“Where are you?” Owen asked.
“What? Are you my caretaker now?”
“You can’t storm out like that. Not after what we were doing.”
“Maybe if we were having sex like normal people, you wouldn’t have to worry about where I was going after I stormed out, now would you?”
The silence on the other end made me wonder if I had gone too far. After all, I had wanted it too. I missed it when he didn’t indulge in his needs.
“I went to the drugstore for some meds,” I said. “I haven’t felt good in a while.”
“I made you an appointment with Doctor Chan—”
“How nice of you,” I said. I hoped he could hear the sarcasm in my voice. “Did you register me for school too, like a good—”
“Riley,” he said calmly, “it’s hard finding a good physician, and in my field, I know—”
“I know you know everyone,” I said. “But it’s my responsibility to take care of myself.”
“It’s our responsibility.” I wondered if he suspected anything with the way he emphasized his words. Misty’s eyebrows raised at my expression. “Are you going to make an appointment?”
“Eventually.”
“You’ve been sick for a week. It’s time.”
“I’ll do it if you’ll drop the overbearing parent routine.”
I knew he was nodding on the other line, pleased with his success.
“Let me take you out,” he said. “Dinner and a show.”
I smiled to myself. It was sweet, even if I didn’t feel like doing anything like that. “A show?” I asked. “Like on Broadway?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Only if Misty is involved,” I said. I looked over at her and she shook her head. I have another idea, she mouthed. Hang out with me tonight. “I think I have something planned with Misty tonight though?”
“Another night then,” he said.
Misty grabbed my hand, holding it like we were schoolgirls. “I have a fantastic idea!” She squealed. I forced a smile. At least I wouldn’t have to talk to Owen about the test results that night. And I knew with enough time, Misty could get my mind off of anything, even pregnancy.
“Oh, by the way, there’s an opening for assistant manager at Stock & Holdings, that gallery next to Winter Precipice.”
“Huh?” I said, barely registering what she meant.
“You’d be perfect for it. Basically, you’d have to—”
I wanted to listen, but my mind kept imagining a life with Owen as a father. I pictured him playing football with a five-year-old boy, tossing the ball around a large backyard, surrounded by trees, or Owen sitting at a miniature table, sipping a teacup in front of a little girl. I could picture it, but it was hard to believe Owen could and would actually do those things. He was all business unless it came to me. And while he was protective of me, that didn’t necessarily translate to a child.
“You don’t look excited,” she said.
“What if Owen doesn’t want to be a father?” I asked, changing the subject. My voice was frantic. “What if he can’t—”
“You can’t think like that,” she said. “Didn’t you say he had an ex-girlfriend you met for coffee or something? What does she think?”
“I don’t think they had that kind of relationship.”
“You think? Or it wasn’t?”