He laughs. “No. I got those frozen burgers you like. Sliced cheese. And sandwich pickles.”
My eyebrows fly up. “Burgers with sandwich pickles? You’re my hero.”
“I got carrot cake too.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
I give him a questioning but flirtatious look, because something about this feels special. But I don’t pry. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Watching him walk off, I bury my stress until we can talk properly later, in private.
As soon as I enter my dorm room at Eaton House, I go straight to the phone on my desk. It’s a long-distance call to Dalhousie University in Halifax, but I don’t care. I need to talk to Becky.
Thankfully, she answers after the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. I’m glad I caught you.”
Becky and I have been best friends since seventh grade, when her family moved to Halifax and bought a house a block away from ours. I was an only child, and at the time, all the kids in the neighborhood were older boys who played ball hockey in the street. When Becky moved in, we formed an immediate bond. Weekend sleepovers became the norm for the next six years.
“Sienna,” she says. “This is unexpected. What’s up?”
“Well ...” I hesitate because I’m not sure how much to reveal. Part of me wants to tell her that I haven’t slept alone a single night since November because I’ve been staying with her brother, in his apartment. And now my period is late.
But I can’t tell her that, because Jacob needs to be the first to hear this. And he will. I swear, in a few hours, over burgers, I’ll tell him. But right now, I’m craving information, and if anyone would know what his “surprise” is—and if it’s what I hope—Becky is that person. She’s his younger sister and greatest confidante.
But I can’t simply launch into it. I learned a long time ago that in order for our friendship to survive, I need to make time for Becky outside of my relationship with her brother.
“How’s it going with you?” I ask. “What happened with the volleyball player last weekend?”
Becky scoffs. “Oh, nothing. He was just a wicked flirt. God, I wish you were here to give me a good shake and remind me that not all guys who talk to me for more than ten seconds are Mr. Right.”
I laugh, but she isn’t exaggerating. Becky has always been a dreamer. She wants a house with a white picket fence, a husband, two kids, and a dog, so it takes nothing for her to fall head over heels in love with any potential Prince Charming at a Friday-night frat party.
But how can I criticize? I’m a dreamer too. I want to be an interior designer and own my own business, and like Becky, I often spend too much time mapping out my future. As a result, I forget to enjoy the present.
Becky’s tone brightens. “But enough about me. Why are you calling in the middle of the day on a Wednesday?”
I pick up a pen and scribble aimlessly on a notepad. “Well ... Jacob said he has a surprise for me. He’s cooking my favorite supper tonight—burgers and pickles. He even got carrot cake, and he seemed a little ... I don’t know ... coy. Do you know anything?”
“I wish I could help, but I don’t know a thing. I swear.”
I lay my hand on my belly. I look down at it and wonder if I’m just bloated. Then the dreadful worry returns.
“Maybe he’s just in the mood for carrot cake,” I say. “And I was looking for an excuse to call you anyway.” I rest my forehead against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. “I wish you were here.”
I also wish we could go back to the days when we were in total control of our futures.
“Is everything okay between you guys?” she asks. “Are you having relationship troubles?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. We’re fine.” I pause. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Except that I do. I’m terrified that I’m pregnant. How will Jacob take the news? He wants to be an engineer, and he has two more years of school. I don’t want to get in the way of that.
And how will I tell my parents?
I bite my lower lip and wish I could keep this news to myself, at least until I tell Jacob, but my stomach is in knots, and I need to talk to someone. Not just someone. Becky. My best friend.
