“Sure,” I said, ignoring Morgan’s tapping foot as I pulled at the back of my hair. If he was anyone else, I’d ask to see him simply because I wanted to. But something kept holding me back.
“So Tyler’s bakery is going to be inThe New York Times,” Morgan said as I stuffed my phone back into my purse.
“Yes, could be a big deal. I told him I’d help him if he needed it.”
“Hmm,” was all she said.
“What?” I stepped in front of her.
“I think…” she started and exhaled a long breath. “I think the two of you are too old to play this game. You can’t come out and just say you want to see each other so it has to be under the pretense that he needs your help. Have you said one word to him about what happened after Donnie’s wedding?”
I shook my head, and I trudged ahead of her. “No. It’s all a little weird, you know that.”
“Olivia.” She pulled my arm back. “It’s not that weird. If this were anyone else but Tyler, your patience would have run out a long time ago. I know how you feel about him.” I turned away when her face softened with sympathy. “I knew years ago, even if you never said it out loud. And I know what you’re afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid of anything. We had sex.” I shrugged. “It happens. And now we’re friends. Sort of.” I trailed off. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it is. Just say it.”
“Say what?” I spat out through gritted teeth. “That it was easier being the girl he hated than the girl he doesn’t want? That I’m taking scraps of Tyler like I’m some pathetic little puppy but I can’t seem to stop?”
“Oh my god, seriously?” Morgan narrowed her eyes at me. “You wereneverthe girl he didn’t want. Stop doing this to yourself, and talk to him.”
“I don’t want to ruin it.” My voice was small, the bravado that always came easy now gone and pointless with Morgan since she always saw right through it.
“Liv, come on—”
“Look, let’s change the subject.” I clenched my eyes shut when she flinched. “Sorry, I just don’t feel like talking about my screwed-up life anymore. Let’s talk about you for a change. What’s going on with you? Aside from having a perfect marriage to brag about?”
“It’s not perfect, but there is something,” she said, a slow smile curving her mouth. “We’re going to have a baby.”
“What?” I grabbed her arm. “And you’re just telling me now?”
“Notnow.” She patted my hand, still white-knuckled on her bicep. “We both decided it was time to try. We talked to a fertility doctor, and when my next period starts, we start. Which, as you know, is soon.”
“As I know?” I squinted at her.
“You know we always get our periods around the same time. I finished almost a month ago and I’m due to get mine soon, like you probably are.”
I stilled. Morgan didn’t notice I wasn’t keeping pace beside her for a few steps.
“What?” She asked when she realized I was lagging behind.
We did tend to get our periods at the same time, even after I’d moved. I’d always blown it off as coincidental, but Morgan insisted it was that weird phenomenon where women’s cycles synced with those close to them. Synching or not, the blood ran ice cold in my veins when I realized I had no period at all since… before Donnie’s wedding.
“I didn’t get my period last month.”
Morgan’s brow jumped and her jaw went slack. “You’re about to miss two periods and you just realized it now?”
“I’ve been distracted.” I couldn’t handle looking her in the eye for a few minutes. “Getting used to working from home and around town, watching Mom, the wedding.” I covered my mouth with a shaky hand.And Tyler.“I can’t be pregnant. We used a condom. A few of them. I didn’t see any holes when he rolled them off.”
She grimaced. “Not to make you panic, but they aren’t foolproof. I once heard my mother refer to my little brother as the condom that could.”
“Shit,” I hissed as I stalked over to a bench and plopped down, dropping my head into my hands.
“Hey,” Morgan crooned as she rubbed my back. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it will all be okay.” She dipped her chin to meet my gaze. “I promise.”
“I’m smarter than this, Morgan. One man shouldn’t distract me to the point I miss my own late period.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What a fucking cliché. I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman pregnant from a one-night stand.”
