Thirty-Four Going On Bride (The Spinster Series Book 3)

by Becky Monson

  “Are you pregnant yet, Anna?” she asks. I briefly open my eyes to see that Brown has taken a seat on the couch and is watching Anna as she steams a part of my dress, which is hanging up on the door.

  “No, and it’s likely not happening soon,” Anna says.

  “I thought you were going to accidentally forget to take the pill,” Brown says. I can hear the humor in her voice. I sincerely hope she’s kidding.

  “That was a thought,” Anna says, no humor in her voice. Dear heavens, will this kid ever learn?

  “I mean, it happens all the time. I had a friend who took her pill just six hours late and she got pregnant,” Brown says.

  My eyes pop open. “That’s ridiculous. That’s not how the pill works,” I say to her.

  “Uh, earth to Julia, that’s totally how it works. You have to take the pill at the same time every day.”

  “I know that, but missing six hours won’t get you pregnant,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Tell that to my friend. She swears that’s how she got pregnant,” Brown says.

  “Anyway,” she says, directing her attention back to Anna, “what if you accidentally missed a day or something?”

  Anna, bats away the idea with her hand. “I think I’d rather Jonathon and I be on the same page instead of tricking him into it.”

  Well, I jumped to conclusions. Maybe Anna is growing up after all.

  We sit in silence for a bit, and something starts to nibble at the back of my mind. It’s one of those nettling thoughts that I’m not even sure what it is exactly, but there’s like a tiny voice wanting to be heard in the deepest part of my brain and I can’t seem to grasp a hold of it.

  It must be about the pill. That was the thing I’d forgotten on my trip with Jared when we eloped. I didn’t take it for two days. It was near the beginning of the pack, so I wasn’t too concerned. I mean, there was no way I was ovulating. I remembered when I got back from the trip and started right back up. It was then that I realized that according to my pill I’d have my time of the month during our honeymoon, so I called my doctor and we did one of those tricks where you skip your period with another packet of pills, so I’ve yet to start my period.

  Hold on a second …

  I didn’t take the pill for two entire days. What if Brown’s friend was telling the truth? If taking it later in the day would cause her to get pregnant, what about two whole days? And what do I know about when I ovulate? It’s not like I’ve ever had a reason to track it.

  I wait a bit of time until Anna and Brown have moved onto a completely different topic and then say, “Hey Brown, how many weeks after you found out you were pregnant did the morning sickness kick in?”

  She gives me an odd look.

  “Just curious,” I say, and pick a piece of fluff off my robe to prove my nonchalance about the whole subject. I will not freak out. Not yet, at least.

  “Um …,” she starts counting something on her fingers. “About six weeks, I think.”

  Sweet mother of all that’s holy.

  I stay perfectly still, assessing the situation. I need to get a test. I’m sure I’m not pregnant, but I need to find out just in case. And I need to do it now. I can’t wait until after the wedding. It’ll bother me the entire time.

  I once again wait until Anna and Brown change the subject so the whole pregnancy talk is over, and I can do this without either of them catching on.

  I’m actually a little shocked Brown hasn’t put two and two together. She’s usually ridiculously good at figuring things out. Maybe she has pregnancy brain already. I’ve heard you forget things when you’re knocked up.

  Once they’re discussing when they should get into their bridesmaids dresses, I carefully stand up from my chaise and grab my purse and walk to the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Anna asks as I open the door.

  “Um,” I say, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m just going to run to the drug store. I’m going to grab some antacid and see if that will help.”

  Wow, that was a quick lie for me. I usually stumble and stutter them out.

  “There’s one a block down the street. I’ll go get it for you,” Anna says. She moves to go find her purse.

  “No!” I say louder than I intended. “I mean, I think some fresh air will help this stomach bug.”

  “Julia,” Anna says, looking me up and down, “You can’t go outside like that.”

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m wearing a white robe, slippers, and my hair up in a scarf that makes me look rather crazy-old-lady-ish. But I don’t care.

