Page 54 of Huge Pucking Play

Not like this. Not now. Not with a man I've known for such a short time, who may not want this any more than I do.

"I can't do this," I whisper. But even as the words leave my lips, I know that's not true. I can do this. I will do this. I’ll have to figure it out.

My phone buzzes from the coffee table. Garrett's name flashes on the screen. My stomach drops all over again.

I force myself to read the messages.

Garrett [9:17 AM]: Morning, sunshine. How are you feeling? Still under the weather?

Garrett [11:45 AM]: Getting worried about you. Let me know you're okay? I can bring over soup or whatever you need.

Garrett [12:30 PM]: Cyn?

Garrett [1:22 PM]: Please just let me know you're alive. I’m worried.

The genuine worry in his words makes my chest ache. I should call him. I should tell him. I should do anything but what I'm actually doing, which is typing the absolute minimum response.

Me: Hey! I'm alive. Just a bug.

The typing bubbles appear immediately. He's been waiting by his phone.

Garrett: Thank God. What can I bring you?

My fingers hover over the keyboard. What do I say? "Sure, come over and watch me panic about our accidental pregnancy"?

Me: Not today. I might be contagious. Thanks though!

The bubbles appear, disappear, then reappear. He's editing himself, choosing his words carefully. The Garrett I know is direct, straightforward. This hesitation tells me more than whatever he's about to say.

Garrett: Okay. I'm here if you need anything at all.

How am I going to tell him? When do I tell him? Should I even tell him at all?

The last thought brings a fresh wave of shame. Of course I have to tell him. It's his child too. He has a right to know. But the idea of saying the words out loud to him makes my stomach twist with a nausea that has nothing to do with morning sickness.

What if he thinks I did this on purpose? What if he thinks I'm trying to trap him? What if he wants me to get rid of it? What if he wants me to keep it?

I don't even know what I want yet. How can I face his reaction when I haven't processed my own?

My phone buzzes again.

Garrett: I'll check in tomorrow. Get some rest.

A heart. He's never sent me a heart before. The tiny red emoji sits on my screen like a bomb.

I should respond. Say something. Acknowledge the small but significant shift in communication. Instead, I set the phone face-down on the couch beside me and close my eyes.

Tomorrow I'll figure out how to tell him that our lives are about to change forever.

Tomorrow.

Today, I just need to keep breathing.

Chapter 17

Garrett

Icheck my phone again; the screen is blank. No new messages from Cyn. It's been five days of this dance—me reaching out, her pulling back with excuses that feel paper-thin. The emptiness in my chest expands, an uncomfortable void that I recognize as worry.

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