Page 9 of Through the Storm
At this point, my living room looks like a pastel-themed baby shower threw up on it. She’s here again today, cross-legged on my couch, passing me strawberries in lieu of muffins while we scroll through baby name apps like they’re Tinder.
“What aboutBellaif it’s a girl?” she asks.
“Nice try. Absolutely not,” I deadpan.
She snickers. “Fine. Your loss.”
We snack and toss around names, wondering what the baby might look like.
“Probably those giant Montgomery navy-blue eyes,” Ella says almost dreamily. “Or your dark hair if we’re lucky.”
I roll my eyes because she just described my brother. “Please stopfantasizing about having my brother’s babies in front of me. It’s gross.”
She laughs but doesn’t deny it.
Then we sit in silence for a beat too long.
I groan. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asks innocently.
“You know what.”
Her grin fades to something gentler. “Katy… I would never ask. You know that.”
I pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. And then, because she’s Ella, because I trust her more than anyone, I whisper, “El… the truth is, I don’t know who the dad is.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t blink.
“Oh. Okay,” she says softly. “Was it like a we-didn’t-exchange-names situation?”
“No, we did. There’s just… um… multiple possibilities.”
“Well… who are the frontrunners?”
“See, that’s the issue. There’s… um… five.”
She blinks once. Twice. “As in… five potential fathers?”
I bury my face in my hands. “Please stop saying it out loud.”
I wait for her to look disappointed or judgmental.
Instead, she bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Katy, I’m not judging. Honestly? I’m extremely impressed. You’re officially five times cooler than me.”
I start laughing, and it evolves to crying laughter until my face aches. Ella just hands me a tissue and pats my knee.
“Okay. Five potential dads. Do they look different at least? Or are we stealing five separate hairs for DNA testing? This is very April fromGilmore Girls. I like it.”
“Oh, shut up!” I choke out through more laughter.
“Sorry! But if you wanted to know, they do have a blood test now…”
My laugh dies instantly. Because the truth is, no matter how angry I am at Ben, I want it to be him. I already picture a little boy with hismessy blond hair. I can’t handle the possibility of him not being the dad.
Just like I can’t handle him suddenly texting and calling me again. I’ve wanted this for months. Now every notification just makes me want to cry.
So, instead I say, “I know, but that would involve five different DNA tests and at least one horrified medical professional. Absolutely not. Also, the whole town would probably find out. Can you imagine the horror?”
