Page 55 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
“I’m so jealous,” she whines. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had a good lay. And I bet your pregnancy hormones are making it even better. How’s all that going?”
“It’s getting better,” I say, relieved the symptoms have eased. “I’m still tired most of the time, and a little nauseous in the mornings. But my little nugget is really healthy. I actually just came from an appointment.”
“Oh, my God!” she squeals. “Do you have the ultrasound picture? Let me see my niece or nephew!”
I laugh as I pull the envelope out of my purse and hand it to her. I watch anxiously as she pulls out the photo and her eyes go wide. I swear I catch a tear glinting at the corner of her eye, but I know better than to call her on it. I’m typically the crybaby in our duo.
“Nicole, he’s absolutely perfect!” she says softly.
“That’s so funny,” I murmur. “I’ve been thinking of him as a boy too. I hope we’re not too disappointed if she’s a girl.”
“Boy or girl, they are going to be the most spoiled baby in all of New York!” she squeals, handing the envelope back to me. “Atleast by me. And, I’m guessing, by Dad? Or have you not told him yet?”
There it is. Her tone stays playful, but worry flickers beneath it, matching the knot in my own gut. I drop my gaze to the swirls of foam in my drink.
“I’m going to tell him soon,” I say into my coffee, unable to meet her gaze.
Mia sighs. “Nicole.” The single word is almost chastising.
“I know,” I say quickly. “I know, okay? But this isn’t something I can just slip into conversation or blurt out during sex. This is huge news, and I have no idea how it might affect us.”
“Exactly,” she says, eyes steady. “You don’t know. But I guarantee that letting him figure it out on his own when you’re suddenly in maternity-wear is not the way.”
I nod but stay silent. She’s right, of course. And now that we have some semblance of a real relationship, it’s all that much more complicated. There’s more at stake if the news lands badly.
“I’m scared,” I admit, absently stirring my drink.
Mia reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers.
“I know.” Her voice is gentle. “But the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be. What if he finds out from someone else?”
The thought twists my stomach worse than any morning sickness.
“I don’t want to lose him,” I whisper.
“Then trust him,” she says simply. “If he’s worth all of this, he’ll understand.”
I nod again, more to reassure myself than her. “I’ll tell him soon,” I promise.
She squeezes my hand, then settles back in her chair. “Good. And for what it’s worth, it sounds like he really cares about you.”
“I think he does too.” I smile faintly.
We sit in easy silence, watching the world slip past the window. It’s strange to be back in the heart of the city after hiding away in Sergei’s mansion for so long. I miss the constant buzz, yet I’m starting to enjoy the quiet. I wonder if I’ll miss Sergei’s place just as much when I inevitably have to leave.
Before I can say a word, a sharp crack splits the air outside. I freeze, my heart slamming into my ribs. Another one follows, sharper this time, and people around us gasp, some already ducking beneath tables.
My breath catches as I instinctively reach for Mia, dragging her down with me under our table. People scream and cry. Chairs clatter. The barista dives behind the counter, and someone yells for the police.
Mia grips my hand tightly, her eyes wide with panic.
“Are they shooting at the café?” she whispers.
“I don’t think so,” I whisper back, straining to hear what’s happening outside. My ears ring, and my heart thunders.
Footsteps pound the sidewalk, shouts erupt—then the commotion fades, moving away. Eventually, the shooting stops, and we all peek out from under our hiding spots. Police cruisers scream past the café, and it finally feels safe enough to emerge.
I release the breath I’ve been holding and slowly sit up, my muscles trembling. Mia follows, her expression still pale and shaken.
