Page 26 of Protect Home
This is all too much. Tired is a light term to describe my appearance. The bags under my eyes have their own zip code, and the breakout on my face only adds to the zombie girl aesthetic. I’m back in yesterday’s pajamas after having called out of work because I couldn’t find the energy to physically lift myself out of bed.
My hair is in a tangle of knots down my back, and I’m confident I smell like cow manure. Not confident enough to smell myself and find out, but enough that I just know.
I’m pregnant. I repeat it in my head again and again. Holy shit.
It really happened.
“Oh my godddddd,” I let out a sharp squeal, the short rush of excitement coming to the forefront of my unsteady emotions now.
I have a feeling this is going to be a new normal for me—a mix of annoyance, fear, and pure giddiness.
The hardest part to wrap my head around is how my little miracle came to be. That’s what I’m struggling with.
August Graves. The man who has now been promoted to father of my child.Our child.
Holy motherfucking shit.
I should probably stop cussing. Jesus, I have a lot of work to do.
If you had asked me a year ago who I saw as the father of my child someday, August wouldn’t have made the list of potential babysitters if an emergency occurred.
But that now pivotal night, I saw August as comfort and a place to lower my guard. A safe place to land just for the night. If I’m being honest, he’s also a person I know wouldn’t judge me, because he’s just like me.
We’re comfortable enough with each other to fight and then fuck, clearly. A catastrophic combination if you ask me.
I need to think this through. Weigh out my options before I go full steam ahead and tell him. But how?
When is an appropriate time to tell someone they’re going to be a father?“Hey, August. Remember that semi-decent fucking you gave me a while back? Four weeks ago, to be exact. Yeah. Well, surprise. You knocked me up. You’re going to be a daddy!”
The man is a certified adrenaline junkie, but I’m positive approaching it like that will send him face-first offthe deep end.
For now, I’m code-wording the girls because damage control is underway. There’s one thing I’m confident in: I’m going to be the best mother I can be, with or without August Graves.
I pull out my phone and text our group chat.
Tenley:fuzzy twisted nipple. 9 fucking 1-1.
“Ten?”Frantic voices call for me. “Ten? Where are you? Who died? Please don’t be naked,” Navy’s voice projects throughout my tiny condo.
“In here,” I announce myself from the living room.
The front door slams, welcoming Navy and Kodi, powerwalking in my direction at an unprecedented speed.
“Jesus. What happened to you?” Kodi comes to a halt.
I cast her a glance. “Take a seat. Join me,” I tease, my voice resembling an overjoyed flight attendant.
“Cut the shit, Tenley,” Navy bellows. “You called codeword 911. It’s not time for jokes. You scared the piss out of me. Better get to talkin’.”
“Such beautiful words you speak to me, Navy Hayes.”
Kodi plops on the couch to my right. “No, seriously, you did. She showed up at my house looking like Adam Sandler, ready to cut a bitch. I mean, look at her,” Kodi says, gesturing toward Navy’sinterestingensemble.
The woman looks top-notch ninety-nine percent of the time. But call her with urgency? She throws on whatever she canfind.
My eyes scan my wild and naturally chaotic friend. Her bright red hair is wrapped in a silk bonnet while gold under-eye patches get to work on her poreless face. She’s in mismatched pajamas with the buttons jumbled up, and her feet are covered in socks with mixed vegetables on them.
I chuckle. “Bodhi sleeps with you like that?”
