Page 65 of Mortify

He spots us and stops mid-sentence, face flushing red.

But the damage is done.

Everyone in earshot is now looking at us with new interest, and I see the exact moment the whispers start spreading like wildfire.

"Here's your whipped cream," I tell Fern, handing over the grocery bag like nothing's wrong.

Like my whole world didn't just tilt off its axis in the cereal aisle.

Like everyone isn't staring.

She takes it, but her eyes are reading my face like a map. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," I lie.

"Mmm-hmm." She glances at Regnor, whose hand hasn't left my back. "Why don't you go sit down, honey? You look a little pale."

I am pale.

I can feel it, the blood draining from my face as the reality of what's about to happen sets in.

Everyone's going to know.

My father's going to know, and not in the way I had originally hoped.

Regnor murmurs, guiding me toward a quieter corner. "Come on."

But we don't make it.

"Everly." Astrid appears at my elbow, concern written all over her face. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

I glance at Regnor, who nods. "I'll grab you that ginger ale."

Astrid pulls me toward the hallway, away from the main party, but not quite private.

Just quiet enough for real conversation.

"What the heck happened?" she asks without waiting for a second. "Ingrid just got a text from her friend who works at the grocery store. Said there was some kind of confrontation? With Dylan? Then Gunnar is telling all sorts of stories."

My stomach churns, and not just from morning sickness. "How does news travel so fast in this town?"

"Small town, big mouths." She touches my arm gently. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"No. Regnor was there." I wrap my arms around myself. "Astrid, I’m pregnant, and Dylan knows about the baby."

Her eyes widen. "Shit. I don’t know whether to congratulate you or say I’m sorry. What are you going to do? Is Dylan the father, or is it…" She doesn’t have to finish her question.

I know where she’s going with it.

I take a shaky breath, believing the lie I’m telling everyone. "Regnor’s the father. He even said it publicly. We've been together for months."

"Is it?" The question is gentle, no judgment. "His, I mean?"

The lie sits ready on my tongue, but looking at Astrid's concerned face, I can't voice it.

My silence is answer enough.

"Oh, honey," she breathes. "This is complicated as heck."

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