Jo
Although I have a game plan and want to get it rolling, I don’t call Aaron to let him know what I’m going to do. He’s playing a power game, and I’m not going to have him believe I’ve been stewing, wasting my life, thinking about his blackmail. The critical point is to appear serene and in charge, even if I’m feeling anything but.
Knowing him, I’m certain he isn’t going to wait the full week, like he said at Starbucks. He isn’t capable. I expect him to call either today or tomorrow about my “progress.” He doesn’t understand what he’s asked for is impossible. Give me a lifetime, and I still wouldn’t be able to convince anybody in my family I’m in love with him—at least not enough to want to marry him.
So I sit on my hands. More precisely, I sit on the toilet to do the pregnancy test. Avoiding it is silly. It’s about time I face the truth. And I could very well not be pregnant. It is possible…
You might as well pray that your latest Dolce & Gabbana sandals come with a winning lottery ticket.
Hey, I might get lucky. Some nice person could’ve stuffed the box they came in with the ticket…
But no such luck! The test kit shows two vivid lines. I sigh, an oddly empty acceptance spreading through me. I knew this was probably going to be the outcome, no matter how many other possibilities I entertained. At least it’s not cancer or menopause.
I dump the kit in the trash and wash my hands while checking my reflection in the mirror. I l
ook like my usual homebody self—curlers in my hair, a comfy, loose T-shirt and yoga pants, no makeup or jewelry. My cheeks are a bit paler than usual, probably because half my nutrients are going to the baby.
I look down at my still-flat stomach. What am I going to do about the baby? Edgar has to know I’m pregnant—the man’s not stupid—and even if we don’t get married, he has certain rights and responsibilities. And I don’t mean money. The baby needs to know that he or she is unconditionally loved by both parents.
But how’s that going to work? I’m here, and he’s in Louisiana. That’s, like…two time zones away. We’ll need to stop and think before even calling each other.
My phone rings. I check the name and sneer. Aaron. I knew it.
Plopping myself on the couch, I count to three with the speed of a snail on tranquilizers, then hit the green button. “Yes?”
“Hey. So you did it, right?” he says, excitement making his tone slightly high-pitched. “Told your family we’re gonna get married?”
“Nope.”
“What do you mean, no? You know what I’m going to do to your dad if you fuck with me?”
That’s the only reason you get to speak to me, dumbass. “Look, they just aren’t going to be convinced that easily. Besides, I need a long engagement to make them think I’m serious.”
“What are you talking about? We’re in love, remember? We can’t wait to be married and start our life together.”
I gag silently. “Mom’s never going to believe everything’s fine if I tell her I want to elope or go for a quickie wedding. She knows I want the most perfect wedding gown and the most perfect venue.”
“How hard can it be to buy a white gown?” He sounds genuinely confused.
This is why you own a denim tuxedo, and I don’t. “A long time. Years, in some cases.” I infuse extra sarcasm, but I don’t think he notices. Aaron never does.
“Shit. Well, you better hurry it up. I can’t wait forever. I need to show I can be responsible before my grandpa gives everything to my brother.”
“It’s going to be expensive, too.” Most men realize this, but it’s impossible to underestimate Aaron’s knowledge. “And you’re going to pay for it.”
“Why?” The word is shaky with outrage. “It’s the bride’s family that pays!”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Not when the groom is blackmailing the bride into marrying him!”
“But—”
“Do you want me to tell your grandfather you’re denying me the ceremony I deserve?”
That shuts him up.
I wish I could use the grandpa card all the time, but it’ll lose effectiveness if I do. I inhale deeply. “Anyway, a long engagement is a must. And one more thing you should know—I’m pregnant.”
A stunned silence. Then Aaron explodes. “What the fuck? We haven’t had sex in months!”