Page 28 of The Best Friend Problem
“Come on, feet.” She glared down at her motionless appendages covered in a pair of comfortable black pumps. “Move. You know how it works. First right then left. Or left then right. I don’t care how you do it, girls, just get a move on.”
And now she was talking to her feet like a weirdo. Could she claim pregnancy brain this early on?
After a moment of silent pep talks, she finally mustered up the courage to make the twenty-foot walk to her complex door. Forgoing the elevator—because she already felt suffocated enough as it was, no need to add a tiny moving death box to the situation—she hoofed it up the two flights of stairs. The brisk incline made her already racing heart pound louder, the sound filling her ears until all she heard was the relentless beating of her consciousness screaming:
I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!
Reaching her apartment door, she flung it open. The words blocked out every other ambient noise.
“I’m pregnant!”
Wait, had she screamed that out loud? A quick glance to the shocked expressions on Mo’s and Lilly’s faces confirmed, yes. Yes, she sure had.
“Well.” Mo tilted her head, blond hair dyed with green and pink streaks this week, spilling over her shoulder. “That was fast. I thought you had to do some tests and stuff. Can they tell right after turkey basting you?”
A groan escaped her lips. She shut the door—slammed might be the more accurate term—and flung herself into one of the kitchen chairs.
“How many times do I have to tell you? There’s no turkey baster involved. It’s a medical procedure performed in a sterile environment with hospital-grade equipment. Not kitchen utensils.”
Flopping her purse down on the table, she pulled out the folder on pregnancy the doctor had given her. What medications were safe to use, what to look out for, general nutrition information, a whole host of things she already knew because she’d done her homework. But apparently, they gave the same packet to all expecting parents.
Expecting parent.
She was going to be a mommy! She might be in a tailspin right now over the exact way it had happened, but the shining light in all of this was that she got her wish, her dream. She had her baby. Or would have, in nine months, technically.
“And besides, I didn’t have the procedure,” she continued. “Because yes, I did have some tests to run, and those tests revealed I’m already pregnant.”
“Wahoo!” Mo pumped her fist into the air with a smile. A smile that faded after a moment. “You don’t look happy. Why don’t you look happy? I thought this was what you wanted?”
“It is, but…”
“But it didn’t happen the way you planned,” Lilly confirmed.
“Plans are overrated.” Mo shrugged. “I say, go with the flow.”
“And that’s why you don’t handle the business finances or schedules.” Lilly gave Mo some serious side eye. “I assume she’s upset because of who the father is.”
“What? Why would she be upset the dad is…” Mo’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God, it’s Finn! It has to be!”
Pru didn’t know if she was insulted by her friend’s gleeful smile at discovering the truth or relieved that she didn’t have to reveal it herself.
“Of course it’s Finn. Who the hell else would it be?” It wasn’t like she had a long list of lovers. Or any other than him recently. “And I’m not upset.” She glared at Mo. “I’m just… This…this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”
Mo shrugged. “Plans change.”
She knew. She’d said the same damn thing to herself ten minutes ago.
“What am I going to do?” She slumped, head falling to the hard oak table. Ouch!
“Have you told him?” Lilly asked gently.
She tilted her head to the side, tugging on her hair as she avoided eye contact with Lilly. “No. I came straight home after finding out. What was I supposed to do, text the guy who never wants kids with ‘Hey Finn remember that one night we got kinda drunk and crossed a line in our friendship? Well, guess who’s going to be a daddy!’ Oh, this can’t be happening.”
Curly, multicolored hair filled her vision as Mo crouched beside her.
“But it is happening, isn’t it, little zygote? Who’s got a funny conception story? You do, you adorable little one. Who was the strongest swimmer? You were, yes, you were.”
“Mo, stop talking to my stomach like it’s Bruiser or I will put black dye in your shampoo.”
