Page 92 of The Goal

“Actually, about that. My…” I hesitate, because I don’t know what we are after our little talk this morning. “Girlfriend,” I finish, for lack of a better term. Our relationship is too complicated to go into depth with Mom right now. Besides, I can’t poison that particular well, because Mom’s already going to be upset. “Remember I told you at Christmas I met a girl?”

“Yes…” She sounds cautious.

I rip the bandage off. “She’s pregnant.”

“Is the baby yours?” Mom asks immediately. There’s a note of hope in her voice, which I quickly squash.

“Yeah, Mom, that’s why I’m calling you.”

There’s a long, long moment of silence. So long that I almost wonder if she’s hung up on me.

Finally, she says, “Is she keeping it?”

“Yes. She’s like sixteen weeks along.” I’ve already done the math. The date of conception is probably the first time we had sex, when I was in such a hurry to be inside her that I forgot about the condom.

Sabrina James makes me lose my mind, in more ways than one.

“Sixteen weeks!” Mom yelps. “Did you know at Christmas and didn’t say anything?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t find out until later.”

“Oh, John. What are you going to do?”

I let out a slow, steady breath. “Whatever it takes.”

24

SABRINA

March

When I arrive at Della’s, the booth in the corner is empty. That’s a good sign. I tug the side of my coat over my belly. It’s getting too warm for my long jacket, but I’m starting to show. Thank goodness for yoga pants. I don’t know how much longer I’ll get away with wearing regular clothes.

I’ve been researching everything I can about pregnancy, and one sad fact I found is that no one’s experience is the same. For every woman who’s gained only the exact baby weight plus a few extra pounds, there are five who swear they swallowed an entire field of watermelons. A lot of them admitted that at some point they had to give up driving because the steering wheel pushed into their stomach, not to mention that seatbelts aren’t made for pregnant ladies. I can already testify to that.

Everything is changing for me and I’m scared shitless. I still haven’t told Nana or my friends. Tucker still hasn’t toldhisfriends, because I’ve ordered him not to. I know it’s irrational, but it’s like a part of me believes that if we don’t say anything, then life doesn’t have to change. When I told Tucker that over the phone last night, he responded with a gentle laugh and said, “It’s already changed, darlin’.”

And then I woke up this morning and couldn’t do up my jeans, and reality came crashing down on me like the hammer of Thor. I can’t hidethis pregnancy anymore. This shit is real.

So today is let’s-drop-a-baby-bomb day. I’m hoping that once I stop hiding, I can reclaim control of my life and start steering my ship again. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep an entire night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“Want to wait for your friends, or should I bring you something?” Hannah asks as I slide into the booth.

My gaze involuntarily falls to her slender waist, and a twinge of envy hits me. I wonder if mine will ever be the same. My body is starting to feel alien. The hard bump in my stomach isn’t something I can diet away. There’s ahuman beingin there. And that bump is only going to grow.

“Milk,” I say, albeit reluctantly. Soda is on the list of things that are bad for my system, along with everything else that is good and wonderful in this world.

As Hannah trots off, Hope appears. “What’s up? Your text sounded so ominous.” She shrugs out of her trench and flops down across from me. “Everything is still a go with Harvard, right?”

“Let’s wait ’til Carin comes.”

She frowns deeply. “You okay? Nana isn’t sick, is she?”

“No, she’s fine. And Harvard’s still a go.” I peer at the door, willing Carin to arrive.

Hope continues to grill me. “Did Ray fall off a cliff? No, that would be good news. Oh God, he broke his leg and you have to literally wait on him hand and foot.”

“Shut your mouth. We don’t even want to tempt fate with suggestions like that.”

---