What? “No. How could you think that?”
“You just spent ten minutes telling me about how well he kissed. What was I supposed to think?”
“The baby is my ex-husband’s.”
“But that would mean…you’re almost…it can’t be…look at you.”
It’s not just me, then. I don’t look pregnant, and I don’t feel pregnant most of the time. “I found out the day he served me papers. I’m almost six months pregnant.”
“Where? How?”
“I can’t tell you about the birds and the bees because it didn’t work like that for me. So there was this petri dish. The doctor took an egg from—”
“I know how babies are made. What I don’t know is where that baby is in your body. You don’t have a bump?”
It’s weird. I know my body is weird. Tears start to form in the corners of my eyes.
“Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Are you really pregnant? Or is this like the murder thing? Are you giving me the worst-case scenarios so that whatever you’re about to say seems better?”
“He’s going to hate me. I knew it.” I just knew it. “I’m moving.” Antarctica doesn’t seem far enough away. “Maybe I can get a spot in the Mars Colony. Their spaceship hasn’t been fully funded. And they haven’t figured out how to get around that poison gas thing. But I’m sure I can get accepted into the group. Unless they hate pregnant women too.”
Two hands grip my arms, stopping me from walking…which I didn’t even know I was doing. “He’s not going to hate you.”
“He isn’t? Are you sure?”
“Positive. He’s going to be shocked. But Havoc is a good man. He’ll understand.”
He’ll understand. He’ll understand. I hug Bram so tightly. “Thank you. Thank you for being a great friend.”
“You’re welcome. Why don’t we get you home so you can tell him.”
***
No response.
It’s been hours, and I haven’t gotten so much as a hello from Havoc.
No ‘running late’.
No ‘busy, talk later’.
Nothing but complete radio silence.
You’re being paranoid. Havoc said that he and Creed had to do something today.
He’s probably still busy.
Finish working on the event. Then go to bed.
When you wake up, Creed will be there asking you to breakfast.
***
The one good thing about being pregnant is that I can sleep. No matter how stressed I was, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I am out like a light.
I’d better get up and cook something for breakfast. Sunday mornings call for something special. Time to search through my new recipes.
Walking past the floor-length mirror without looking, I head right in to get ready.
