Page 67 of Sticking Around

I walk to the kitchen and the delicious scent of hazelnut vanilla coffee reaches my nostrils. Brady must have already made a cup, but where the heck is he? I inhale as I put a pod into the machine. I spot movement on the patio and walk to the door. My insides soar when I spot Brady, leaning against the rail. God, I love that man so much it’s insane.

I note that he’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, ready for the day, as I slide the door open. He turns, and I’m surprised to see his phone pressed against his ear. Something moves into his eyes when he sees me—something that looks like annoyance, irritation even— and he gives me a curt nod. That’s when it occurs to me, he doesn’t want me in his space right now. He turns his back to me, speaking quietly into the phone, his words for the listeners ears only.

Is it his mother again? Anxiety grips my stomach, and I swear if she hurts Brady again, I’m going to have words with her. But right now, his words aren’t for me, so I inch back to give him privacy.

The coffee machine finishes and I grab the milk out of the fridge. I pour it into my cup and don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling rejected. That man is allowed to have private conversations that don’t involve me. I take a much-needed sip of coffee and I’m about to take it back to the bedroom, to give him even more privacy, when he steps into the kitchen.

“Hey, sorry about that.” He steps up to me, puts his arm around my waist and gives me a tender kiss that eases some of my worries.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I ah. I just had some things to deal with.” He must read the worry in my eyes, because he continues with, “No, it wasn’t Mom. I don’t think I’m ready to talk to her just yet.”

I go up on my toes and kiss him again. “You know I’m here if you need to talk or work anything out.”

“Thanks, babe.” He checks his phone and frowns. “Listen, I have to go to town. I have some errands to run.” I’m about to tell him I can shower fast and join him when he inches back and scrubs his face, glancing around like he’s searching for something. “How’s your day looking? Studying?”

Ignoring that pang of rejection again, I blurt out, “Oh yeah, always.”

“Okay. I’ll catch up with you later then?”

I nod, and he steps from the kitchen, leaving me there with my coffee, concern and confusion about what the heck is really going on. Where is he rushing off to in such a hurry, and who was on the phone?

Nope, don’t go there, girl.

The man is allowed to have a life outside of me, plus I really should go over yesterday’s notes and I do have to work tonight. Yes, Brady paid my tuition, which helps ease my financial worries, but I’m not going to slack off on work, and I’ll pay him back one way or the other, because that is going above and beyond what a boyfriend does for his girl.

A little jolt of excitement wells inside me. I do like being called his girlfriend. I roll my eyes so hard, I nearly give myself a headache. Get it together. I’m a grown woman, not a love-struck teenager.

I leave the kitchen and walk into the living room, dropping down onto the sofa. I stare at my backpack, but I’m not really in the mood to pull out my laptop. Brady comes from the bedroom, sliding his wallet into his pocket and heads toward the door.

“I’ll catch up with you later. Maybe we can go out to dinner?”

“I work tonight, remember? I’m not off until eleven.”

He frowns and glances down. “Oh, right.”

What is going on with him? Why does he seem so ruffled and out of sorts?

“I can make us dinner,” I offer.

“I’m not sure what time I’ll be back. I’ll text you, okay? I can grab take-out for us. Maybe Thai?”

The thoughts of Thai food, which I usually love, suddenly turns my stomach. “Sounds good,” I tell him, not wanting to worry him about my health when he clearly has something very important on his mind.

“See you later. Good luck with studying today.” His phone pings, and he pulls it from his pocket to read the message. “Oh, I might be grabbing a beer with Conner and Gunther later.” Then just like that, he’s out the door. I sit there for a moment, hear his car rev in the driveway and then stand to get my day going. I’m not one to mope around, and I’m sure if something horrible was going on in his life, he’d share it with me, right?

I finish my coffee and take a quick shower. Maybe I’ll check in with Brighton after lunch. I could take Camryn to the park, to give her a break, and I still owe her for letting me crash at her place that weekend when she was away. That’s when I remember it’s Saturday and she’s headed to their summer home.

Feeling an odd bout of loneliness, I dress in comfy yoga pants and a T-shirt and since I have no appetite, I go to the sofa and boot up my laptop. I study for a while and it’s well after lunch when I lift my head, deciding I should put some food into my stomach. I head to the kitchen to eat. The second I crack an egg into the pan, nausea overtakes me, and I turn off the burner. What the heck is wrong with me?

Maybe you should take that test, Melanie.

Ugh. I push the pan to the back burner and walk into the bedroom. I tug open my nightstand drawer and dig out the test that I had buried under all my lotions, pens and notepads. I hold it for a second. This is stupid. I can’t be pregnant. I open my phone and check the dates. I know I had a period like two weeks ago.

Just do it.

I walk to the bathroom, and even though I think I’m being ridiculous and over cautious, I decide to pee on the damn stick. Once done, I set my phone to chime in three minutes, and I pace up and down the hall. When I’m writing an exam, three minutes goes fast. When I’m waiting on a pregnancy result, it’s the longest three minutes in the world.

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