for bed.
When my head hit the pillow, the day’s events raced through my mind. The disastrous conversation with Liam, followed by the equally as productive conversation with Archer. I never expected either of them to leap for joy, or drop down to a kneeand ask me to marry them. If I was being entirely honest, I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t a flat out refusal. Liam’s denial followed by his immediate dismissal of me was one thing. Sure, it stung and if the baby was his, I’d have to hope that being a pompous asshole wasn’t hereditary, but I didn’t know anything about him, other than how fast he finished, to care all that much.
For whatever reason though, Archer’s response hurt worse. Maybe it was the detached anger I could see simmering behind those jade eyes of his, or the way his voice never wavered in tone despite the words I said to him. Or maybe it was how he’d stormed out of the bar like an absolute spineless human being. It was probably a combination of all three, but it felt like more than that. Something about him being from my hometown gave me this feeling that I knew him, except that idea was absolutely insane because I didn’t know him any better than I knew Liam. Not really, anyway. But it was almost as if growing up parallel to each other lended him a sense of familiarity, even though our paths never intersected.
Until now, that was, and he had no intention of ever letting our paths cross again.
He’d get to walk away from our encounter unscathed, but me?
I’d always carry a piece of him with me.
Well, unless Liam was the father.
