“That’s nice of him. He’s a nice young man,” Margie says with a smile.
I nod, hoping my face doesn’t betray my feelings. Despite my anxiety over whatever’s going on with my uterus, I still can’t help but feel good thinking about him. But the dark cloud of an accidental pregnancy is looming.
Shit. This isn’t even bad luck if I am pregnant. It’s just me being not being careful enough, which makes it so much worse. I can't believe this.
“Anyway, we need to do this cake. This is the one with the orange and white flowers, right?” I try to change the subject, clasping my hands together. I need to get moving.
“Yep.” Mom points to a piping bag. “Get going.”
I shift my attention from my nausea and onto the flowers, taking slow, deep breaths. I’m simultaneously hungry and queasy, but I haven’t thrown up. It keeps getting worse. At least when I got here, it was tolerable. I take a Tums from Margie, who can somehow tell my stomach isn’t well.
I make it until my mom leaves for a meeting around with a wedding vendor around four. Then I finally puke, outside in a trash can. I’ve only been able to choke down nibbles of muffin all day, so it’s mostly liquid. Gross.
At least I have an excuse to go home and sleep. I should have stayed in bed.
I tell Margie that I need to go home, and she lets me. I sit in my car in the bakery’s parking lot for a few moments. I can see the drug store across the street from the front window of the bakery and from my spot. Running into the drug store isn’t suspicious on its own, but I’m feeling paranoid right now. I drive around the block and park in the drug store parking lot, feeling ridiculous. The road isn’t even that wide, so I could have walked.
I hop out and dash inside, then head to the ‘family planning’ aisle. There’s been very little planning in this whole situation. I walk past the tampons and pads, past the condoms, and find the pregnancy tests. I grab multi-packs of three brands, some crackers, and some seltzer, check out using self-checkout and get back into my car.
I don’t want to take these at the house. I know Noah’s work hours, but what if today’s the day he chooses to come home early?
I sit in my car in the parking lot, the visual of the tests in the bag in the seat next to me, increasing my anxiety minute to minute. Before, it felt abstract. Now it feels a lot more real. I sit there for a while, my panic making any rational thought impossible. I definitely can’t talk to Mom. Andy would freak out if I told him. Noah is obviously out of the question.
Krissy. She’s always understanding.
It’s four now, and I think school starts next week, not this one. I text her and ask if she’s free to hang out. Thankfully, she is. I don’t know how to put my issues into words without overwhelming her, so I don’t. I drive to her place and knock on her apartment door.
“Whoa, what’s up?” she asks the second she sees me, pulling me inside. “You didn’t tell me you were freaking out. What’s wrong?”
I’ve been holding back tears and must look awful. I’m also still tired as all get out and probably look like trash.
“Have you ever had a pregnancy scare?” I whisper, kicking my sneakers off.
“Yeah, it’s fucking terrifying. I’m guessing that’s what’s going on?” She walks further into her living room. The table’s covered in colorful construction paper and craft supplies. “Sorry about the mess. School starts on a Wednesday this year, so I’m doing the final touches on my welcome stuff.”
“It’s okay.” I sniff and clutch the bag. “I don’t know what to do.”
“First of all, breathe.” She takes my shoulders and squeezes. “Second of all, take the tests before you freak out any more. They in the bag?”
I nod.
“Good. Go pee on all of those and put them on the sink. Then come back out here and sit down.” She points to her bathroom. Her tone has the comforting authority of my mom without actually being my mom. It’s her teacher's voice, I realize.
I tear open the boxes and read the instructions. Easy enough. I manage to pee on two of them from two different brands, just in case and put them flat on the sink. I set the timer on my phone and step out of the bathroom, feeling a little better. The results will be in five minutes from now. The longest five minutes of my whole life.
“Eat these crackers and drink up,” she says, holding the box of crackers and the seltzer out to me.
She takes me into her kitchen, which has a cute breakfast nook, and we sit with the snacks and seltzer between us. I eat several of the crackers in rapid succession. They don’t mess with my stomach, and I’ve hardly eaten all day. Krissy watches patiently, letting me catch my breath.
“I’m really nervous,” I finally say.
“Perfectly normal reaction. I’ve been through it, and it’s the biggest feeling of dread.” She snags a cracker and eats it. “I’m guessing Noah has no idea?”
I nod, my chest tightening up.
“I don’t want him to know,” I say. “I don’t even want this to be happening.”
“It’s okay.” She squeezes my hand.
“But it’s not. If I’m actually pregnant, Noah will leave me,” I say, finally bursting into full-on tears.
“How do you know that for sure?” she asks, squeezing my hand tighter rather than letting go.
“We haven’t even put a label on our relationship yet. He wants to take it slow, and this is for sure not taking it slow,” I gasp, everything coming out in big sobs now, breathing hard. “The last time I purposefully got serious with a guy, he got scared and left.”
“But Noah’s not that guy.”
“But he could be. I’m getting to know him, but how well do I really know him? He had that girl, the friend with benefits. Shoot, I don’t even know if they broke it off.”
