Maybe Now (Maybe #2)

by Colleen Hoover

  “Does Ridge think that, too?”

  I face him full-on. “I don’t think so. I think he loves writing lyrics for you. I’m not telling you to stop pretending you don’t know how to write lyrics as well as he can. I’m just saying I understand why you do it.”

  Brennan smiles, relieved. “You’re smart, Sydney. You really should consider doing more with your life than just making sandwiches for hungry men.”

  I laugh and pick up his sandwich with the spatula. I drop it on the paper towel in front of him. “You’re right. I quit.”

  He takes a bite, right as the front door opens. Bridgette walks in holding a sack, wearing her Hooters uniform and a scowl. She sees us in the kitchen and nods, then walks to her room and slams the door. “Did she just nod her head at you?” Brennan asks. “That was an oddly nice gesture that didn’t include a middle finger. Does she not hate you anymore?”

  “Nah. We’re practically best friends now.” I start to clean the kitchen, but Bridgette yells my name from her bathroom. Brennan raises an eyebrow, like he’s worried for me. I walk toward her bathroom and can hear a lot of commotion. When I open the door, she grabs my wrist and pulls me inside and then slams the door shut. She turns toward the counter and begins dumping out the contents of her sack into her sink.

  My eyes go wide when I see five unopened boxes of pregnancy tests. Bridgette starts frantically ripping into one and hands me another. “Hurry,” she says. “I have to get this over with before I freak out!” She pulls a stick out of the box and then grabs another one to open.

  “I think one is enough to indicate if you’re pregnant.”

  She shakes her head. “I have to be sure I’m not pregnant or I won’t sleep until I have twelve periods.”

  I have two of the tests open, and she rips a third one open, then grabs a mouthwash cup from next to the sink and rinses it out. She pulls down her shorts and sits on the toilet.

  “Did you even read the instructions? Are you supposed to pee in an unsanitized cup?”

  She ignores me and begins peeing in the cup. When she’s finished, she sets it on the counter. “Dip them!” she says.

  I stare at her cup of pee and shake my head. “I don’t want to.”

  She flushes the toilet and pulls her shorts up, then shoves me out of the way. She dips all five sticks into the cup at once and holds them there. Then she pulls them out and lays them all on a towel.

  This is all happening so fast, I’m not sure I’ve had time to process the thought that we’re about to find out if Bridgette is going to be a mother. Or whether Warren is going to be a father.

  “Do either of you even want kids?” I ask.

  Bridgette shakes her head adamantly. “Not even a little bit. If I’m pregnant, you can have it.”

  I don’t want it. My idea of Hell is having a child comprised of pieces of Warren and Bridgette.

  “Bridgette!” Warren yells, right before the front door slams shut. Bridgette cringes. The bathroom door swings open, and I suddenly don’t feel like I should be in here anymore. “You can’t text me something like that in the middle of my study group and then ignore me when I call you back!”

  Warren…in study group? I laugh, but my laughter causes both of them to turn their glares on me. “Sorry. I just can’t picture Warren in a study group.”

  He rolls his eyes. “It’s a mandatory group project.” He turns his attention back on Bridgette. “Why do you think you’re pregnant? You’re on the pill.”

  “Pickles,” she says, as if that’s a good explanation. “I stole three pickles off my customers’ plates tonight and I hate pickles. But all I can think about are pickles!” She turns back toward the pregnancy tests and picks one up, but it hasn’t been long enough yet.

  “Pickles?” Warren says, flabbergasted. “Jesus Christ. I thought this was serious. But you craved a fucking pickle.”

  Warren is stuck on pickles, but I’m still stuck on the idea of Warren in a study group. “When do you graduate?” I ask him.

  “Two months.”

  “Good,” Bridgette says. “Because if I’m pregnant, you need to get a real job so you can raise this child.”

  “You aren’t pregnant, Bridgette,” Warren says, rolling his eyes. “You craved a pickle. You’re so dramatic.”

