Page 28 of Afterglow

I grimace. “Yeah, that one.” I feel a little bad about that now, considering… But how could I have known when I told Will about her that she’d actually change my life forever? “So… she’s pregnant. And it’s mine.”

I take in his shocked expression as it morphs into something akin to confused elation.

“You’re shitting me,” he chokes out between garbled laughs.

“I’m not shitting you.” His laughter continues for another minute until he’s clutching his side. “For fuck’s sake, pull it together,” I say, exasperated.

He does indeed pull himself together, standing and shaking his head, a shit-eating grin still on his lips. “Shit, man. I think I better get myself a cup of coffee so you can tell me how the hell this happened.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Leanne

My fingers tap the side of my phone as I stare at the blinking curser. I’ve typed and deleted more than a hundred texts to Bryce in the past three days. The simplest ones being plain “thank you for the groceries,” with others being elaborate and filled with more words than is appropriate for a text message.

But each one has faced the dreaded backspace button, and I continue to stare at this blank thread with trepidation. There’s still so much that needs to be said, but I’m entirely unsure where to start.

So instead of calling him, I’ve let the busyness of catching up on last week’s work distract me. Considering I still look and feel like shit, no one in the office questioned my excuse of having the flu. At least I’m no longer throwing up all the time.

When I still wasn’t better by Sunday afternoon, I gave in and texted Rebecca. She called in a prescription for Zofran, and within an hour, I was able to eat a full meal. I made an appointment with her office first thing yesterday morning so she wouldn’t have to worry about giving prescription medications to someone who wasn’t a patient, even if she seemed unconcerned about doing so.

They were able to squeeze me into their schedule for next Friday for my ten-week appointment. The pregnancy weeks versus weeks since conception thing still throws me off, but both Rebecca’s office and the app I downloaded say I’m eight weeks and three days along… and I’m due on April 30th.

I click away from my messages and into the new pregnancy app instead. On the screen is a picture of a raspberry. I’ve already read everything it has to say about week eight, and week nine too. My bedside table is littered with books about pregnancy I got at a secondhand shop on my lunch break yesterday. The shock is finally wearing off and the nerves about how much I don’t know are taking over. Hence the list of questions I’ve been compiling in my Notes app, ready to unload on the doctor.

Rebecca seemed to understand my need to be sure everything is okay, even if she doesn’t understand why it’s so hard for me to believe I’m actually pregnant. Unless Bryce already told her?

Of course, I could find out if he did… by calling him like he asked me to. But I’ve been cowardly avoiding everyone while I bury myself in work.

As if on cue, a text from my mom pops up on the screen.

Mom

How are you feeling? We missed you at dinner on Sunday.

The missed calls from her and my sisters are piling up, and I should probably make contact soon or they’ll be worried I’ve died.

Me

I’m doing better. Flu seems to have passed. Just trying to get caught up on work.

Mom

Try not to work too hard. You’ll make yourself sick again. See you this weekend?

Our Sunday dinners used to be a highlight of my week. I love my parents and my sisters, but after Craig and I broke up and everything centered around Jenna’s wedding, the dinners became less enjoyable. It’s my fault. I should’ve told them everything, but it feels like it’s been too long for it to matter at this point.

Anyway, I have bigger news to tell them now, and as I’ve barely wrapped my own head around it, I’m playing the avoidance game.

Me

We’ll see. I might have to work this weekend.

My phone chimes again, but I shove it into my hoodie pocket without looking at it. With a pronounced exhale, I push away from the computer in my office and feel the stretch in my legs. I got home from work an hour ago, but a call from my boss had me rushing to reply to an email from one of our vendors. With that “emergency” dealt with, I’m done for the night and should probably figure out what I want to eat.

With the Zofran, eating has returned to normal, though I’m still gun shy to eat anything outside the beige food groups.

Looking over the contents of my fridge, my hand wanders across my stomach. “What do you feel like tonight?”