Page 75 of Knocked Up by my Best Friend's Brothers

“Most definitely,” Teagan replies with a cool grin.

I’m blushing as I go back to scarfing down everything on my brunch plate, pickle-topped pancakes included, while the girls talk about the Hawthorne family history and Alexandra’s green energy initiative. Yet every other bite or so, I see Teagan making a face as I add more pickles to my pancakes.

“You absolute weirdo,” she mumbles.

I laugh. “I love you, too.”

A few hours later,Alexandra and I walk out of the restaurant and head down the street. Teagan is already on her way back home to spend the rest of her day with Tony, while Alexandra convinced me that it’s warm and sunny enough for us to enjoy a brisk walk along the riverside.

“My car is just a couple of blocks down from here,” she says, hands in her jacket pockets. “I’d be more than happy to drop you off at your place.”

“That would be nice; thank you. The service guys told me my car will be ready on Monday.”

“Oh, they’re fast.”

I nod once, watching a string of ducks waddle across the riverside pavement and jump into the water, one plump bottom at a time. But my thoughts are still darting every which way as I give Alexandra a pleading look. “Please, keep this whole pregnancy thing between us.”

“Hey, I promised,” she replies. “Have I breached your confidence thus far?”

“No. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just terrified of people finding out before I even know how I’m going to handle everything.”

Alexandra seems to understand. “It can be challenging and scary, especially for a new mother.”

“I didn’t pay attention to what my body was telling me,” I add with a heavy sigh. “I was convinced it was just poor stress management or something along those lines.”

“It happens more often than you think,” Alexandra replies.

“Seriously, it wasn’t until I learned about it that I realized how long it had been since my last period. I should’ve paid more attention.”

“I’m sorry. Are you actually beating yourself up over this?”

“I think I do it more often than I should.”

“Well, you should stop.”

We pause at the foot of the Steel Bridge, the east side of the city rising behind us with its steel and glass giants and weekend-only farmers’ markets, street fairs, and food carts. The city buzzes at every hour to one song or another—whether it’s a workday or just a lazy Sunday. I love this place so much.

“Christa, seriously. I understand. You are clearly a fierce perfectionist. You obviously make a habit of holding yourself to nearly impossible standards,” Alexandra says.

I glance back, noticing other people walking toward us. A couple here and there. Mothers with their children. Friends laughing and enjoying the sun. And three men in black jackets watching us intently as they sit on one of the benches overlooking the water.

As soon as I spot them, and even though they’re talking to one another—smiling, seemingly engaged in their banter, I can’t help but wonder and worry.

“Christa?” Alexandra asks.

“I’m sorry. Got carried away by my own thoughts for a hot second. What were you saying?”

“Just that you should cut yourself some slack,” she says.

With full stomachs, we resume our slow walk, basking in the gentle sun.

“I’m trying,” I tell her. “I really am. But you’re right. I’m a hard-core perfectionist. It’s why I am so good at my job, why I deliver excellent results.”

“You’re still human, though. And a mother-to-be now. The last thing you need is more unnecessary pressure and guilt.” She smiles at me. “It takes two to make a baby, Christa. Maybe you weren’t paying attention to that detail, but neither was he. It’s why I agree with Teagan that you should definitely tell the baby daddy he’s going to be a baby daddy.”

Yes, but which one of them is the baby daddy?

“Christa, you’re drifting off again,” Alexandra laughs.

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