  This entire conversation is making me want to ensure Ridge and I use double the protection from now on. I take my birth control religiously, but there’s been a time or two that we haven’t used a condom. Never again, though.

  Bridgette picks up one of the pregnancy tests and presses her hand against her forehead. “Oh, fuck.” She turns and tosses the stick toward Warren. It hits him in the cheek and then he fumbles as he tries to catch it.

  “Is it positive?” I ask.

  Bridgette nods, running her hands down her face. “There’s a line! Shit, shit, shit, there’s a really long, visible line! Fuck!”

  I look at one of the boxes. “A line just means it’s working. It doesn’t mean you’re pregnant.”

  Warren is holding the stick between two fingers when he drops it back on the towel. “That has your pee on it.”

  Bridgette rolls her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. It’s a pregnancy test.”

  “You threw it at me. There’s pee on my face.” He takes a hand towel and wets it under the faucet.

  “You aren’t pregnant,” I reassure her. “It’s not a plus sign.”

  She picks up another one of the tests and studies it, leaning against the counter. “You think?” She picks up one of the boxes and reads it, then sighs with relief. She pours the cup of urine out in the sink.

  “Why didn’t you pour that in the toilet?” Warren asks with a grossed-out look on his face. This, coming from the guy who ate a bar of cheese after Bridgette tried to wash herself with it.

  “I don’t know,” Bridgette says, looking at the sink. She turns the water on to rinse it out. “I’m distressed. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Warren slips in front of me and wraps his arms around Bridgette, bringing her head to his level. He brushes her hair back gently. “I’m not going to get you pregnant, Bridgette. After our first scare, I wrap my Jimmy Choo up hella tight every time.”

  I was on my way out of the bathroom to give them privacy, but I freeze when I hear Warren refer to his penis as a Jimmy Choo.

  I turn back around. “Jimmy Choo?”

  Warren looks at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, that’s his name. Ridge doesn’t nickname his penis after cool things?”

  “Cool things?” I say. “Jimmy Choos are designer shoes.”

  “No,” Warren says. “A Jimmy Choo is a rare Cuban cigar. Right, Bridgette?” he says, looking at her. “You’re the one who named him.”

  Bridgette tries to keep a straight face, but she sputters laughter. She brushes past me and runs into the living room, but Warren is right on her heels. “You said Jimmy Choos were huge cigars!” They end up on the couch, Warren on top of her. They’re both laughing, and it’s the first time I’ve ever really seen them affectionate.

  It’s disturbing that a pregnancy scare is what brings out the best in them as a couple.

  Warren kisses her on the cheek and then says, “We should go celebrate with breakfast tomorrow.” He sits up and looks at me and Brennan. “All of us. Breakfast is on me.”

  Bridgette pushes Warren away from her and stands up. “I will if I wake up on time.”

  Warren follows her out of the living room and into their bedroom. “Girl, you aren’t even sleeping tonight.”

  Their door closes.

  I look at Brennan. He looks away from their door, toward me.

  We both just shake our heads.

  “I’m heading home,” he says, standing up to pack his guitar. He grabs his keys and walks toward the door. “Thanks for the sandwich, Sydney. Sorry I’m a brat. It’s Ridge’s fault for spoiling me for so long.”

  “That’s actually good to know. If Ridge is the one who spoiled you, then I’m not going to
have to break up with him for expecting me to make him sandwiches.”

  Brennan laughs. “Please don’t break up with him. I think you might be the first thing that’s ever made Ridge’s life easier.”

  He closes the door behind him, and I can’t help but smile at his parting words. He didn’t have to say that, but the fact that he did makes me think Brennan and Ridge are more alike than I initially thought. Both thoughtful.

  After Brennan leaves, I lock the front door. I hear a thumping sound behind me, so I spin around and listen for a few seconds to see where it’s coming from.

  Warren and Bridgette’s bedroom.

  Oh. Gross. Gross, gross, gross.

