Page 11 of Oops Baby for the Rockstar
A few hours later, I grimace as my wrist jams between my thighs, my elbow knocking against the crew bus bathroom wall. It’s a tiny enough space when you’renottrying to pee on a stick without making a giant mess, and the voices that keep drifting past the bus outside are throwing me off my game.
“How’s it going?” Patty calls through the door after thirty seconds have passed. I wrinkle my nose, trying to think of waterfalls and babbling brooks and gushing tides.
“Put the faucet on,” she suggests, like she can read my mind even through a locked door. Sighing, I do as she says and reach out to slap the water on with my free hand. Straight away, my bladder releases too, and I do my best to aim at the stick.
Hands washed and jeans rebuttoned, Patty and I huddle together behind the crew bus, waiting for those little lines to form. The sunshine is extra bright, and we have to shade the stick to see anything.
“So one line means not pregnant?” Patty murmurs, tilting her head to squint at the stick. “And a cross means pregnant. Or two lines. I forget which.”
Heart racing, I check the back of the box.
“Two pink lines means pregnant. One line is negative.”
“Okay, cool.” Patty shifts her weight from leg to leg as we wait, the sound of kids playing soccer in the distance drifting across the park. “And you definitely peed on it.”
“I definitely did. Plus my own hand, and a tiny drop on my boots.”
Patty laughs. “Gross.”
“Yup.”
We wait for what feels like a geological age, both holding our breath. Then, as two unmistakable pink lines form, we both breathe out and lean back against the hot metal of the crew bus, staring at the white stick clutched in my hand.
“What are you going to do?” Patty asks at last, her voice hushed.
“I don’t know. Drink a load of water and take the other test, I guess.”
“And after that?”
I shrug uneasily, my shoulders aching from today’s shift. “Pop some prenatal vitamins and then have a meltdown, probably.”
“Cool.” Patty catches my hand with her own and squeezes. “Can I join?”
“Sure.”
I’m so freaking glad I’m not alone right now.
But then, having Patty here for all this means I can no longer dodge the question: “So, Tams.” She squeezes my fingers. “Who’s the father?”
Five
Jett
“This one goes out to Tamsin,” I call into the mic. The crowd in the city park roars, holding their phones aloft to record our show, the sea of lights like another galaxy mirroring the stars.
It’s nice to be out in the breeze, with the scent of grass and fresh water in the air—even if our gig is anything but peaceful. With the dazzling lights, thumping speakers, and sprawling crowd, we’ve turned this quiet park into a party. Folks must be able to hear us for miles around.
“Baby,” I say as Danny and Zeke retune their guitars a few steps back. “Come find me again. I’ve been looking for you, and I won’t stop searching.”
The crowd roars again, whipped into a fever pitch by the rawness of my message. The way I’m baring my heart for thousands of strangers to see—never mind the whole damn internet—all in the hope of finding Tamsin again.
Should I be embarrassed? Maybe. But I don’t care.
Over by the drums, Rocco wipes the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt and swigs from a bottle of beer. He doesn’t react to my little declaration, and neither do the other guys. They’ve heard it at every gig for the last week already. The first time, they came to me afterward, all hushed and solemn like I’d declared to the world that I had a terminal illness, but it’s old news now. Sure, they think I’m losing my mind, but they’re notworried-worried.
“Let’s go,” Zeke calls, just loud enough for me to hear. They’re re-tuned and ready. I nod and grip the mic stand. Rocco smacks his drum sticks together four times, then launches into our next song.
It’s not a ballad, exactly—it’s too heavy for that—but it’s one of our more melancholic songs. A heartbreak track. I grip the mic so hard my knuckles ache and sing until my voice cracks, picturing a pair of toffee-brown eyes. It’s been three months since I stared into those eyes in person, and I’m starting to worry that one day my memory will get fuzzy and I’ll forget their exact color and shape.
