by Kat T. Masen
My sister knows me well. After all—she is my best friend. But, then, it flashes before me, the night with Austin. I try to suppress the guilt, knowing it will fade away eventually, and some other man will be my focus.
Amelia sighs heavily. “What’s going on with you, Ava? You haven’t been the same since Olivier left you.”
I swallow the lump inside my throat, never one to be consumed by emotions. Life has thrown me a curveball, tested me more than I care to admit. Mom pointed it out, reminding me of how fortunate I’ve been, and it may not always be that way. Yet even though I know I’m resilient, something isn’t right. The problem is, I don’t know what’s causing this unsettled feeling.
“I’m just tired,” I confess, taking a breath. “It’s been a shit start to the year.”
“Maybe you need a girls’ weekend? We can organize a nice resort just for you, me, Mom, and Addy. We might be able to drag Alexa if I can convince her it’s cool to hang out with us.”
Perhaps that’s all I need—a break from life with the women who mean the most to me. It’s been a few months since we’ve all been together.
“Ava? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, breaking my thoughts. “It sounds like a plan.”
“Okay, something is very wrong because normally you would be all over this idea, take over, then plan something epic. What’s really going on with you?”
“Honestly, Millie, I just don’t know, and that’s the truth. But if you’re too busy, I’m sure Eric can plan something for us.”
“I’ve got a meeting in an hour, and then when I pick up Ashton from Mom’s this afternoon, I’ll talk to her,” Amelia tells me, then falling quiet for a moment. “You’ll get through this, Ava bear, I promise.”
I laugh softly. “You haven’t called me that since elementary school.”
“I mean it, okay? You know I’m always here. You’re my sister. No judgment from me, no matter what you’re going through.”
Since Amelia married Will and became a mother, she has changed for the better, if I’m honest. She’s a lot calmer, always nurturing the closest to her, and it’s almost like she became our mom. She often worries about me by regularly checking in to make sure I’m okay. According to Addy, who sees her more than I do, it’s like someone took our hot-headed sister and replaced her with someone the complete opposite.
Yet moments like earlier in our call remind me that Millie will always be passionate about what matters the most. She’s just become more patient when it comes to family.
“I know you’ll always be there, Millie. But you do have a demanding husband and a two-year-old.”
“Will knows how important my sisters are to me.”
We speak for a few more minutes before Eric texts me with a reminder to be at the photoshoot at three o’clock sharp. He then continues to send me images of the gown, suggesting I wear a white strapless bra to suit the design.
Pulling open the drawer with all my lingerie, I take out my white satin strapless bra. As I unclasp the bra and put it on, the cups are too tight, and my fingers fidget with difficulty. My patience wears thin until I let out a frustrated growl with dead arms, throwing my bra across the closet. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, open them, and place my hands on my breasts. My skin feels tender, and the swells of my breasts are slightly larger than usual. What the fuck? These stupid diet pills are working in reverse. Why I agreed to be a guinea pig again highlights my poor judgment.
The diet pills are next to the basin inside my bathroom. Still topless, I walk inside and read the back of the bottle so I can google the ingredients. I type into my phone tender breasts, hoping for some medical advice and connection to the pills. But as I click on the top results, my stomach churns. The A/C is on, yet the room is stifling hot as my eyes read across the page. There’s mention of breast cancer, and although we don’t have a history of that in our family, anything is possible. I try not to let my mind exaggerate and conjure up crazy scenarios. But then, the website delves into hormonal changes resulting from menstrual cycles to pregnancy.
My period.
Shaking my head, I stare blankly at the shower while trying to calculate my last period. It was about a month ago, or maybe a little bit longer. It was lighter than usual, but I’m not a heavy bleeder like my sister. Instead, I’m fortunate enough to have light cycles.
And as for pregnancy, you have to have sex to fall pregnant.
I continue to read, noting some of the other symptoms I’ve had of late, including fatigue. When I finish reading, I’m no closer to a self-diagnosis and decide to call my doctor to see if she can squeeze me in.
Dr. Taylor's receptionist informs me of a last-minute cancellation, which doesn’t leave me much time to get ready and head downtown. Just as I’m about to go charge my phone, it pings with a text.
Millie: Three weeks from now, clear your schedule. We’re going to Cancun! Mom is in, Addy is in, and I even got Alexa. You can’t say no!
When Millie puts her mind to something, she makes it happen. I just didn’t expect it to be this quick.
Me: I’m in.
The afternoon schedule is tight, no thanks to my last-minute doctor’s visit. Dr. Taylor goes through the usual questions. How I’ve been feeling, what I’ve been doing, and then requests I take a blood test. Not wanting to come across as rude, I try to get out of there fast to avoid the wrath of Eric.
I make it with only a few minutes to spare, which is very unprofessional of me, given tardiness is my biggest pet peeve when it comes to working. Eric rushes me to hair and make-up without a hello.
The dress is elegant yet simplistic. The purpose is to focus on the hotel’s surroundings, therefore not distract with a gown that demands attention. My hair is styled in mermaid waves with natural tones for my makeup. The make-up artist does a fantastic job of bringing out the emerald color of my eyes.