I put my head down on the table and feel myself start to hyperventilate a bit. Krissy’s hand rests on my back.
“I’m sure he did. He sounds so into you.”
“Yeah, but so did Grant and look where that landed,” I say bitterly. “Whether he’s still boning her or not, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to go with a serious relationship so fast.”
Krissy sits back and sighs. My alarm goes off, making my heart leap into my throat right away.
“I can go check for you if you want,” she says.
“Please.”
I hear her chair scoot back and her bare feet on the wood floor as she walks away. I don’t lift my head when I hear her come back, because I can guess what the tests say.
“They’re both positive,” she says quietly, like she’s telling someone that their loved one is dead.
She puts them down on a paper towel on the table in front of me. One plus sign, one that just says pregnant.
I’m genuinely stunned.
What am I supposed to do now?
I cannot tell Noah, at least not yet. My gut clenches, almost in mourning of what we have now. It’ll never be like this again, carefree and romantic. It’s the best romantic relationship I’ve had and probably ever will. I don’t want to open myself up to this kind of misery ever again. There’s that saying ‘better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’, but I don’t believe it for a second.
I have to make a plan in case I’m fully on my own without financial help from him. My future plans since I’ve moved back are a lot hazier than they’ve ever been before, and throwing this baby into the mix isn’t clearing things up.
I don’t think I can bear to give the baby up. I’ve always wanted a baby. Just not when I’m in a brand-new relationship without a name, without a long-term place to live or an actual career.
I’m a freaking mess.
I have no idea what I want to do in my life anymore, so what kind of future can I provide this baby? I haven’t touched my LSAT book or my law school applications in who knows how long, though I’m guessing it’s out of the question for a least a few years if I do decide to go that route. The more I work at the bakery, the less interested I am
in going back into an office every single day. I like the bakery and all, but I don’t think that’s what I want to do forever. Mom will help me out until I get on my feet if she doesn’t have a meltdown about me being pregnant.
I can’t tell her until after the wedding. She’s already stressed out enough.
Krissy hops up and grabs me some tissues, which I use by the handful. She sits with me patiently while I have a mental breakdown, rubbing my shoulder.
“You should tell Noah tonight.”
“I’m definitely not doing that.”
“Rip off the band-aid, girl.” She makes a band-aid ripping motion. “I know you guys have had a weird past, but the time since you’ve been together sounds amazing.”
“Because it’s light and easy. I cook for us. I hang out with his dog, so he doesn’t have to take her to dog daycare all the time. We have a lot of good sex.” I laugh darkly. “Too much of it.”
“But that doesn’t mean he won’t be up for taking it in a more serious direction. He won’t abandon you.” She pauses. “He kind of can’t. He’s going to be your stepbrother.”
That makes me start crying all over again. Somehow that’s worse. We’ll always be in each other’s lives now, whether he wants it or not. God, how awkward will family gatherings be? All of us knowing, but not knowing how to talk about it. Or worse, he could just be bitter about it and start to hate my guts.
That would be the worst, and it feels the most realistic. I can't see him abandoning his child, but I could see him abandoning me.
“Come on, let’s sit on the couch. It’s more comfortable,” she says, dragging me into the living room.
I hiccup and cry some more before she speaks again. Her couch envelopes my butt, and the softness makes me even sleepier.
“Listen, I know you’ve had a shitty past with men, but you have to give Noah the benefit of the doubt in this case.” She looks serious, as serious as I’ve ever seen her. “You’re thinking like you know for sure he’ll dump you when you tell him. But you don’t know that for sure.”
I let the words sit in the air. I know she’s right, but I can’t bring myself to actually believe it to my core.
“You don’t have to tell him like, today. Give yourself a few days to pull yourself together.” She pulls me into a hug. She smells nice, like jasmine.
“Okay,” I grumble.
I’ll tell him.
But not anytime soon.
Chapter Sixteen
Noah
I hate how empty the house feels without Nadine, especially since it’s the weekend. She texted me yesterday and told me she needs to stay with her mom for a few days. Fine, I guess. It doesn’t mean I won’t miss her. I told her as much, and she sent back a heart emoji.
I pick up my phone and debate whether I should text her. Maybe there’s something going on that she can’t tell me about yet. Or maybe it’s stuff for the wedding. I should give her space anyway.
Even though I fucking miss her.
Sleeping in my bed alone again is going to suck. I miss her sweet, feminine smell and her warmth against me. I miss being able to palm her breast from behind and wake her up with my hand between her legs. I’ve never fucked anyone as much and as hard as I have Nadine. It’s great. I never knew I had this much stamina, or that Nadine would turn out to be so into sex. She might have started late, but she’s making up for lost time.
Mabel misses her too because she keeps walking to the entryway and staring at the door as if she’s waiting for Nadine to walk in. She walks back over to me and stares blankly as if I can give her the answers.
“Can’t help you, pup.” I scratch underneath her chin until she’s satisfied and hops up on the couch with me.
I turn back to the situation spread out on my coffee table. The only upside to Nadine being gone is that I can spend a lot of time on these cases. Usually, I can only snag some time at my cubicle during lunch, swiping through photos on my tablet and taking notes, hoping no one peeks over my shoulder.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t have this many files here.
