The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

This month, my period was late.

Two days late, but still.

To be on the safe side, I’d ordered a test online. I didn’t dare go to the local pharmacist or Walgreens or even Target. God forbid I bumped into someone who knew who I was, knew who Jack was, and caught me holding one.

The rumors that would spread…

Like wildfire.

And so I shut myself into the bathroom once I got home from my evening mass communication class. Jack had a team meeting and wouldn’t be by until later—if he came over at all. I followed the instructions on the box, hands trembling, and stuck the white stick between my legs as I sat on the toilet. I tried to hold it steady under the flow of urine as I peed, not sure how long I actually had to pee on the stick for it to work. I didn’t have a cup or anything to put it in once I was done, so I sat there holding it, watching as that little blank box filled with two blue lines.

I hadn’t even needed to wait the full three minutes.

My hands shook.

Do I throw the test out or save it?

I didn’t want to keep looking at it. The results were the cold bucket of reality I hadn’t wanted or needed today.

What was I going to do?

What was I going to say to Jack? Worse, what was I going to say to my brother?

Oh god, he was going to be so disappointed in me.

Here he was, working his ass off to send his kid sister to school only to find out she got pregnant by the first long-term boyfriend she’s ever had?

And one who’s a player?

Jack can’t know. This will devastate him.

Devastate him? How?

He has goals. Plans. Dreams much bigger than yours!

Think, Penelope, think. What are you going to do?

I take a deep breath and raise my eyes toward the mirror, gazing back at the terrified face there. Wide eyes that look as if they’ve seen a ghost.

Bright red cheeks.

Raising a hand to my forehead, I press my palm to my face. It’s hot, temperature high. I’m blushing furiously from fear and shame, no longer worried about the scores for the test I’d just taken and probably bombed.

No longer worried about rent or gas money or what I was going to wear on my date with Jack tomorrow night on his one weekend off.

Don’t be stupid. You’re not going on that date.

If you sit across from him at that table, he will know something is wrong. He’s going to think you’re being weird and ask a million questions you’re not prepared to answer.

Fumbling for my phone, I do the only thing I can think of to do. I cancel on him.

That was the beginning of the end for us.

I would take another test over the weekend when I was home, just to be sure.

And now we’re here, watching that little girl I was pregnant with when I was practically a girl myself.

I shake my head, lost in thought.

“Mom, want a french fry?” Skipper is wobbling a limp fry back and forth in front of my face, wearing a cheeky grin on her chubby face. “They’re soo good.”

I take a bite of it while she’s still pinching it between her fingers, chomping like a shark. “Yum! Thanks, baby girl.”

My daughter rolls her eyes. “Mom, I’m not a baby.”

I smooch her face, emotional despite myself. “You’ll always be my baby, baby girl.”

“Gross.” She gives Jack a bite of the french fry. “Jack, isn’t that gross?”

He nods along with her, commiserating, but the sentiment doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, he’s looking a bit emotional himself, face as flushed as mine feels while he’s lost in thought.

“I don’t know if I’d call kisses from your mom gross,” he finally allows, shoving some pizza into his mouth while avoiding my gaze. “I would call them slimy.”

“Slimy!” Skipper and I both shout at the same time.

I pick up a fry and toss it at him, close range, with a laugh. “You brat.”

“Ew!” Skipper kicks her legs, her mouth puckered as if she’d swallowed a lemon whole. “You kissed my mom?!”

The idea of it repulses her.

“Are you my mom’s boyfriend?” Skipper pulls another sour expression but smiles at the same time, blushing, her cute little freckles popping out in the sweet way I love so much.

She gets those from me.

“No, I’m not your mom’s boyfriend.”

Our daughter absentmindedly nibbles at the end of her bun. “Then why were you kissing her?”

So innocent.

“Because I was her boyfriend.”

“Oooh.” Skipper pauses. “When?”

“When we were much younger.”

“Last year?”

“No, longer than that.”

She tilts her head, and I watch the interaction. Jack is handling it beautifully, so there is no need for me to jump in and save him.

“When?”

“When we were in school.”

Skipper’s eyes widen. “First grade?”

Jack and I laugh. “No, college.”