Page 130 of Not Another Yesterday
Then her lips part.
“I’m pregnant, Ran.”
The words slam into my body, but they don’t land. My brain rejects them, shoving them into some dark corner where they can’t mean anything. All I know is that my body is reacting while my head stays blank.
I stare at her. “What?”
“I’m pregnant,” she says, even softer. Her eyes lock with mine, filling with tears.
The room goes silent. The words settle into the air like lead. Intomelike lead. Sinking and spreading until I can’t breathe.
“Shit,” I whisper. Realization slams into me. “Shit,” I say again, louder this time. I stand up fast, raking both hands through my hair like that’ll help me think.
“Are you sure?” I ask, grasping for the tiniest thread of hope that this isn’t real. That it’s a mistake. That maybe she’s joking, or… I don’t know.
“Yeah,” she says so quietly I almost don’t hear it. But the look on her face—those wide, panicked eyes, the way herarms are wrapped around her body—tells me everything. This isn’t a joke. She’s not wrong.
Cat is pregnant.
“I took three tests,” she says.
“Fuck.” I groan, pacing a tight, frantic circle in front of the couch. My mind is a mess. Ican’tthink. Ineedto think.
“I thought…” I stop, guilt already creeping in before the sentence is out of my mouth. “I thought you were on the pill.”
I hate how that sounds. Like I’m blaming her. Like birth control was only her responsibility. I know better. Iknowthat’s not fair, but Cat got on the pill pretty much the second we started dating two years ago. We’ve never used a condom. And when we got back together, I didn’t even think twice about it.
Stupid. Fuckingstupid.
“I am.” Her voice breaks, then collapses completely as a sob breaks from her chest. She crumples.
In a heartbeat, I’m back on the couch, pulling her into my arms.
“But I wasn’t as careful about taking it when we were broken up,” she chokes out, barely intelligible through her crying. “I missed a couple of days. I didn’t think it would mess me up this much. I’m so sorry, Ran.”
She cries harder, her body heaving in my arms. I’m fucking pissed, but more at myself. I should’ve asked. Should’ve checked. Should’ve known. I shouldn’t have assumed she’d stayed on the pill after we split up. I shouldn’t have taken it for granted, any of it.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, trying to ease her guilt, but she shakes her head against me.
“Yes, it is. I wasn’t careful enough.”
“But birth control isn’t just your responsibility,” I say. “I should’ve checked. I should’ve made sure.”
“If you had,” she whispers, “I probably would’ve told you we’re fine.”
Then she falls silent. Neither of us speak for a good minute, the reality of the situation sinking in deeper with each second that passes.
“Do you hate me?” she finally asks, her voice small.
My answer is instant. Certain. “Of course, I don’t hate you,” I say. “I love you more than life itself.”
Her tears don’t let up, and all I can do is hold her. I want to fix it, make it better somehow, but I have no idea how.God, this is going to change everything.
“How far along are you?” I ask quietly. My thoughts are racing, head spinning. The version of the future I had allowed myself to envision lately is unraveling at the seams.
“I’m honestly not sure. Maybe three or four weeks? I don’t know.” She inhales a shaky breath. “What do we do?” Her eyes find mine—wide, pleading, terrified—and I swear she’s looking for answers I don’t have. But I try.
“Well… I guess we should probably try to get you in with your doctor and make sure everything’s okay with you and… and the baby, right?”
