Page 55 of Mismatched

Gail only thinks for a moment. “Oh, without a doubt.”

“Really?” I say through my teeth.

“Actually, would I even be able to add extra baths between haircuts? I would definitely do that, especially if Freckles was already here.” She beams at me. “Lydia, you’re brilliant. It’s no wonder you’re such a success.”

Henry smirks at me as she leaves. “So, that’s six yeses, and let’s see... not a single no from any client we’ve asked.”

“It’s an incredibly small sample,” I mutter, not willing to grant him the satisfaction of knowing Marisol said the same thing. But I knew this would only be a matter of time once I saw his projections. I just need encouragement to get used to the idea.

“So, can I schedule the contractor to start the build-out?” he asks.

“Fine. But we’ll only be able to move Alicia over here.” I cross my arms. “It’s too small a space for more than one groomer. And we’ll need to see how this goes before we talk about renovating Pooch II.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says with a curt bow like I’m the queen.

I stomp outside to lick my wounds, and to make sure the dogs are being rotated since it’s still pretty hot for late September. Even though we have misters and plenty of water for them to play in, I keep a close eye on our four-legged clients in the heat. When I stop to dump out and refill a wading pool, Heartthrob runs over to attack the hose, effectively soaking me in the process. But it’s so hot I can’t really complain. Once I’ve checked in with the afternoon employees, I slip away into my office.

Anton and I have another date tonight. Which is to say, we’re actually dressing up and leaving the house rather than staying home and stripping our clothes off. It’s been weeks since we began his new experiment—since that night in the yard. And even I have to admit it’s gone better than expected. We haven’t had sex every day, but three or four times a week, at least. And while we do seem to be getting better at the physical act, it also feels like we’re growing closer. More in tune with each other’s moods and emotions. Even our therapist got on board, admitting it was an interesting strategy.

I close my office door, pulling my still-damp top over my head and reaching for the box of new Pooch Park T-shirts Henry and I ordered for the staff. But as I glance at the mirror on the back of the door, I notice I’m kind of spilling out of my bra. That hasn’t happened since I started shopping at Allure Lingerie and they fit me with a correct bra size. I take a moment to tuck myself back in, but my breasts are so sensitive they almost hurt, and I have to do it delicately. Now that I think about it, my waistline feels snug too.

Great. I’ll probably get my period and it’ll ruin the whole night Anton and I have planned. I open up the cycle tracking app on my phone to see if there’s any chance we might squeeze in one more date before my flow begins, but when I study the screen to check the predicted start of my period, my mouth drops open.

I bring the phone closer to my face, scrolling up to the date of my last cycle, then back down to the predicted start for this month. Which was a week ago.

My skin is clammy. The app is not always super accurate, but I can’t remember the estimate being off by more than a few days. I swipe back, hovering for a minute over the home screen, wondering if I should call Anton. Then I close my eyes and set it down, forcing several deep breaths in and out of my chest.

There is no need to freak out. This isn’t an emergency. I didn’t get pregnant last month, but everything was so stressful, I probably entered a date wrong and threw off the stupid algorithm. All I need to do is go home and take a test. Then I can laugh at myself for jumping to conclusions and we can still go out and have fun. I grab my purse and keys, mumbling something to Tomás about placing orders from home on my way out the door. The heat hits me like a wall as soon as I get outside, and I’m so focused on getting the air conditioning going in my car, I nearly pull out of my parking space before remembering I left Heartthrob and running back inside.

There has got to be some kind of margin of error with pregnancy tests. Like, how many kits can the manufacturer make that will really be accurate? I’ve taken two, but it seems like it might be worth going out to buy a third or fourth, to be on the safe side. Just to see if maybe that second line doesn’t appear. There’s got to be some chance of that.

I pick up the box again, re-reading the instructions, though there aren’t many steps and I pretty much have them memorized. Then I Google pregnancy test false positives, glancing at the two plastic sticks on my bathroom sink.

And like an asshole, Google tells me home tests are ninety-nine percent accurate.

I lower myself to the toilet, placing my head between my legs.

I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a?—

This can’t be.

Except what did I think was going to happen after stopping birth control? Having near-constant sex for several weeks? Just a bunch of orgasms, apparently.

I feel altogether stupid, terrified, and if I am being honest, a little remorseful. Which, as soon as I think it, instantly makes me feel guilty. This is what Anton and I want—it’s the next step for us as a couple, and as a family. I ought to be overjoyed. But when I raise myself to a sitting position again, staring down at my tender breasts and relatively flat stomach, I feel like I’m going to cry.

It isn’t really the physical piece I’m dreading—well, okay, I am scared of what pregnancy will do to me. Of getting stretched out everywhere and never regaining the shape I have now. Of throwing up every morning. Of having to go through labor. But the prospect of being someone’s... mother. Putting a baby first, before everything. Before the Pooches. Before Anton. Before me. I think of Celia, unable to even eat dinner without first appeasing Baby Gabriel. And for just an instant I get a flicker of resentment.

Followed by utter horror.

Because that is just like our mother.

I drop my face into my hands. I can’t imagine bringing another human into this world and making them feel like a burden. Except apparently I already am.

The front door slams, and I hear Anton goofing around with Heartthrob, tossing his toy and wrestling. My stomach drops and I look at my phone. I didn’t realize what time it was. After a minute or two, I hear him coming down the hall calling my name, and suddenly I’m not ready for this. I glance at the tests on the counter, wondering for a split second if I could hide them. Delay the moment a little longer. Before we stop being a couple and have to become... parents.

Anton appears in the open door with a grin. “This is a nice surprise—how come you’re home so early?”

He takes in the scene—me, sitting on the toilet, looking just as horrible as I feel. And his face falls immediately.

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