One for the Money

My youngest sister looks pale and worried. “Eva.”

She throws herself at me, and I catch her in my arms. I haven’t held her like this since she was a child, and I was comforting her after a nightmare. “Lizzy. What on earth?”

She pulls away and seems to notice my state of undress. “Did I wake you up? Oh my God. I did. I’ll go. I can come back later.”

“Don’t even think about it.” I guide her to the settee. My loft is a little eclectic, something that drives my mother insane. There are jewel tones and interesting textures. The occasional stamp of whimsy. All of it seems superfluous now. I sit down beside her and hold her hands. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

She looks absolutely stricken. “Don’t freak out.”

Of course my immediate reaction is to freak out. Internally. But I have a lot of practice with a poker face. Not the kind you use in an underground casino. The kind you use when your family is coming apart at the seams and you’re the only one who can hold them together.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Okay? I promise.”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

The words come out garbled. IthinkImightbepregnant.

They take a moment to fully understand. I can feel the blood drain from my face, but I maintain my poise.

“Have you taken a test?” I manage to ask.

“No, but I’m late. My period, I mean. It usually shows up like clockwork, but it’s been six days, and there’s been no sign of it. I don’t know what to do.”

Six days late. Not a good sign for someone who’s regular. Not proof of anything, either. It might be a false alarm. “I’m glad you came to me. We’ll take a test, and then we’ll know for sure.”

“But what if…”

“We’ll figure it out,” I remind her. “I promise.”

A discordant cheerful ring comes from my bedroom. My phone.

This is more important than any phone call except… what if someone else in my family needs me? It’s still early to be calling about nothing.

“Stay here,” I say, squeezing Lizzy’s hand. “I’ll be right back, and then we’ll do this together.”

I dash into my bedroom, already thinking about where I can find a pregnancy test. There are none in my loft, that’s for sure. Maybe I can call down to the concierge. It’s a full-service condo, so they’ll bring me groceries or lattes.

Or pregnancy tests, most likely.

I dig through the clutch I used last night. My hand lands on something foreign. I pull out a handful of heavy, round poker chips. They must have fallen inside during play. Or maybe Finn slipped them inside. It brings the night before into crystal-clear focus.

Not a dream, then.

Am I really fake dating Finn Hughes?

I dig through the chips until I find it: the quarter he gave me. If you have a good time tonight, then I win. But if you, in your honest assessment, don’t have a good time, you win.

Now I owe him twenty-five cents.

My mom’s frozen smiling face appears on my phone.

“Hey.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t text me, at least. How did it go?”

“How did what go?” I peek back into the living room. Lizzy twists her hands together. I wish I could offer her more reassurance, but fuck. Fuck. If she’s pregnant, this is going to be a shitshow. My parents will lose their Catholic minds. My brothers will probably start a war with whoever the father is. This is about to be a circus.

“Your plans,” my mother says, impatient. “Your plans with Finn Hughes. I can’t imagine why you didn’t tell me about them. And why you made him search the mansion for you.”

He wasn’t really searching for me.

The words are on the tip of my tongue.

He only took pity on me because you wanted me to marry Alex Langley.

I could explain to Finn that our little game of pretend was a bad idea, after all.

And then I’d have no excuse to see him again.

No excuse to kiss him again.

“It was a fun date,” I say, my heart pounding.

“A date?” My mother sounds like she’s about to blast into orbit. “I wasn’t sure. The way he looked at you… but of course he did. You’re beautiful. Accomplished. And way too good for Alex Langley. A Hughes, Eva. That’s wonderful.”

“We’re just seeing each other,” I add hastily. “It probably won’t turn into anything.”

“If you play your cards right, it can turn into everything.”

I glance down at the quarter in my hand. “I’m serious. We’re together, but in a very shallow, non-commitment, Tinder-hookup kind of way.”

She ignores this, of course. “You only have to keep him enthralled through the courtship. Compliment him. Please him. Make him feel like a big, strong man.”

“Gross, Mom.”

“At least until you get a ring on your finger.”

“I can’t imagine why I’ve resisted marriage so far.”