  “I’ll be discreet, I can just pop out the back,” I say, one foot out the door.

  “You can’t!” Anna says frantically. “What if someone sees you? What if Jared sees you? That’s bad luck!”

  “Seriously Jules,” Brown says. “I can go grab it.”

  “No!” I say. Good gracious, I’m a freaking adult. I can go where I want.

  “I’m a freaking adult, and I can go where I want,” I say out loud, and they both look at me like I’ve lost it.

  Anna rolls her eyes. “You don’t have much time Julia,” she looks at her watch.

  “Just let her go,” Brown says to Anna. “She’s clearly having some wedding jitters. Heaven knows I had them.” She really did, and I had to talk her down on her wedding day. She winks at me because she knows it’s not that. I’m not sure what she thinks it is, but I’m eternally grateful that she always has my back.

  I don’t even wait for Anna’s reply. I step out the door and then carefully work my way out the back of the church. I’m heading in the direction of the drug store (which thankfully doesn’t have me going through the parking lot of the church), as quickly as my slipper-clad feet can carry me.

  I have to navigate around some potholes on the way (I took a shortcut through another parking lot and a very shady alleyway) but within a few short minutes I’m inside the drugstore and making a beeline to the pregnancy tests.

  I’ve never bought a pregnancy test before; I don’t even have a clue where to find them. I look in the section where the tampons are located and I find kits for other stuff, but no pregnancy tests.

  Crap. I’m going to have to ask someone. Of course I do. In fact, I’m pretty sure the pregnancy tests were right here before I walked up to the aisle, but karma knew I was coming and had them moved just so I could add to my humiliation.

  I walk over to the pharmacy counter—me, looking like I do, and feeling nausea sweep over me in full force—and ask the attendant where I can find a pregnancy test.

  “Oh, we keep them back here,” says a young man, who, according to his tag, goes by Barry. “They get stolen a lot.”

  Wow, that’s pretty sad, if you think about it. Of course at this point, I’m so desperate to have one, I could see myself grabbing it and running, totally forgetting to pay. So maybe more times than not people are just so frantic at the possibility of bringing another person into this world that they temporarily lose their mind. I can definitely relate.

  “Okay, so can I get one?” I ask, furrowing my brow. I mean, I would’ve assumed my asking where they were would have been enough information for him to grab me one. It’s not like I’m doing research for further use.

  “Sure,” Barry says, making a one-eighty degree pivot and going to a back counter where there are boxes and bottles stacked.

  “Do you want digital or regular?” he asks rather loudly.

  Digital or regular? Isn’t it supposed to be two lines or something like that? Is one better than the other? It really should be much easier than this.

  “Uh, I’m not sure,” I say, trying to keep my voice low and hope that he’ll follow suit.

  “One’s considered more accurate than the other,” Barry yells, obviously not catching the clue. “With digital, there’s no question. It simply says ‘pregnant’ or ‘not pregnant.’”

  Oh, yippee. People are lining up behind me. This is becoming super fun by the mi
nute.

  “I’ll take digital then,” I say, feeling slightly frantic and oh-so-very nauseated.

  “Digital it is,” he says in a loud, peppy tone. “Oh wait, do you want one test or two?”

  “Just one,” I say, a little more snap to my voice than I intended. Why would I want more than one? To confirm?

  “So you want just one of the digital?” He asks, his voice growing ever louder.

  “Yes,” I almost hiss.

  He brings the box up to the counter and sets it down in front of me.

  “I can check you out here, if you like,” he says.

  “Great,” I say, pulling my wallet out.

  Barry scans the barcode on the box and then types some stuff into the register.

  “Huh, that’s weird,” he says, picking up the box and looking at it. “I think this is on sale, but it’s not giving me the sale price.” He meanders back to the shelf where he grabbed the box and looks around. Meanwhile the line behind me is growing longer by the minute.

