I cut her off, pulling her in for a hug. The second her head hits my chest, she lets out a sob, her shoulders shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her hair. “I’m sorry I haven’t come around.”
“I’m not mad,” she says, leaning back and wiping the tears from her eyes. “I get, I really do. But can you maybe start doing that? Coming around?”
“Of course I can,” I say, swiping at the stray tear still on her cheek. “As often as you want, for as long as you want.”
“Good,” she says with a small smile. “Because I’m going to need you. I’m going to need everyone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she starts, biting her lower lip and hesitating. “I kind of need to tell you something.”
“And what’s that?”
She gets off the couch and disappears down the hallway, her footsteps fading as she walks toward the bedroom. When she reenters the room, her hands are behind her back.
“Close your eyes,” she says. “And put out your hands.”
I do as I’m told without question, and patiently wait for whatever it is she’s about to put in my hands. She sets something long, thin (and maybe plastic?)in my palms.
“Okay,” she says nervously. “Open them.”
When I look down, I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at. Then I see the bold[Pregnant]on the screen, and my jaw drops.
“Is this yours?” I gasp.
“No, it’s David’s,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Of course it’s mine.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah, that’s what the ‘Pregnant’ on the screen typically means.”
I look back down at the test, lost for words.
“When did you find out?”
“A few days ago. I haven’t told anyone else yet.”
I look back up to see her nervously chewing her lip again.
“A few days? You sat on this for a few days?”
“Well, I’m not exactly in a rush to share that I’m with child with the only baby I’ll ever have with my husband.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I say hastily, rising to my feet. “I mean, you’ve been dealing with this alone? Why haven’t you told Ellie or your dad?”
“Because then it’s real,” she whispers, eyes welling with tears again. “It’s really real, and I’m really pregnant, and I really have to do this by myself.”
I pull her in for another hug and say fiercely, “You are absolutely not doing this by yourself, Abigail Thompson. Not for one second.”
“You promise?” Her voice is muffled from where her head is buried in my shirt.
“I promise.”
I let her go, and we sit back down, both heaving heavy sighs.
“Now for the more pressing question,” I say, fixing her with a stern look. “And no bullshit.”
