Page 7 of Consummation

“It’s just that the first season was soepic,” Ryan says. “Everyone’s expectations were just so high after that.”

Under-promise and over-perform. That’s what Josh once said is one of his many life mottos. Is that what Josh was doing by not telling me about Seattle? Under-promising? I’m guessing yes. So, hey, maybe I should take a page out of Josh’s under-promising playbook and hold off telling him about the accidental Faraday gestating inside me for a bit? Given the timing of when we were in Las Vegas together, there’s no way I’m out of my first trimester yet, which means my chances of miscarriage are still relatively high (especially, I’d think, in light of my boozing and weed-smoking and Sybian-riding).

If nature winds up taking its course and this pregnancy doesn’t stick, then I’d be awfully bummed if I’d stupidly told Josh about the situation early on. And on the other hand, if this pregnancydoeswind up sticking—if I actually do wind up giving birth to Josh Faraday’s lovechild—oh my fucking God—well, then, there’d still be norushin telling Josh about it, right? Because if we’re ultimately gonna have a kid together some time this year, there’s no reason Josh needs to know about it tomorrow versus, say, in a month... right?

I suppose if I thought Josh would ask me to get an abortion, there might be a different analysis about timing, but I already know (based on a surprisingly deep conversation we had about religion and spirituality one night on the phone) that Catholic-raised Josh wouldn’t ask me to do that; and, for myself, I’ve already seriously considered and rejected that option, anyway. Which means, under any scenario, it makes no difference if I tell Josh about my accidental bun in the oven now or a month from now.

A feeling of relative calm washes over me.

I think I just made a decision: I’ll wait a month to tell Josh about the baby, just in case natural selection takes care of things between now and then. And in the meantime, I’ll just try not to think about it (other than taking pre-natal vitamins and picking upWhat To Expect When You’re Expecting).

Yep. That’s the plan.

Okay.

Whew.

I take a deep breath and tune into the conversation at the table again, feeling oddly relieved.

“So it turned out it was just a little brush fire,” Colby’s saying. “And yet there we all were, geared up for the Apocalypse.”

Everyone laughs.

“I always get so nervous every time you go out on a call,” Mom says to Colby.

“I know, Mom. But I wouldn’t wanna be doing anything else with my life. I love it.”

“I know you do, honey. We’re so proud of you.”

I look down at my phone and stare at Josh’s text, the one asking if I’m at Colby’s birthday dinner. I suppose I should answer the guy.

“Yeah, I’m at the party,” I write. “Sitting at the dinner table with everyone right now, as a matter of fact. We’re eating Dax’s carrot cake, which is utterly DELICIOUS, bee tee dubs. Too bad you had to miss it.” I press send on my text and look up from my phone. “Hey, Mom, can you cut me a little slice of cake, after all?”

“Sure,” Mom says. “Does that mean you’re feeling a bit better?”

“Mmm hmm.”

My phone buzzes with Josh’s reply: “I wanted to be there, but you UNINVITED me.” He attaches a sad-face emoji.

“Are you in L.A.?” I write.

“Yeah. I took the first flight home this morning.” Another sad-face. “Did you tell your family why I’m not there?”

“No. I told them you had to return to L.A. for work.”

“Why didn’t you tell them I’m a total asshole?”

“Because it’s none of their business you’re a total asshole,” I write. “WHICH YOU ARE.”

Everyone at the table laughs uproariously about something Keane is saying.

I glance up from my phone to find Colby staring at me, his eyes full of sympathy.

Damn, that Colby.

“Excuse me,” I say, leaping up from the table. I sprint across the house toward my mom’s office, intending to close the door behind me and continue texting with Josh, but my sudden movement has made me feel horrendously queasy all of a sudden, so I hang a sharp right and bolt into the bathroom.

Gah. Thar she blows.

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