Page 78 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

“Please,” I beg. “Otherwise, I can’t do it.”

To my great surprise, I hear the tune being hummed on the other side of the door. It’s just not Emily who’s doing it.

In the end, I manage to pee, thanks to the best friend of the father of my maybe-baby. Why can’t my life just be normal for a change?

After putting the cap back on the sticks and washing my hands, I enter the exam room again. “I can’t,” I whisper, looking first at Stephen and then at Sarah. “I can’t look at the results.”

“It’s okay,” Dr. Hall says to me in his calm, soothing tone. “I’ll look for you, shall I?”

I nod. “Yes, please.”

“Have a seat in the meantime. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I climb back onto the exam table, and Sarah stands next to me. Stephen disappears into the bathroom. Neither of us seems to have anything to say.

After what seems like an eternity, Dr. Hall comes back into the room. I don’t need to hear his words. The expression on his face says it all. “Emily, you’re pregnant.”

I nod as my stomach clenches into a knot.

“And it’s Logan’s child.”

It’s not a question, but I still whisper a very faint “Yes,” as the tears begin to pour down my cheeks.

In this standoff between me and the universe, it seems like the universe has won.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Emily

“It's positive.”

Two words. Two fucking words completely derail my life.

I stand on Logan's balcony, counting the clouds shaped like countries I'll never visit. Australia is drifting toward the east. Italy hovers near the setting sun. And right above me, what looks suspiciously like a middle finger—the universe's personal message just for me.

Forty-eight hours since Stephen confirmed what I already knew deep down: I'm pregnant with Logan's baby. A child conceived somewhere between the kitchen counter, the couch, and the shower.

I haven't left my bed in two days except to pee, which is happening with alarming frequency, and pretend to eat whatever Logan brings me. I convinced him I have a nasty stomach bug. The irony isn't lost on me.

My phone buzzes against the tile. Kate again. That's her fourteenth text today.

Kate: Just tell him already. Rip off the Band-Aid. What's the worst that could happen?

I almost laugh. What's the worst that could happen? Oh, I don't know. The father of my child could reject me, fire me, and kick me out on the street. I could end up a single mom living in some roach-infested studio, working three jobs to make ends meet while my kid wonders why Daddy never loved us enough to stick around.

But sure, Kate. Let mejust rip off the Band-Aid.

I type back.

Emily: Can't. He told me he never wanted kids. Explicitly. With bullet points and everything.

Her response is instantaneous.

Kate: People change their minds.

Emily: Not Logan.

It's true. Logan doesn't do messy. He doesn't do unpredictable. He likes control and order.

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