Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Dabbing at my eyes, I sit in my hospital gown and drown in misery.
At the end of the appointment, the doctor hands me a folder full of pamphlets, papers, and a little booklet titled Your Pregnancy: A Week-by-Week Guide.
My hands shake as I take it.
“Be sure to give us a call if you experience any bleeding or cramping,” Dr. Yelich says. “I’m here if y’all have questions.”
Then she scoots out the door, ready to go about her day as usual because she didn’t get knocked up by her insanely hot, emotionally unavailable boss.
I did that. And now my day—possibly my life—is wrecked because of it.
The paper on the exam table crinkles as I set my feet on the ground. I wobble and grab onto the table’s edge. Before I know what’s happening, Tuck’s hands are on my waist.
He pulls his eyebrows together. “You okay? Need some water?”
“Um.” I swallow the acid of panic rising in my throat. “I’ll—I think I’ll be okay.”
Between my job and my classes, life’s been busy, and I’ve been able to go whole mornings and afternoons without thinking about the surprise situation happening in my uterus. But now—
Now it’s time to face the music. Make a choice.
I know what the smart thing to do is. I haven’t asked Tuck for his thoughts yet—he’s been buried in work this week—but I highly doubt he’d dig the idea of having a baby with his twenty-two-year-old nanny.
We should do the smart thing. I have to do the smart thing.
And yet.
I keep thinking about the magical day I had with Tuck and Katie last weekend. I had slept like shit the night before in anticipation of a lonely, lame Saturday filled with studying and more tearful Google searches on pregnancy, abortion, and birth.
Instead, I got a day filled with sunshine and laughter. It wasn’t perfect—Katie pooped her pants that morning and after dinner—but it was what I didn’t know I needed. And that was friendship. Connection. Fun. It made me realize how lonely I feel sometimes, despite having a full life and a busy schedule.
Turns out running after a four-year-old on the beach, Tuck hot on my heels with the biggest, most handsome smile on his face, made me feel just as happy as I did acing a test, or winning a cheer competition.
Might’ve made me even happier, if I’m being honest.
I just . . . I fucking love people. And now that I’m growing one in my belly, I can’t kick the desire to want to know him or her. To show this little person all the beautiful things I’ve discovered about life.
I also can’t kick the desire to sleep with Tuck again. When I’m not on the verge of vomiting, I’m painfully turned on. Doesn’t help that the orgasms I give myself while thinking about him are epic (thanks, Google, for informing me that increased blood flow to the genital area can lead to the best orgasms I’ve ever had solo).
I want him in my bed again. I also think I just want him. As in I want more than just another hookup. He’s a great boss. Better friend. Incredible dad.
Those huge, sculpted, veiny arms don’t hurt either.
A baby would complicate things. It might even ruin any chance I had of having a relationship with Tuck. But let’s be real, there’s a 99.9% chance that was never going to happen anyway.
We’re so different—in such different places in our lives—a relationship between us was never meant to be. Neither was this baby. Does Tuck even want more kids? Would he get married again?
And wow, why am I thinking about marriage? That’s jumping many, many steps ahead.
Still, my heart thumps as we head back out through the waiting room. My eyes move over the women seated across the space. Two of them, both very pregnant, chat amiably.
“This is number three,” one says, running her hand over her belly. “A boy. Once he’s here, I feel like our family will be complete.”
Family.
My brain gets stuck on that word. The idea of creating one. A family that’s entirely my own.
I may be utterly lost when it comes to knowing what I want in every other area of my life. But I’ve always known I want a family. People to call my own. People to play with. Laugh with. The way I played and laughed with Tuck and Katie last weekend.
What if I’m having a boy? What would he look like?
Dark hair. Green eyes.
Picturing him is like a punch to the gut. I suck in a breath.
Tuck’s hand finds the small of my back. “Are you going to be sick?”
“No. No, I’m fine.”
I’m grateful it’s bright enough outside that I have an excuse to put on my sunglasses. I can feel how swollen my eyes are.
I climb into Tuck’s enormous pickup truck. It fits him so fucking well with its shiny black paint and blacked out windows. It has a new car smell, the cushy leather upholstery in the front pristine. But the car seat in the back is covered in Goldfish crumbs and mystery smudges.