  I rush to Ridge’s bedroom and close the door, then crawl into bed with him. I wasn’t planning on staying here tonight. I still have homework I haven’t finished this weekend, and really do need to have some alone time in order to get it all done. Ridge is way too distracting.

  “Syd,” Ridge says, rolling toward me. His eyes are closed, and I think he might even still be asleep. “Don’t…be scared…the chicken.” He signs the last word.

  He’s talking and signing in his sleep. I grin at his nonsensical words. Did he talk in his sleep before he started verbalizing? Or is that something new?

  I kiss him on the cheek and fold his arm over me as I snuggle against him. I wait to see if he speaks again, but he doesn’t. He just sleeps.

  •••

  I was awake by seven, but Ridge was still asleep. He woke up sometime in the middle of the night and took off his jeans and shoes, but then went right back to sleep.

  I was making a pot of coffee when Warren walked out of his bedroom and told me to stop. “I’m treating you to breakfast, remember?” Then he went to wake up Ridge, but Ridge told him he needed two more hours of sleep.

  “Let’s let him sleep,” I said. “Let me go change out of my pajamas and we can go.”

  Warren told me no, that the place we’re going to eat actually requires pajamas.

  I have no idea where we’re going, but Bridgette wanted to sleep in, so now it’s just me and Warren, going to breakfast in our pajamas to celebrate Bridgette’s negative pregnancy test. Without Bridgette.

  Nope. Not weird at all.

  “Did this restaurant just open?” I ask Warren. “Is that why I’ve never heard of it?” He told me earlier it was called Fastbreak Breakfast, but it doesn’t sound familiar.

  “We’re not going to a restaurant.”

  I glare at him from the passenger seat, just as he pulls into the driveway of a hotel and drives around to the side of the building. “Wait here,” he says, hopping out of the car. He takes his keys with him.

  I sit and watch him as he stands next to the side entrance to the hotel. I start to text Ridge to ask him what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into, but before I can type out the text, a businessman walks out of the side door and doesn’t even notice as Warren grabs the door handle and holds the door open. He waves me out of the car, so I get out and follow him inside, shaking my head. It’s finally registered why he told me to wear pajamas. Because he wants it to look like we’re guests here.

  “Are you kidding me, Warren? We’re sneaking into a free continental breakfast?”

  He smiles. “Oh, it’s not just any free breakfast, Sydney. They have Texas-shaped waffles here.”

  I can’t believe this is his idea of treating people to breakfast. “This is stealing,” I whisper, just as we walk into the breakfast area. He reaches for a plate and hands it to me, then grabs his own.

  “Maybe so. But it doesn’t count against your track record because I’m the one who brought you here.”

  We make our plates and take a seat at an area by the window that’s not visible to the front desk. For the first ten minutes, Warren talks about school, since I was so intrigued by the idea of him actually sitting in a study group. He’s majoring in management, which is something else that intrigues me. Baffles me, even. I can’t imagine him in a position where he’s in charge of other people, but I guess he does manage Sounds of Cedar pretty well.

  I don’t think I give Warren enough credit. He has a job, he goes to school full time, he manages a successful local band, and he manages to keep Bridgette somewhat happy. I guess it’s just his addiction to porn and his inability to clean up after himself that leads me to assume he’s got a lot of growing up to do.

  When we’re finished eating, Warren grabs a tray and piles muffins and juices on it, then brings it back to the table. “For Ridge and Bridgette,” he says, covering the muffins with a napkin.

  “How often do you come here? You seem to be experienced in the art of breakfast theft.”

  “Not very often. I have a few hotels around town that I frequent, but I try to mix it up every now and then. Don’t want the desk clerks becoming suspicious.”

  I laugh, sipping the last of my orange juice.

  “Ridge has never been on board. You know how he is, always trying to do the right thing. Maggie came with me a few times, though. She liked the thrill of possibly getting caught. She’s actually why I call it fastbreak breakfast. We had to make a break for it once because a clerk walked around, writing down room numbers and checking them to last names.”

