Page 107 of Sweeter Than Fiction

“Well, I think I’m pregnant. I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

I start rambling, knowing damn well I’m not making any sense. It doesn’t take long for him to stop me.

“Baby girl, I need you to calm down and breathe.” He takes a couple of deep breaths, instructing me to do it with him.

He leads me over to the couch, and we sit down before he says, “Okay, now, tell me what’s going on.”

“This morning, I looked at the calendar and saw that I was late.”

“Well, that’s not that big of a deal, right? Girls are late all the time,” he argues.

“Not me. I’ve never been late. Ever. The rest of my life may be a complete mess, but my uterus always has its shit together. It’s beyond prompt.”

“Still. Maybe it’s just a one-time thing. A fluke. A day or two late isn’t a big deal.”

“Jenson, I’m two weeks late.”

“Oh.” His face falls a little, but he tries to hide it. Grabbing my hands in his, he says, “Are you okay?”

“No!” I say a bit louder than I mean to.

“It’s Don’s, right?”

I look at him like he’s lost his mind. “Are you serious? I was lucky to get one hunky guy to fall for me. I sure as shit wouldn’t mess that up by sleeping with someone else.”

“Don’t you two use protection? Or are you on the pill?”

“We use condoms,” I reply. “But Don’s cock is a beast. I wouldn’t be surprised if it busted through the condom like it was the Hulk or something.”

“Well, what did he say?”

I run my hands through my hair. “I haven’t told him yet. I called you first.”

“No offense, but why? This is Don…Mr. Perfect. Don’t you think he would be super happy and supportive?”

“Supportive? Yes. Of course. But happy? I don’t know. We haven’t really discussed the whole kids thing. We love being together, but we haven’t talked about the future too much. Before I open that door, I want to go to the doctor and make sure. No need getting him worked up if I don’t need to.”

“You’d rather just be worked up all alone?” He asks.

“No. That’s what I called you for.”

“So, what now?”

“I called the doctor to get an appointment. I thought I’d have to wait a while, but because of the endometriosis, they said they needed to see me today. I guess I’m considered high-risk or something. I don’t know. But my appointment is in an hour.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I told you that we haven’t really talked about anything like this—”

“No,” he interrupts. “I didn’t ask about Don. I’m asking about you. If you take him completely out of the equation, how do you feel about this whole thing?”

“Honestly, I have no fucking clue.”

I adjust myself on the uncomfortable table in the doctor’s office, listening to the paper crinkle underneath me. So far, I’ve done a urine test, a blood test, and an ultrasound. In all of that, I haven’t actually seen the doctor as of yet.

The entire time I’ve been here, I’ve been thinking of Jenson’s question and trying to figure out how I feel about this whole thing.

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