“Fuck that. It’s his responsibility too. Anyway. Why do you think you’re pregnant?”
“Remember when you were pregnant with Marco and couldn’t stand the smell of vanilla?”
“Sure … oh, so this is about the horseradish? I don’t think that’s enough to—”
“What Matt blurted out about your boobs. I have that too.”
“Okay.”
“And I’ve fallen asleep at my desk twice in the last week … and nearly every time we watch TV.”
“Hmm.”
“And remember when I threw up that night all over Jeremy’s car? For no reason? That can be an early symptom too.”
“Yeah? So where’s the test?”
“What?”
“The pregnancy test you bought?”
“Oh. Well … I don’t want to take it. I don’t want to know.”
“Are you crazy? Why?”
“Because then I’ll have to tell Jeremy.”
“But you have to know, Chels. You yelled at me for just tasting your wine.”
“I did not yell—”
“You need to know. Besides, what if you’re not pregnant? Then you’d be worrying for nothing.”
“Damn. You’re as logical as Jeremy.”
“Yeah, I know you hate logic.” Her smile comes through the phone. “So where’s the test?”
“In my makeup drawer.”
“So …”
“You want me to take it now?” I sit up. “I haven’t even read the directions.”
“They’re totally complicated.” She’s smiling again. “Just take the stick thing out of the box and pee on the end of it, but the best time to do it is first thing in the morning.”
I fall back on the bed, sighing. “I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Go sit at your desk.”
“Ha. Ha. I’m glad you think this is funny.”
“Come on, Chels. If you are preggers, despite Jeremy’s fear, your world won’t end in financial collapse. Your baby will have two deliriously happy grandmas who’ll make sure of that.”
“Yeah, and one angry grandpa who told us we should wait five years.”
“Believe me, the first time he sees his beautiful grandbaby, he’ll change his mind.”
“Gordon is nothing like my dad, Gabs.”
“I know,” she says softly. “Your dad would have been an awesome grandpa, and I’m sorry he won’t get that chance. Still, a baby will soften Gordon. You’ll see.”
“Well, even if you’re right about that, you’re wrong about how Jeremy’s going to react.”
Although I managed to sleep, I wake before dawn and slip out of bed, trying not to disturb Jeremy. He mumbles something and rolls over toward me. I freeze until I’m sure he’s not waking, and then I grab my phone and go to the bathroom. I took the pregnancy test out of my makeup drawer and hid it in the bathroom last night. I also read the directions, which were more detailed than just pee on the stick. I’ll have to wait three minutes for the results. The longest three minutes of my life.
I haven’t had a period since my implant was removed, so I don’t have a clue when I could have gotten pregnant. If I’m pregnant. But I’m probably not. I can’t be.
I open the box and then stand there staring at the toilet for a while. Finally, I sit down, hold my breath, and pee on the stick. I exhale and set the timer on my phone. The waiting begins.
I tap my foot.
I need a pedicure. Maybe I’ll try one of those matte shades this time.
I check my phone. Only seventeen seconds have passed.
Jeremy always hangs up his towel perfectly straight. Hmm. I try, but can’t think of other OCD symptoms he might have. And I would have noticed by now, right?
Two minutes five seconds to go.
This paint color isn’t exactly what I expected. It’s not terribly off though, so I can live with it. Well, I’ll have to live with it if this test is positive because our budget will be more strained than ever.
One minute twenty-two seconds left. Geez. A three-minute wait takes an hour.
Does Ethan like seafood? I don’t remember ever seeing him order any. I was thinking of making shrimp gazpacho today, but I’d better ask him first. But I hope he won’t object because it sounds so good. Oh great. Now I’m craving gazpacho. But that doesn’t mean I’m pregnant.
I yelp when Jeremy knocks on the door.
“Are you all right?” he says.
“Yeah. Fine. I’ll be out in a sec.” I check the timer on my phone. Two seconds. I stop the countdown so Jeremy won’t hear it beep.
