Add decaf coffee to the grocery list
Buy a book on pregnancy or maybe get a few.
Call Dad
Talk to Jamie
Find an ob-gyn
Get health insurance
Talk to Finn
Audiobook???
Stopping by Hopeless Romantics this week should be easy, so it won’t be that hard to get a book on pregnancy. One I can make notes in. It’s not like Dillan doesn’t already know I’m pregnant. She was the one who shoved a bottle of water at me, then handed me the stick to pee on. Not something I ever thought I’d be saying.
Which leaves calling Dad next.
I mean, he’s my dad. How hard can it be?
Oh right . . . Really fucking hard.
Especially because this time, I’m the one about to postpone our lunch.
When staring at the phone doesn’t magically dial him for me, I suck it up and force my fingers to move, and a few seconds later, his face flashes on my screen with the old photo I’ve saved as his contact. “Hey, honey. How are you?”
How am I?
Yeah . . . that’s a great question.
I mean... I guess I could tell him that I had a complete breakdown last night before I had to tell my baby daddy he was going to be a baby daddy. But I don’t.
I could also tell him Kyrie’s teething or that Mom’s still in jail. Or maybe that I’ve spoken with a family attorney so I can adopt the sister he still doesn’t know exists and raise her as my own. But that just seems cruel since again, he doesn’t even know she exists or that she’s living with me. I’m really going to have to fix that at some point.
“I’m good, Dad.” Kind of... “A little tired—” Okay, at least that’s not a lie. “How are you?”
“Well, the season is about to start, so things are about to get hectic. You remember how it is.” Yeah... that’s always his answer. Ask him about himself and he talks about the team. I’ve never known what I’m supposed to do with that. Still don’t. “I’mlooking forward to our lunch this week. Do you want me to pick you up?”
I cringe. This is so much easier when he’s the one bailing.
“About that, Dad... I hate to do it, but can we push it back? I’ve got a few things I need to take care of, and I’m just?—”
“Don’t worry about it, honey. You let me know what works for you, okay? Are you still staying with Jamie Murphy?” I hesitate, and the pause between us is as pregnant as I am. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, Ashton, but the man is my line captain. I’d rather hear it from you than from team chatter.”
Oh shit, I close my eyes. That’s the least of the chatter he should probably be concerned with. “I’m still here. But we can catch up over lunch. I’ve got so much to fill you in on.” Understatement of the century. “I’ll text you when I know my schedule next week, okay?”
“Sure. Let me know if you need anything, honey.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I disconnect the call and drop my head to the table as another wave of nausea hits hard. Only this time, I’m not sure if it’s the hormones or the family causing it.
Fuck being an adult.
The alarm sensors in the house chime, alerting me to a door opening, and I glance over at the security screen on the counter and watch as Jamie carries a sleeping Kyrie inside. Her bow sits askew on her head and doesn’t match the outfit he’s chosen for her, but none of that matters. Not when she’s in Jamie’s massive arms, passed out against his chest.
Oh dear . . . this isn’t good.
Because watching him with her is like getting a glimpse into my future, and it looks good. Really good. Mouthwateringly good.