I pose around The Four Seasons for the rest of the afternoon while the photographer takes what feels like a million shots. By the end of it, I’m utterly exhausted, drinking a whole bottle of water in one sitting and narrowing the fatigue down to dehydration.
“You were fabulous, honey.” Eric claps his hands while the photographer packs up his equipment. “I have some amazing news for you.”
“You’re Donatella Versace’s long-lost son?”
“Don’t you tease me, Miss Edwards.” Eric points his finger with a playful grin. “Victoria’s Secret has decided to switch up their new campaign and wants influencers. They specifically requested you.”
“Me?” I touch the base of my neck with a confused stare. “When, where?”
“Well, here’s the catch…” Eric trails off, which is never a good sign when it comes to him. “It’s tomorrow in the Bahamas. Before you get all worked up, I can reschedule your week to make it work. It’s only three days.”
I cross my arms, smelling a rat. “That’s last minute. I’d assume they’d have this planned for months, not days?”
“They did, but the venue they chose was wiped out by that hurricane last week. So, they had to find another location in the Bahamas to suit the shoot, but it means they had to bring it forward. A few models aren’t able to travel right now, and so they decided to switch up the campaign.”
My eyes scan Eric’s face, studying his expressions to make sure he’s telling the truth. Of late, he has tip-toed around me because of Miami. I don’t blame him, given my mood swings and shattered confidence.
I let out a loud breath. “You know what, I’m in. Leaving Manhattan is very appealing right now.”
“Fantastic!” Eric pulls his phone out then draws his attention back onto me. “I see big things in your future, Ava. My tarot reader even said so.”
“Your tarot reader read my future?” I repeat, raising my brows.
“Anyone in my life who I bring up. I knew you were having a tough time of late, so I asked, and she delivered.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “What else did she say?”
“Big things are coming your way. Life-changing. It’s this trip, I know it.”
Suddenly, Lochie comes to mind. Maybe it isn’t the trip, but rather my love life. I pull my phone out, half-listening to Eric, and send Lochie the text I’d been putting off.
Me: Are you free this Friday for dinner?
Lochie: So, you are alive? It depends…my pick?
Me: Demanding but sure.
Lochie: Some call it demanding. I call it being a gentleman taking charge.
Let me confirm reservations.
Lochie: And by the way, I’m glad you reached out.
Lifting my head, I see Eric still rambling on about auras and energies. To be polite, I nod a few times, unable to hide my smile from reading Lochie’s text.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“A little bit yes, and partially no,” I drag, bored with his talking. “Look, I’m beat and need to pack for tomorrow.”
“We’re leaving at midday, sharp.”
“We?”
“Yes, we,” he announces, crossing his arms while minutely shaking his head. “Me and you. I’m your publicist and need to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“Well then, I’ll pack the Xanax. You on an island with pool boys, something tells me I’ll need it with all the high-pitched fangirling.”
Eric pouts his lips then follows with a malicious laugh. “Honey, it’s like we’re two beautiful peas in a glamorous pod. You know me too well.”
I’m unable to hold back my grin. “You’re hard work, Eric Kennedy. How you’re still married is beyond me.”
The obnoxious ring of my phone wakes me. The morning sun is shining through the drapes while I answer the call with a croak in my voice.
Dr. Taylor informs me my results have returned and requests to see me immediately. Over the phone, her tone is cold, making me break out into a panic. I beg her to tell me, but she insists on face-to-face contact but assures me it’s not life-threatening, so to calm down.
I crashed early last night, tired again from the day and hoping Dr. Taylor has solutions to fix whatever the hell is wrong with me. Lochie responded with an address for dinner, and after a few flirty text messages, I fell asleep with my phone on my face.
After a quick shower and dressing into a pair of jeans with a black bodysuit, I answer the door and motion for Dr. Taylor to come in. She keeps her greeting short and simple, not looking me in the eye, which causes me concern.
Dr. Taylor sits on the sofa across from me.
I’m waiting for her lecture on how the diet pills I’ve been consuming is what’s causing me to be so ill over the last month or two. Perhaps, in hindsight, I should have listened to Millie when she warned me of the damage they can do to my body. But stubborn me just continued, and now I’m paying the price.
“Miss Edwards, I have your results here.”
Dr. Taylor procrastinates in the most annoying way possible. She’s pushing close to a hundred— okay, exaggerating a little—but doesn’t she know that time is of the essence? In less than two hours, I need to board a flight to the Bahamas for a photoshoot. Just give me the pep talk, and I’ll be on my merry way.
“You’re pregnant, and the blood work shows you’re about four months along.”
Frozen on the spot, Dr. Taylor hands me a piece of paper with the results. I barely make out the words, all of them jumbled and blurry. My skin tingles in discomfort as my chest tightens, restricting my ability to breathe so effortlessly.
This. Cannot. Be. Happening.
I gasp for air, my eyes twitch, followed by the room spinning. Dr. Taylor is concerned, calling my name in the distance. I focus on her face, mumbling the question that is bursting to come out.
“So, when you say four months, I fell pregnant around... ”
“January,” she confirms.
