Page 10 of Super Hot Wingman
This is awful news. On the phone walking home from work, I plead with her to be careful.
She just laughs. “It’s all good, but I do want to come see you on Saturday. Do you have Rosie?”
“Of course,” I say, since I usually do.
On Saturday, Hannah comes over for dinner and bath time, then insists on reading ten books. Rosie’s in heaven, and still begs for more.
Hannah tucks her in after the eleventh. “Goodnight, sweet girl,” my sister says.
I give Rosie a goodnight kiss, then we leave, shutting her door.
“Are you thinking about taking up a new career as a nanny?” I tease.
Hannah shakes her head and bites her lip as if she’s hiding a smile. She tugs me to the kitchen, yanking me there in seconds flat. “That’s going to be me soon,” she says, pointing at Rosie’s room.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I can add up what she said, but it feels like a complex math equation. I’ve got to get it just right. “Explain.”
Hannah sets her hands on my shoulders and squeezes hard. “I’m pregnant. We’re due in the fall. I’m so happy.”
Tears of joy roll down her face as she throws her arms around me. But me? I’mnumb. I feel like I’ve slipped back in time to when I last heard those words.
When I got my college girlfriend pregnant.
Honestly, I feel like screaming.
This thing with Flip is moving way too fast.
My sister could get hurt. And her kid could too.
But, wow, ababy. A tiny Hannah. My heart squeezes. Just the idea makes my throat feel tight. My little sister is going to be amom? That’s incredible. Wonderful. And also terrifying. Rosie’s newborn days were so hard. But so amazing.
And so hard.
This is a lot.
Hannah is still waiting for me to say something nice. But my throat is made of ground glass. “Congratulations,” I choke out, trying to sound convincing.
This news moves me in a hundred ways. But I can’t shake the feeling that she’s heading down the same road I just traveled. I know how stories like this end.
I’m living the end of this tale.
And it ain't pretty.
THE HOT NERD VIBE
ASHER
As we head to the tennis courts on a gorgeous May morning, I clap my good friend on the shoulder. “I only have one question for you today,” I say to Flip.
“Is this where you ask me again how on earth I convinced Hannah to marry me?”
The man simply can’t stop talking about the wholeshe said yesmoment since he asked Hannah to be his wife a week ago. He even showed me her Instagram post where, in fact, she wroteI said yes.
Side note: I was the first to know her answer, because I was the engagement photographer. Felt a little like James Bond, waiting patiently behind a tree in Central Park, then popping out to snap photos when Flip went down on one knee on Bethesda Terrace.
“No. The question is,” I say, swiveling the racquet in my hand as we walk to the courts in the park, “are you going to need a handicap since I plan on utterly destroying you today?”
Flip scoffs. “I never need you to spot me any points. And I have beaten you on occasion. Just because you played some god-awful sport nobody’s ever heard of doesn’t mean you win all the time at everything.”
