Page 88 of Puck Prince

In his defense, I didn’t stop him.

Hell, I didn’t want it to end. But that’s beside the point. The point is we are breaking the rules. The rules that very blatantly stated our relationship starts and ends at the threshold of apartment doors.

Then again, technically speaking, the balcony is outside. If we want to get really legalese about it…

“Now, you’re just making excuses.” I say out loud to Delilah. Of course, she just twitches her tail and meanders away with a slow purr of indifference. “Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too.”

Delilah has been judging me all day. I don’t often spend an entire day in my pajamas, but lately, I feel like Satan’s asshole from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep. I’m coming up on the second trimester (how is that even possible?), and I’m teetering on that ultra-thin line ofIs she pregnant or does she just need to lay off the Dunkin’?

Baggy sweatpants or anything with a control panel over the stomach have become my best friend. But I’m finding out the hard way that you can’t really flatten out a baby growing inside you. Nor should you, I’m guessing.

I put my hand on my stomach. As much as I’m trying to hide it, this little person is very much there.

And with the swell of my belly, there’s a swelling of my soul, too.

I’m like the Grinch—my crabby, cold heart growing three sizes. I always saw myself being a mom, but it was a distant, far-off thing. More like, “One day, when I have kids…”Never,“In six months, when I give birth…”

So this being thrust upon me—no pun intended—is a little jarring. I’m scared, obviously. But somewhere under the fear of stretch marks and pain and pooping on the delivery table, there’s love.

I always struggled with the idea of love a little bit. Given the spotty track record with my own parents, I grew up thinking that love meant staying.If my parents loved me, they would’ve stuck around—they would’ve stayed together and supported me.

Then again, I can’t think of anything worse than being trapped in a house with the two of them and their loveless marriage. Maybe the real show of love was leaving me with Uncle Randy and Kennedy.

I also thought children were born out of love, but now I know the only thing required is a lot of wine, a splash of self-pity, and an unfortunate logistical situation. Add to that a hot hockey player with a great tongue and an even greater, well, you know… andBAM. Here we are. Standing in the kitchen at 3:00 P.M. in flannel pants with a violent craving for Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

I find myself thinking back to the other day. To the way I opened up to Owen. I also can’t help but replay his response. He was genuine. Concerned. Sweet, even.

Then he let down those walls of his and opened up to me about Summer, who, mercifully, is not another secret baby mama, and it’s obvious why I had trouble keeping my mouth off of his. It’s obvious how I got here in the first place.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I open it to find… no one. Just a box.

Probably an Amazon order for Kennedy. That girl has her finger hovering over One-Click at all times. But when I set it on the counter, I realize there’s no postage label. Just a handwritten note.

Withmyname on it.

At first, I panic. I’m running through a highly improbable list of bombs, Anthrax, and severed heads when something sort of probable creeps in—what if it’s from Spencer? What if he’s trying to fuck with me? Or worse yet, make amends? I’m tempted to throw it away or toss it off the balcony, when I decide I should at least read the note first, lest I do anything hasty.

To Callie,

For the Charity Ball.

See you at 7.

—Owen

“Oh.” Not an option I considered, but still improbable. Maybe even just as dangerous.

I blink.

Then I open it.

“The man is a wizard. He knew your dress size just by looking at you.” Kennedy says as she stands behind me in the mirror. As soon as I told her about the dress in the package, she dragged me to the bathroom to try it on.

It’s snug in all the right places—boobs, hips, ass—and also snug in a few wrong places—I’m looking at you “Li’l Dunkin.”

I roll my eyes at her in the mirror. She avoids mine.

“You told him, didn’t you?” I ask.

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