“Five months?” Hope screams so loud that every head in the diner swivels toward us. Leaning across the table, she repeats the words, this time at a whisper. “Five months?”
I nod, but before I can add anything else, Hannah arrives to take our orders. Hope and Carin’s appetites are apparently ruined by my news, but I’m hungry, so I order a turkey sandwich.
“Are you showing at all?” Hope still looks a tad dazed.
“A little bit. I can still wear stretchy pants. No skinny jeans, though.”
“Have you been to the doctor?” she asks. Beside her, Carin remains silent.
“Yes. I have insurance through work. Everything looks good.”
“Were you planning to tell us after you had the baby?” Carin blurts out, hurt coloring her words.
“I wasn’t even sure I was going to keep it,” I admit. “And once I decided, I was…embarrassed. I didn’t know how to tell you guys.”
“You know, it’s not too late,” Hope says with an encouraging smile.
Carin brightens at the thought. “Right. Like, you can still get the A any time up until the third trimester.”
Their lack of support stings, but somehow it makes me all the more resolute. My whole life has been about showing doubters I can succeed.
“No,” I say firmly. “This is what I want.”
“What about Harvard?” Hope demands.
“I’m still going. Nothing’s changed.”
My friends exchange a look that says I’m hopeless and which one of them is going to break the news to me. I guess Hope wins, because she says, “You really think nothing is going to change? You’re having a baby.”
“I know. But there are millions of women who have babies every day and still manage to be functioning adults.”
“It’s going to be so hard for you. Who’s going to take care of the baby while you’re in class? How are you going to study?” She reaches across the table to squeeze my limp hand. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re making a mistake.”
My face grows hard. “I’m still going to Harvard.”
I don’t know if it’s my tone or my expression that convinces them that my mind is made up, but either way they get the message. Despite the lingering skepticism on their faces, they move on.
“Is it a boy or girl?” Carin asks. “Wait—Tucker’s the dad, right?”
“Of course Tucker is the dad, and I don’t know. We haven’t had the ultrasound yet.”
“What did he say when you told him?” Hope butts in.
That I’m not alone. “He’s okay with it. He didn’t burst into tears or shout in anger. He didn’t flip over a table or rage about the unfairness of it. He just held me and told me I wasn’t alone. I think he’s a bit scared, but he’s going to be with me every step of the way.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “And as much as I want to protect him, I’m going to hold on to his hand for as long as possible. It’s so damn selfish of me, but right now the idea of facing the future alone keeps me up at night.”
“That’s good, at least,” Carin says gently.
“He’s amazing. I don’t deserve him.” God, if my best friends are struggling with this, I can’t even imagine what’s going on in Tucker’s head.
Hope frowns. “What makes you say that? It’s not like you got pregnant alone.”
“He didn’t have a choice.”
“Bullshit. Every time you have sex, there’s a risk. No form of contraception is a hundred percent effective, not even a vasectomy. You want to go for the ride, you have to pay the price.”
“That’s a steep price.”
She waves her hand. “Which you’re paying too.”
“Can we stop being so depressing?” Carin pipes up. “Let’s talk about the important stuff. When are you getting the ultrasound? I want to start buying baby things.”
I open my mouth to say I don’t know when we’re interrupted by Carin’s phone. “Shit.” She digs it out and slides out of the seat. “It’s my advisor. I’ve got to take this.”
As she disappears toward the bathroom, Hope turns her worried gaze toward me. “Damn, B. I really hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.” I know she loves me and that’s why she’s so concerned, but like Carin, I don’t want to dwell on the negatives. My mind is made up and all this second-guessing is only going to make me feel bad.
“I only want you to be happy,” she says softly.
“I know.” This time it’s my turn to reach across the table. “I’m scared, but this is what I want. I promise.”
She grips my hand hard. “Okay. I’m here for you then. Whatever you need.”
Carin comes back and pushes Hope over. “I’m going to learn how to knit,” she announces.
“Knit?” I echo wryly.
“Yeah, baby booties. You’re five months along? That gives me about four months to learn how to knit, so be prepared to be amazed and awed by my new skill.”
I finally crack a smile. “Consider me prepared.”
In more ways than one, but hey, I’ve got my friends and I’ve got Tucker, which is more than I thought I’d ever have and more than I probably deserve.
But I’ll take it.
25
Tucker
The kitchen is so silent, I feel like I’m in church. Not that I’ve been to church often. Mom dragged me to a few Sunday sermons when I was a kid, until finally admitting that she’d way rather sleep in on the weekends. I was totally on board with that plan.
But right now, it’s not God and Pastor Dave passing judgment on me—it’s my closest friends.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell us sooner?” Garrett.
“You’re seriously keeping this kid?” Logan.
“Sabrina fucking James?” Dean.
I tighten my grip around my beer bottle and scowl at Dean. I blame him for this little powwow. Two seconds after I told him and Allie the news, he’d sent an SOS to Garrett and Logan ordering them to get their asses home. They’d been at the dorms with their girlfriends, and now I feel like a jerk for spoiling their nights.