I can’t look at the result. If the test is positive, there’s no way I can walk out of here and face Jeremy looking like nothing is wrong. I slip the stick under the back waistband of my sleep shorts and ease open the door. I step out only far enough to see that he’s lying on the bed watching the news on TV.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?”
He shakes his head. “I used the hall toilet.”
“So … I’m going to take a shower.”
“Want me to make the coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll cook breakfast when Ethan gets up.”
I back up into the bathroom and close the door. I could look now. I should look. But I can’t. Without a glance at it, I lay the stick on the back of the toilet and strip. As I shower, I keep running a hand over my stomach. It’s flat. Totally. Completely. Perfectly. And I don’t feel pregnant. Not at all.
How would you know how it feels to be pregnant, Chelsea?”
“Shut up,” I mutter. Then I accidentally bump my left breast with the shampoo bottle and nearly scream. Don’t freak. It’s just the worst PMS you’ve ever had. I make it through washing my hair and applying the conditioner before I crack open the shower door. It doesn’t matter that from here I can’t actually read what’s appeared in the little window. All I need to see is that there’s only one word.
I text Gabi before I leave the bedroom.
Test positive. Can’t talk now. Do NOT tell Matt.
When I step out into the hall, I can hear Ethan and Jeremy talking. I have to stop and practice yoga breathing before I continue toward the kitchen. I’ve plastered a smile on my face by the time I reach them. “You guys hungry?”
“Famished,” Ethan says, “but you don’t have to cook. Let’s go out. My treat.”
I look at Jeremy.
“Sounds good to me.” He sets down his cup. “I’ll take a quick shower.”
Ethan’s already showered and dressed, so I pour myself a cup of coffee, grab an orange Popsicle, and join him at the table. “No jet lag?”
“I try to avoid it by getting on local time as quickly as possible.”
I nod.
“That’s an odd combination, luv,” he says, pointing to my cup and then the Popsicle.
“Oh.” I fake a laugh. “Old habit.” Like hell it is. This probably is one of those weird pregnancy cravings. Will Jeremy notice?
Ethan glances toward the hall. “I thought maybe I’d suggest a round of golf to him after breakfast. Give us some time to talk.”
“That sounds great. Just be cool about it. Has he discussed what he’s been working on with you at all?”
“Not in any detail.” He sips his coffee. “Actually, he usually changes the subject if I ask.”
“What do you talk about? It seems he’s been calling you a lot more lately.”
“Oh … nothing important.” He combs his fingers through his hair. “Just sports … and what’s going on in London. Things like that.”
Ethan is not a good liar. But right now, I don’t feel like pressing him for what Jeremy’s been saying if it’s not about his writing.
“Did you see Laura while she was back home?”
He tries, but he can’t suppress the smile that lights his face. “Some. We had dinner a few times. Met for drinks.”
“Did she talk about Dusty?” His smile vanishes at the mention of his rival. “Talk about their work, I mean?”
<
br /> “Well, you know Laura;” he says, “she’s up for any project that might have a positive effect on saving the environment.”
“She told me a little bit about the Australia thing.”
“Right.” He sighs. “Too bad there’s not a hot project closer to home.”
Jeremy sneezes in the hall, which alerts me to change the subject. “Have you seen Uncle Bert and my Mom in London?”
“I wasn’t aware they were in town.”
“I think they’re stuck at Dovewood,” Jeremy says.
“They’re not stuck there. I’m sure they’re having a wonderful visit with your parents.”
Jeremy taps the tip of my nose. “Just teasing you, wife. Shall we go?”
I’m not really listening to the guys’ conversation as we drive to the restaurant. All I can think about is what I’ll do if Ethan’s visit doesn’t help Jeremy. How long can you hide pregnancy from your husband? And how might that stress affect the baby?
When we drive up to our house after breakfast, Gabi is standing in our front yard, watching Marco toddle in circles.
“You and Gabi have something planned?” Jeremy asks.
“Not really.”
