“You look weird,” she announces.
“I do not.”
She sits up instantly. “Do I need to beat someone up? I’ve been practicing punches in my mirror.”
I groan. “No.”
She gives me a measured look. “It could be one of two things. Mercury in retrograde or…” she lets out a dramatic pause, “…you’re knocked up.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Cut it out.”
“Knocked up, then?”
“Cass,” I protest.
“Take the five fucking pregnancy tests we bought at CVS last night and figure it out, bitch.”
She insisted on buying all the brands available because she apparently believes in scientific redundancy.
“Go.” She pushes me into Grandma Lucille’s powder room, it’s just a half bath, with the fucking pregnancy tests.
I look at them in the plastic bag, and feel a little sick.
“Do you want me in there?” she calls.
Sheesh! “No.”
“Do you want me halfway in there?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll stand outside and radiate moral support.”
“I can pee without moral support,” I snap.
“Well, I’m here to cheer you on, just in case,” she replies cheerfully.
“Cass, I love you, but you need to shut up.”
“Fine! I’ll sit here quietly and listen to you pee on a stick.”
“I need a new friend,” I mutter under my breath.
I take the tests from the bag—hands shaking—and set them on the counter next to the sink.
I open all of them. And then, yeah, I pee on each one of them because I’ve been holding it for a while, just for this purpose. They say you should do it first thing in the morning, but I’m doing it after I close the shop, so my hCG is going to be diluted with coffee.
OMG! Coffee?
I have to stop drinking that if I’m having a baby. Nick’s baby. And Nick’s not even the father’s name.
I’m so screwed.
“Are you done yet?” Cass demands.
“For the love of God, Cass. It takes two minutes.”
She opens the bathroom door and peeks in. “Is that an assembly line?”
