Matt, the bar manager, notices and rushes over, catching me by the elbow. “You good?”
I don’t move, worried it’ll trigger the nausea.
Parker and Jimmy join him, worry etched on their faces.
Jimmy shakes his head of white hair. “Told ya you should’ve canceled tonight. You’re still sick. Go home, sugar.”
My argument gets lost when saliva fills my mouth.
“I’ll drive her.” Parker is already collecting my belongings.
The queasiness passes, leaving me exhausted and clammy. Parker escorts me through the back exit toward her car, helping me inside.
I roll the window down, sucking in lungfuls of the chilly November air.
“You want to stop for food? Maybe some soup?” Parker asks from behind the wheel.
I gag. “Nope. Crackers and water.”
She sides eye me. “You should go to the doctor. It’s been over a week since you first got sick.”
“I’m overworked.” I sag into the seat, drawing my cardigan up to my chin. “I’m off tomorrow. A good night’s sleep is what my body needs. Also, my period is around the corner, which always drains me.”
We brake at a stoplight, and Parker turns to me. “My period was last week. We’re always in sync… Did the cold meds screw with your cycle or something?”
I do some quick mental math.
That can’t be right, but Parker isn’t wrong. Ever since we started working together, we’ve bonded over our brutal cramps and tender boobs. My boobs are kind of sore.
Fingers tapping on the dash, her lips corkscrew. “You work too much, Harry. For a second, I thought…” She cackles, cutting herself off.
“What?”
“I thought you might be pregnant.”
“Yes, well, you need to have sex for that to happen.” My disbelieving laugh deflates like a balloon.
The humor dies, and a new wave of nausea assaults me for an entirely different reason this time.
Parker spots the change in my body language. Her mouth opens then snaps shut, eyes wide.
“Change of plan,” I rasp. “Take me to the drugstore.”
My entire bodytrembles as I clutch the edge of the bathtub.
Parker stands in the open doorway, watching with a rare edge of concern to her expression. “It’s been three minutes. It’s time.”
I stare blankly at the white plastic stick sitting face down on the counter.
One-hundred and eighty seconds is all it takes to reveal life-changing news—not nearly enough time to prepare yourself mentally.
In the picturesque landscape of my brain, I imagined this moment to be filled with happy anticipation, the man I’dchosen to start a family with by my side, mirroring my hope. It’s the white picket fence dream.
Or is it?
Yes, I want kids, but now? When I’m only just getting my foot in the door of the music industry? I’ve thrown everything I’ve got at my career for the last twelve months. If I’m pregnant, what does it mean? Do I have to give it all up?
I glance at Parker, who senses my silent panic.