“She couldn’t wait to see me again,” Ethan says.
Jeremy huffs. “You’re incorrigible.”
Personally, I don’t think Ethan helps his case with Jeremy by making remarks like that. I’ll have to mention that to him the next time we’re alone. Jeremy waits for Gabi to pick up Marco before he pulls into the driveway.
“Hope you don’t mind me dropping by,” she says when we get out of the car. “Matt’s working from home today, and he needs quiet.”
“Great timing,” I say. “The guys are playing golf.”
“Unca Me,” cries Marco, reaching for Jeremy.
Jeremy grins. He loves Marco’s name for him. He takes the baby from Gabi and carries him toward the door, tickling his stomach to make him laugh. Gabi shoots me a look. Yes, Jeremy loves Marco, and he’d love our child too—when we can afford one.
“Sorry, that Matt spoke out of turn last night,” Gabi whispers to Ethan.
He blushes, believe it or not.
“Not that. I mean when he asked you about marriage.”
“Oh.” He shoots me a look, and I nod to show that I’ve told her about his unrequited love for Laura. He leans closer to Gabi. “There’s always hope the surf king is revealed to be an environmental fraud.”
Gabi smiles and links arms with him. “Let’s hope so.”
“We don’t tee off for two hours,” Jeremy says when we walk inside. “Did you bring a swim nappy for Marco?”
Prepared for anything, Gabi pulls one out of her tote. “Come here, little man. Swim time with Uncle Jeremy.”
“You’re joining us,” Jeremy says to Ethan, and they go off to change while Gabi gets Marco ready.
“Jeremy’s determined to create a swim fanatic out of your son,” I say.
“Fine with me,” she says, “but since we have no pool, I guess my son will soon be begging to live with you.” Marco scrambles to his feet and toddles to the patio door. Gabi leans back against the sofa, eyes closed and a hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe how early and how bad the morning sickness is this time. Do you have any peppermint tea?”
“Sure.” I put the kettle on.
The guys return, and Jeremy scoops up Marco on the way out to the pool.
“How about a sugar cookie?” I ask when Gabi moves to the dining table.
“Yeah, that might help.”
I glance outside. “So when can I expect the nausea?”
“Probably not steadily until your fifth or sixth week.”
“Good, I have some time then.” I hand her the cookie.
“I thought you don’t know how far along you are?”
“Well … yeah, I don’t. How soon can the doctor tell?”
“At this stage, they just estimate from the date of your last period, which does you no good because the implant stopped your periods.”
“Can’t they do an ultrasound?”
“I don’t think they do it before two months. I don’t know though, since you aren’t sure when you got pregnant. Make an appointment.”
The kettle screeches, and I get up to fix Gabi’s tea.
“Jeremy should be sharing in all this with you,” she says.
I don’t even bother responding. I just concentrate on the mint leaves coloring the water in the cup.
“Can you imagine how excited you’d make your mom and Amanda with the announcement?” she says.
I shoot her a glare as I set her cup on the table.
She ignores it. “Jeremy’s going to figure it out, and—”
I smack her arm. “Did you tell Matt?”
“No. But Jeremy’s going to notice the changes.”
Eye roll. “I’ll tell him before my stomach pooches out. And I’ll quit eating Popsicles.”
“Popsicles?”
“Yeah, I think I’m craving them.”
“Who cares about Popsicles? I’m talking about real changes. The ones that happen before your ‘stomach pooches out’. Your boobs get bigger, you’re wet all the time, Matt even says I taste different. And”—she points to her tea—“you better hope you’re one of the rare women who skips morning sickness.”
“Oh, God.” I slump over onto the table, resting my head on my folded arms.
“Oh yeah, and for the next few weeks you’ll be sleepy all the time.”
Groan.
The garage door rumbling open catches me napping on the sofa. Jeremy and Ethan are back from golf. I jump up and smooth my hair, hoping I don’t have the pillow fabric pattern engraved in my cheek. I make it to the kitchen a second before the door opens. Standing at the sink, I turn on the water, pretending I’m just washing up.