  “It’s fine,” I squeak out, “I’ll pay whatever price. I’m kind of in a hurry here.”

  This gives the pharmacist pause as he turns to look me up and down.

  “I’m getting married, and my wedding is in—“ I look up at the clock on the wall and then back down at him, “forty minutes.”

  Barry looks at the pregnancy test in his hand and then at me and a smile spreads across his face. “I think you bought the cart before the horse,” he says.

  Well, that’s some nerve …

  “Listen,” I say, my hands going to my hips, “not that it’s any of your business, but I’m already married. We eloped six weeks ago. And anyway it doesn’t matter. Getting pregnant before you’re married is totally twenty-first century. Everyone knows that.”

  A loud gasp escapes from someone behind me. Seriously? Are people really that judge-y? I turn around to see who it was that made the noise and—holy crap in a jar—it’s Lisa. Her eyes are wide, and her hand is covering her mouth like she’s just heard the pope died.

  I close my eyes. Not only have I just revealed to my arch nemesis that Jared and I eloped, but she now knows I might be pregnant.

  For the love of all things sucky.

  I make my purchase, slip the test into my purse, and then walk over to Lisa.

  “So,” I say, and then begin to nibble on my bottom lip.

  “So,” she says, a small smile appearing on her face.

  We stand there in silence. Me in my headscarf, white robe, and slippers. Lisa in a form-fitting deep-red cocktail dress, her dark hair shiny as ever.

  “How do you get your hair so shiny?” I ask out of the blue.

  “What?” she asks, totally confused.

  I shake my head. Clearly, a diversion isn’t going to work here. I’m a terrible diverter, and Lisa isn’t a toddler.

  “Look,” I say, and then exhale. “Obviously, I would appreciate you not repeating anything you just heard.”

  She just looks at me.

  “Lisa, I don’t have to explain my choices to you, but I’d be grateful if you’d keep this to yourself until Jared and I have said something. There are a lot of feelings that will get hurt if this comes out from the wrong person.” Or at all, really. But I’m not going to tell her that. I see now that we’ll probably have to tell. Maybe we can wait a month or two after the wedding.

  She contemplates that for a moment. Almost as if she’s assessing whether to use this bit of info against me or not. Is she truly that evil?

  “Look, I know you don’t like me, Lisa—that’s pretty obvious. I’m not even sure why. It’s not like I’ve ever done anything to you.” Whoa, where is this coming from? “And I don’t know where this thing is going between you and Mark, but if it keeps going,” I pause to take a large breath, “we’re going to have to figure out how to get along.”

  “What do you even mean?” she asks, her eyebrows pulled together so close they almost form a V.

  I eye her, my forehead scrunched. So I’m going to need to spell this out for her?

  “Let’s see,” I start counting off with my fingers, “you’ve insulted me, my bakery, wrote an underhandedly mean newspaper article about me, in fact, all of your comments toward me are underhandedly rude. And you’ve managed to get my mother-in-law angry with me, not once, but twice, with your big mouth.”

  “I…” she starts but then stops herself. She does this twice more.

  Aha! I’ve stumped her. She has no words. This must be new for her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, almost inaudibly.

  Wait … what? She’s sorry? Did she really apologize just like that? No excuses, no underhanded jabs?

  “You’re sorry?”

  “Yes, Julia,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I had no idea I was so underhandedly rude.”

  I say nothing. Can someone really be that obliviously rude? I don’t think it’s possible.

  She sighs. “I guess, I’m … oh, I don’t know. I mean, I ruined what I had with Jared and now it’s like I have this chance with Mark, but I feel like the whole thing’s tainted with Bobby now. Because of my previous actions.” She looks away from me and down to the floor. I know what those “previous actions” are, but I’m not going to tell her that. “And I’m not the same person. I really like Mark and I want things to work out for us.”

  Well, that makes one of us.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “then I find out Mark is Jared’s brother and all I want is for Bobby to like me and then I see you and you’re just all…” she trails off, motioning at my outfit with her hand.