“Guys, why don’t you let him talk instead of shouting questions at him?” Allie speaks up in a cautious tone.
I nod, but before I can add anything else, Hannah arrives to take our orders. Hope and Carin’s appetites are apparently ruined by my news, but I’m hungry, so I order a turkey sandwich.
“Are you showing at all?” Hope still looks a tad dazed.
“A little bit. I can still wear stretchy pants. No skinny jeans, though.”
“Have you been to the doctor?” she asks. Beside her, Carin remains silent.
“Yes. I have insurance through work. Everything looks good.”
“Were you planning to tell us after you had the baby?” Carin blurts out, hurt coloring her words.
“I wasn’t even sure I was going to keep it,” I admit. “And once I decided, I was…embarrassed. I didn’t know how to tell you guys.”
“You know, it’s not too late,” Hope says with an encouraging smile.
Carin brightens at the thought. “Right. Like, you can still get the A any time up until the third trimester.”
Their lack of support stings, but somehow it makes me all the more resolute. My whole life has been about showing doubters I can succeed.
“No,” I say firmly. “This is what I want.”
“What about Harvard?” Hope demands.
“I’m still going. Nothing’s changed.”
My friends exchange a look that says I’m hopeless and which one of them is going to break the news to me. I guess Hope wins, because she says, “You really think nothing is going to change? You’re having a baby.”
“I know. But there are millions of women who have babies every day and still manage to be functioning adults.”
“It’s going to be so hard for you. Who’s going to take care of the baby while you’re in class? How are you going to study?” She reaches across the table to squeeze my limp hand. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re making a mistake.”
My face grows hard. “I’m still going to Harvard.”
I don’t know if it’s my tone or my expression that convinces them that my mind is made up, but either way they get the message. Despite the lingering skepticism on their faces, they move on.
“Is it a boy or girl?” Carin asks. “Wait—Tucker’s the dad, right?”
“Of course Tucker is the dad, and I don’t know. We haven’t had the ultrasound yet.”
“What did he say when you told him?” Hope butts in.
That I’m not alone. “He’s okay with it. He didn’t burst into tears or shout in anger. He didn’t flip over a table or rage about the unfairness of it. He just held me and told me I wasn’t alone. I think he’s a bit scared, but he’s going to be with me every step of the way.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “And as much as I want to protect him, I’m going to hold on to his hand for as long as possible. It’s so damn selfish of me, but right now the idea of facing the future alone keeps me up at night.”
“That’s good, at least,” Carin says gently.
“He’s amazing. I don’t deserve him.” God, if my best friends are struggling with this, I can’t even imagine what’s going on in Tucker’s head.
Hope frowns. “What makes you say that? It’s not like you got pregnant alone.”
“He didn’t have a choice.”
“Bullshit. Every time you have sex, there’s a risk. No form of contraception is a hundred percent effective, not even a vasectomy. You want to go for the ride, you have to pay the price.”
“That’s a steep price.”
She waves her hand. “Which you’re paying too.”
“Can we stop being so depressing?” Carin pipes up. “Let’s talk about the important stuff. When are you getting the ultrasound? I want to start buying baby things.”
I open my mouth to say I don’t know when we’re interrupted by Carin’s phone. “Shit.” She digs it out and slides out of the seat. “It’s my advisor. I’ve got to take this.”
As she disappears toward the bathroom, Hope turns her worried gaze toward me. “Damn, B. I really hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.” I know she loves me and that’s why she’s so concerned, but like Carin, I don’t want to dwell on the negatives. My mind is made up and all this second-guessing is only going to make me feel bad.
“I only want you to be happy,” she says softly.
“I know.” This time it’s my turn to reach across the table. “I’m scared, but this is what I want. I promise.”
She grips my hand hard. “Okay. I’m here for you then. Whatever you need.”
Carin comes back and pushes Hope over. “I’m going to learn how to knit,” she announces.
“Knit?” I echo wryly.
“Yeah, baby booties. You’re five months along? That gives me about four months to learn how to knit, so be prepared to be amazed and awed by my new skill.”
I finally crack a smile. “Consider me prepared.”
In more ways than one, but hey, I’ve got my friends and I’ve got Tucker, which is more than I thought I’d ever have and more than I probably deserve.
But I’ll take it.
25
Tucker
The kitchen is so silent, I feel like I’m in church. Not that I’ve been to church often. Mom dragged me to a few Sunday sermons when I was a kid, until finally admitting that she’d way rather sleep in on the weekends. I was totally on board with that plan.
But right now, it’s not God and Pastor Dave passing judgment on me—it’s my closest friends.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell us sooner?” Garrett.
“You’re seriously keeping this kid?” Logan.
“Sabrina fucking James?” Dean.
I tighten my grip around my beer bottle and scowl at Dean. I blame him for this little powwow. Two seconds after I told him and Allie the news, he’d sent an SOS to Garrett and Logan ordering them to get their asses home. They’d been at the dorms with their girlfriends, and now I feel like a jerk for spoiling their nights.
“Guys, why don’t you let him talk instead of shouting questions at him?” Allie speaks up in a cautious tone.