My breaths come hard and fast, the panic crippling my ability to even talk.
“But it was only one time,” I beg, almost in tears. “I had my shot back then, and we used a condom…I think.”
“Miss Edwards, I always advise my patients that the birth control shot is not one hundred percent effective. You did the right thing using a condom if you did, but even condoms aren’t one hundred percent.”
“Why does everyone say that?” I raise my voice, the cushions falling off the sofa as I pace the area in front of it. “I can’t be pregnant! If nothing’s one hundred percent, then why are people having sex?”
“Abstinence is your one hundred percent,” she reminds me.
What a stupid remark. No one is going to abstain from having sex.
My life is a fucking mess.
This will ruin me.
“I was with the same man before that night for nearly two years. How come I didn’t fall pregnant with him?”
“It could be several things. Perhaps you weren’t having intercourse during ovulation, but most likely, you’ve found a male partner with strong sperm that’s extremely compatible with your eggs.”
“And if I don’t want this kid?” I ask in a strangled voice.
“I’m afraid it’s a little too late if that’s what you’re asking me. However, there is always placing the baby up for adoption.” Dr. Taylor keeps her gaze fixated on me. “So, I take it you’re not in a relationship with the father?”
“Three words for you, Doc. One. Night. Stand.”
I see pity or maybe even a little bit of judgment in her eyes. She carries on about prenatal appointments, supplements, and other things that are flying in one ear and out the other. In my head, I only see the look on my family's face when I tell them.
Chances are—this will destroy them.
And it’s all because of one night.
A night when my entire life came crashing down, and the only person able to comfort me was a man completely forbidden.
Seven
Ava
Dr. Taylor leaves my apartment but not before referring me to an OBGYN.
This can’t be happening.
I don’t even hear the sound of the door closing, fixated on the sofa in a catatonic state.
All noise drowns out, from the sound of the sirens outside the apartment block to the sudden burst of thunder from the predicted storm.
Breathe, Ava.
My head drops between my legs to shut out all the incessant noise inside my mind, which refuses to shut the hell up. The tips of my fingers run through my hair while I intake shallow breaths. Then, suddenly, my head snaps up, my hands gravitating toward the paper Dr. Taylor left on the coffee table.
Pregnant—positive.
I continue to sit in silence, not even to blink as I watch, hoping for a miracle that the word ‘positive’ disappears. Closing my eyes, I pray that this is an awful dream, and at any moment, I’ll wake up, and everything will be back to normal. I will go back to being the fabulous Ava Edwards who will take the world by storm.
But denial is a curse for the weak.
Minutes later, I open my eyes as reality slaps me in the face—hard, forceful, and unapologetic. Thoughts run rampant, from everything I assumed I knew about pregnancy to reality. There’s supposed to be morning sickness, but aside from a few questionable moments, not once have I thrown up in the past few months.
I hop on my feet, scurrying to the bathroom. The damn bodysuit I’m wearing doesn’t help, so I strip off in a rush to stand naked in front of the mirror. Slowly, I turn to the side and gaze upon my stomach. There is a slight bulge the closer I look. Yet nothing alarming and it can easily be passed off as bloating.
My hands move on their own accord, falling flat against my skin to see if anything feels different. Nothing at all feels unusual aside from my breasts.
And then reality hits like a wrecking ball. This time, knocking the wind out of me.
Austin is the father.
Barely managing to cover my mouth with my palm, I race to the basin before throwing up repeatedly. My breaths come hard and fast until I slow my breathing down enoug
h to coordinate turning the faucet on to splash cold water on my face. With my hands resting on the edge of the countertop, my eyes close from exhaustion, incapable of moving from this very spot.
In less than an hour, a car service will take me to the airport to board a plane to the Bahamas. A trip where I’m expected to dress in a swimsuit and pretend nothing is wrong.
When in fact—everything is wrong.
If I call Eric to cancel, I’ll never hear the end of it. It’s unprofessional, and the last thing I need is people speculating. But right now, no one else knows because who can I tell? If I tell Mom, it will be impossible for her to keep it from Dad, and the last thing I want is to burden her with a secret this big.
And if Dad knows, I’m sure Austin will be hunted down and fed to a den of lions.
Yet as horrible as that all sounds, nothing in the world compares to the gut-wrenching feeling of having to admit the truth to my sister. Every time I think of it, a wave of nausea hits laced with guilt.
The more I go over this in my head, the clearer my need to keep this a secret for as long as possible. Maybe, if I’m fortunate, there will be a few more weeks before my body changes, and everyone will know. If I dress in baggier clothes, I highly doubt anyone will notice.
Inside the living room, my phone rings. I run to quickly grab it until I see Millie’s name on the screen. Without a second thought, my finger hits reject. There’s no way I can speak to Millie right now, so to avoid her, a quick text to explain I’m busy should suffice.
Me: Sorry, just heading to the airport. Last-minute photoshoot in the Bahamas.
I suck in my stomach, taking the deepest of breaths. All I need to do is get through the next three days. My suitcase is already packed and sitting beside the door. Moving quickly around the apartment, I fill the smaller items into my carry-on to distract my thoughts until my phone alerts me of a text message.