They’re arguing about something as they walk in, but it sounds friendly. “I can’t believe you’d pass up that position,” Jeremy says.
“Would you want to spend another three hours working at home after you’d spent eight in the office?”
“I take your point.”
“Who won?” I ask, drying my hands.
“He cheated,” Ethan says.
Jeremy holds up a sack from Arturo’s. “I hope you didn’t eat lunch with Gabi. I texted you that we were bringing tacos, but you didn’t respond.”
“Oh. I must have been away from my phone.” Or sound asleep. “Yummy. I’ll get the plates.”
“And the beer.”
Uh-oh. I set the table with three plates, two beers, and a Coke.
Jeremy cocks an eyebrow. “Are you the designated non-driver today?”
Great idea. “I have to run to the store for something after we eat.” I ignore his frown and open the bag. “These all the same?”
“Yes.” Ethan holds out his plate. “And I’m starved.”
Apparently, we all are. We each gobble a taco without speaking. I’m dying to get Ethan alone to ask what he and Jeremy talked about during their round.
“What’s our Laura up to now?” Ethan says as if he doesn’t know.
Jeremy takes a swig of his beer. “Back in Hawaii with He-Who-Doesn’t-Deserve-Naming.”
Ethan sneers. Jeremy will take that only as sympathy, not as disapproval on his own behalf. Despite what Gabi thinks, Jeremy hardly ever mentions my brief relationship with Dusty, though he often points out that if Dusty hadn’t shown up at our wedding, Laura would never have met him. I’m sure Ethan regrets the same thing. What I didn’t tell Jeremy is that my last conversation with Laura gave me the sense things may be cooling between her and Dusty, which is why I was surprised to hear she’d cut short her visit back home to return to him.
“So, how’s your book coming along?” Ethan says.
I assume he’s talking to me, so I nearly choke when I see he’s looking at Jeremy. Way to be subtle, dude. And why couldn’t he have asked that while they were golfing?
Jeremy keeps his head down, stu
diously squeezing lime on his taco.
Ethan and I exchange a glance.
When Jeremy finally lays the lime aside and looks up, it’s at me, not Ethan. “Do you remember the vow we made in London? The one where we promised to be open and honest with each other?”
My mouth goes so dry I have to take a sip of my Coke before I can squeak out, “Yes.”
“Did you ask Ethan to come here?”
Crap. “Okay, yes. I thought he—”
Jeremy stops me with a traffic-cop hand. He turns to Ethan. “How’s my book coming along you ask? In a word, it’s shit. Chelsea wouldn’t admit that to me, but she invited you here because the book is utter shit.”
“It’s not—” I get the hand again.
“See? She’s still not being honest.”
“But I will be,” Ethan says. “Let me read it.”
So that’s why, after lunch, my husband and his best mate hole up in the office while I make a totally unnecessary trip to Von’s. Geez. I suck at being open and honest. Okay. Time’s up. I have to tell Jeremy I’m pregnant.
Jeremy and Ethan are still in the office when I return. They’re laughing, and as I start down the hall the smell of marijuana hits me. My stomach heaves. I hurry into the hall bathroom, but after a minute I accept that I’m not going to spew. I bang on the closed office door. “Jeremy, please don’t smoke that in the house.”
A second later, Ethan opens the door. Jeremy’s fanning the air toward the open windows with a legal pad. “Sorry,” he says. “I thought you’d be gone longer.”
“No excuse.”
As I start to walk away, Ethan grabs my hand. “Get in here and discuss your husband’s book.”
Crap. My mouth waters and my stomach threatens to protest the lingering stench. I step into the room but lean against the wall beside the door in case I need to make a quick exit. I look at Ethan, indicating that he should start this discussion.
“Right.” He goes to sit on the window ledge and snuffs out the joint. “Well, I read it, and it bored the hell out of me.”
Open & Honest (Sometimes) (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 3) Page 6