  I roll my eyes. “A disaster?” I interject.

  “No!” She says, emphatically. “You’re just so … so … cute. You get away with your natural look that took you probably minutes to do, while I struggle for hours for this.” She gestures to herself with her hands. “Do you know how much time I spend in the gym, at the spa, and at the dermatologist to do all of this?”

  I’m dumbstruck.

  “Not to mention the expense of it all,” she keeps going. “Do you know how much Botox costs? It’s not cheap.”

  “Well … I …. Er…” I try to speak.

  “Anyway, you just do you,” she says, gesturing once again to me. “And I guess I’m a little jealous. Or a lot.”

  I look down at my robe. “You’re jealous of me?”

  “Don’t rub it in, Julia.”

  “I’m not. I’m confused. I mean, look at me,” I point to myself, “And look at you,” I point to her. She’s a flawless goddess in a skin-tight cocktail dress, and I’m all homeless junkie in a robe and headscarf.

  “Yeah well, things aren’t always what they seem on the surface, are they,” she says.

  I ponder her words for a moment. I don’t know if anyone has ever been jealous of me, or at least admitted to it. It’s usually me that’s the jealous one.

  “Don’t you have a wedding to go to?” She asks, looking up at the clock that’s on the wall behind me.

  I turn around and look at it too. Only thirty minutes left.

  “Crap, yes I do.”

  “I’m glad we talked,” she says, a half smile on her face.

  “Me too,” I say, returning the smile.

  “I’ll see you in thirty minutes, then,” she says.

  “Yep,” I say, nodding my head. I turn and start walking toward the door.

  “Julia,” Lisa says from behind me.

  “Yes?” I turn back and look at her.

  “Your secret is safe. I promise. Or I guess I should say ‘secrets,’” her eyes move to my purse where she and I both know the pregnancy test awaits.

  “Thank you,” I say, and then give her a small closed-mouth smile.

  “Oh, and Julia?” she calls me back just as I start walking away again.

  “Yeah?”

  “Moroccan Oil,” she says, running a hand through her silky locks.

  “Huh?” I scrunch my eyes at her.


  “It’s the secret to shiny hair.”

  “Oh, right. Good to know,” I say.

  “Now you know one of my secrets,” she says, a twinkle in her eye.

  I just smile. I’m pretty sure my secrets outweigh hers by a freaking ton, but whatever, I’ll take it.

  CHA

  PTER 32

  Pregnant.

  Holy crap of all craps. I’m pregnant. Me. Julia Dorning Moody is knocked up.

  I so totally can’t even right now.

  I’m sitting on the floor in the bathroom because I was finding it hard to stand. Also, I barfed right after I saw the results and it was just easier to stay down.

  I’m not sure what I should do. Obviously I need to tell Jared, but I’m thinking it’s pretty safe to assume that with Bobby’s traditional ways, I’m quite certain a baby before marriage would not go over well with her. And six weeks into it, it’s going to be easy to do the math. Only, the reality is the pregnancy didn’t happen before the marriage; we were already married. So what do we do? Tell our families—who’ve put their time and energy into this wedding to make it the best day ever for us—that we ran away and eloped? Or do we say we had a major oops before the wedding? It doesn’t seem like either option will go over very well.

  One thing’s for sure: I need to talk to Jared. My stomach drops at the thought. I don’t know how he’s going to take it because we were planning on waiting at least a little while. Plus we don’t live in a family-friendly condominium. We’ll have to move. We’re totally going to have to uproot everything because I forgot my pill. How will he take it? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

  “Anna,” I yell from my spot on the floor.

  “Yes?” she says through the door.

  “I need to talk to Jared. Can you get him for me?”

  “Can’t it wait? We need to get you dressed and your hair done,” she says.

  “No, it can’t wait. I need to talk to him now.”

  “Okay, but only through the door,” she says. “And make it fast.”