And yet, here I am, not feeling much guilt at all.
There are three fires that are suspicious (to me) and have enough evidence for me to build a case to bring to Harry — the one that happened when I was away at the cabin, and the ones where Henry had rubbed me the wrong way by bragging about saving people. All three of them are leaning toward arson, which is easy to tell. And then there’s the fire at Nadine’s house. I can’t figure out how it fits into anything yet, but I’m still investigating. The problem with arson is that it’s hard to definitively pin it on a specific person, unless they either fuck up massively, get arrogant and get messy, or if they straight up confess. The DNA evidence usually burns. It’s easy to tell the fires were set, but by who?
I’m getting the feeling that this person, whoever they are, is getting arrogant. They’re good, too. If I hadn’t combed all this evidence again and compared them, I doubt anyone would have made the connection. And I don't think Harry will listen to my theories unless I have a very solid case.
But what if I do figure it all out? Then what?
I sit back and look at all my notes. Yeah, all of this is technically my job, but I'm going beyond my duties. For the first time, I wonder if I’m doing this for the right reasons. Maybe I’m more like Henry than I thought. If I’m right, and my gut instincts are that good, I’ll probably get attention or maybe a promotion. Emotionally, though, I know I’ll feel that things are just in the world, for once. Ever since Uncle Jack’s death, I’ve been chasing that feeling.
I pick up my notepad again and condense my thoughts into one place, in a short list.
1. The person who’s setting the fires has a working knowledge of arson techniques; all the fires have similar starter materials that go beyond the basic gasoline and a match treatment that the majority of arsonists go for. They’re subtle enough for most investigators to not connect all of them. Serial arsonists are somewhat rare, so when we hear hoofbeats, we think horses, not zebras. I don’t think there’s ever been a serial arsonist in our town.
2. That missing evidence is key, and also means that someone’s on the inside, helping the arsonist. Who that person might be is still a mystery. This feels like the biggest thing, and it’s also the one I have the least information on.
3. All of the victims are families who are in the house when the fires start, which suggests that someone either has a vendetta against families that seem unconnected or they just happen to be unlucky.
4. There’s a chance I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe we just haven’t been able to pin it on a usual suspect — a jealous ex, someone getting revenge, someone seeking money.
Sifting through piles and piles of evidence has led me to those four things.
Great.
My stomach growls in protest. I haven’t eaten a proper meal today, which my body has gotten used to. I need a break anyway.
I open the door to the fridge and stare inside. It's empty. I've eaten all the leftovers Nadine left. I've got beer, mayo, and some sad celery. I need to go to the store. And I need to swing by the station on my way back in to double-check a file that’s on my desktop. Some people come into the office on Saturdays, but it’s mostly the guys on duty. Maybe I can hang out with them a little bit if they aren’t on a call. Hopefully, Henry won’t be around.
I drive into town, and instead of going to the store that's a little closer, I decide to go to the one that's next to Babs’s bakery. I'm not sure if Nadine is working today, but I can try to surprise her.
Or is that a thing a boyfriend would do? I'm not uncomfortable with the idea of being her boyfriend anymore. Not in the slightest. I guess the only thing that kept me from being serious with someone was the person I was with. It seems like a ‘no shit, Sherlock’ revelation, but it feels new to me.
I arrive at the store and grab a cart. Instead of heading to the center aisles to grab a bunch of rice noodles, I grab som
e peppers and spinach. I make my way around the edge of the store to the meat aisle and grab steak, too. I'm glad Nadine is teaching me to cook. I don't know how I survived without home-cooked meals. I feel less like shit on a day to day basis and everything, like my body’s actually getting what it needs. I just want her to be next to me as I stand over the stove, telling me what I’m doing wrong or right or laughing at my stupid jokes.
“Noah?” A woman says from behind me in the checkout line.
I turn, and Jade, my kind-of ex is right behind me, holding a basket with a single loaf of gluten-free bread in it. She's wearing workout gear but probably hasn't been at the gym. Her hair is dry and in a loose ponytail. I still think she's pretty, but I feel almost nothing for her, not even lust, even though I once thirsted after her. Ray thought I was nuts since she’s a bit much, personality-wise. That’s what happens when I think with my dick. I ignore Ray’s solid advice and end up in situations like this.
“Hey,” I say, unsure as to how to act. Happy to see her, even though I had to dump her via text? Neutral, like bumping into a kind-of friend from high school?
Looking at her face, I realize I fucked up. Massively. She’s clearly pissed.
You'd think I would know better after making Nadine feel like shit after our night together, but nope. If I weren't so hard for Nadine, I would have at least called her. But then again, she has a habit of putting words into my mouth. If it's not in writing, then she could pretend I never said anything. Then it would have been a long, dragged out thing.
The cashier starts scanning my items like they're going to explode if he moves them too fast. He caresses the steak, gently slides the bunch of spinach across the scanner, and puts down my peppers as if they’ll bruise like peaches. Why today, of all days?
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