  I look down when he says Maggie’s name, not wanting to hear how good of friends he is with her. Not that I care if Warren and Maggie are friends. I just don’t want to hear about it. Especially this early in the morning.

  He notices my reaction, because he leans forward and folds his arms over the table. He tilts his head in thought. “Our friendship with her really bothers you, huh?”

  I shake my head. “Not as much as you probably think. What bothers me is how much Ridge stresses about it.”

  “Yeah, well, imagine how much Maggie stresses about it.”

  I roll my eyes. I know how much Maggie probably stresses about it. But just because she stresses more than I do doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to stress. “I already told Ridge it’s just going to take me a little time to get used to it.”

  Warren laughs under his breath. “Well hurry up and get used to it, because I already told you once that he’ll never leave her.”

  I remember that night very clearly. I don’t need Warren to point it out again. It was when Ridge and I were hugging in the hallway. Warren walked inside the apartment and didn’t like what he was seeing, because Ridge was dating Maggie at the time. Ridge didn’t know Warren was in the apartment, but before Warren walked to his room, he made sure I was aware of his thoughts on our predicament. Warren’s exact words were, “I’m only going to say this once and I need you to listen. He will never leave her, Sydney.”

  I lean back in my seat, growing defensive like I always do when Warren talks about Ridge and my relationship. He always seems to take it a step too far, even though I feel like I’ve been more than accommodating and understanding when it comes to Ridge’s friendship with Maggie. “You did say that,” I agree. “But you were wrong, because they did break up.”

  Warren stands up and begins gathering trash from the table. He shrugs. “They broke up, sure. But I didn’t tell you they’d never break up. I told you he’d never leave her. And he won’t. So maybe instead of trying to convince yourself that you just need time to warm up to the idea of her always being a part of his life, you should remind yourself that you already knew that. Long before you agreed to start a relationship with him.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded, as he walks the trash to the trash can. He comes back to the table and reclaims his seat. I forget what a casual asshole he can be to everyone. I recall his words again, only this time they mean something completely different.

  “He will never leave her, Sydney.”

  This whole time, I thought Warren was saying Ridge would never break up with her. When all along, Warren just meant that Maggie would always be a part of Ridge’s life.

  “You know the one thing that could make this entire situation a little easier?” Warren asks.

  I
shake my head, unsure about anything anymore.

  He looks at me pointedly. “You.”

  What?

  “Me? How could I make it easier? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve worked really hard to try and have the patience of a freaking saint.”

  He nods in agreement. “I’m not talking about your patience,” he says, leaning forward. “You have been patient. But what you haven’t been is apologetic. There’s a girl you seriously wronged, who is a huge part of Ridge’s life. And even though she claims not to blame you, you probably still owe her an apology. Apologies shouldn’t happen because of the response of the person who was wronged. Apologies should happen because of the wrong.” He slaps his hands on the table like the conversation is over and he stands up, grabbing the tray of food he made for Ridge and Bridgett.

  My stomach turns at the thought of being face to face with Maggie after everything that has happened. And even though I don’t take any responsibility for all the resentment she and Ridge have been building up toward each other over the years, I do take responsibility for the fact that I was a Tori for a hot minute and never once reached out to her to apologize.

  “Come on,” Warren says, pulling me up and out of my stupor. “There are worse things in life than having a boyfriend with a heart the size of an elephant.”

  •••

  I’m completely silent on the ride home. Warren doesn’t even try to get me to talk. When we get back to Ridge’s apartment, Ridge is still asleep. I write him a note and leave it beside him on the bed.

  Didn’t want to wake you because you deserve the sleep. I’ve got a lot of homework to catch up on today, so maybe I can come over tomorrow night after work.

  I love you.

  Sydney.

  I feel bad lying to him, because I’m not going home to do homework. I’m going home to change clothes.

  This drive to San Antonio is long overdue.