“Or I work all day and I’m exhausted by the time midnight rolls around. But look, it’s only eight a.m. I promise I’ll make it through Ferris Bueller and Pretty in Pink before I succumb to any ‘boring-as-fuck’ sleeping disorders.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “All right, whatever. But only because half of America is currently calling you a whore. And I swear, if you fall asleep before we watch at least three movies, I’m dragging your naked ass out to the pool and throwing you in. In front of what I am sure is no less than ten cameras aimed at your backyard. I mean, really, I should probably do it anyway. It would probably up your standing with at least half the population. The male half, but still.”
“Great idea, Tori. You’re such a pal.”
“I am,” she agrees with a grin. “No need to thank me, though. It’s a gift.”
“It is,” I tell her, suddenly growing serious. “A really good gift. And I’m really lucky to have you.”
“Oh, God. It’s just a few headlines, not a terminal disease. Don’t go getting all maudlin on me.” She scoops our cups off the table and carries them back to the counter. As she fills them with coffee, she adds, “Bring me the Baileys, will you?”
“Sure. But I don’t want any. I think I’m going to stick to tea for a while.”
“Where’s the fun in that? I mean, really, I’m going easy on you with the Baileys. Back in high school, Breakfast Club was totally a drinking game. Every time Judd Nelson looks at Molly Ringwald like he wants to fuck her, you had to take a shot.”
“I’m not taking shots at eight in the morning.”
“How I ended up with such a party pooper for a best friend, I have no idea.” She waves my cup under my nose. “Here, take this and I’ll grab the donuts. We can gorge while we watch.”
The scent of coffee and alcohol hits me hard and, for the second time today, I make a mad dash for the nearest toilet. This time, I barely get there in time.
Tori gives me my privacy, but is standing there with a wet washcloth when I finally make it out of the bathroom. “Don’t tie yourself up in knots over this,” she says, rubbing my back sympathetically. “It’s just a little blip on your way to happily ever after. Ethan will fix it.”
“I actually think this is more than a blip.”
“Well, yeah, obviously.” She cuts the flippant attitude and is suddenly dead serious. “The whole situation sucks, Chloe. No doubt about it. But your man is hella amazing. With the plan he’s got going on, they’ll be crying for Brandon’s blood before nightfall.”
“You’re probably right,” I agree. “But that’s not the blip I was talking about.”
“Oh. Okay.” She looks confused but receptive as she waits for me to say more.
“I need you to do me a favor. And I need you not to tell anyone. And to not be judgey about it.”
“Where’s the fun in that? I live to be judgey.” Her sarcasm is not lost on me.
“I know, I know, sorry. I just…I need you to do something for me. I’d do it myself, but for obvious reasons, that’s not going to happen. At least not today. And I need—I need to know.”
“Okay. Of course. But you know, right, that if you want me to help you, you’re going to actually have to tell me what you need me to do.”
“I need you to run to the store and buy me a pregnancy test.”
Her mouth drops open and for the first time in my life, I understand the expression “her eyes bugged out of her head.” Because Tori’s eyes do exactly that. “A pregnancy test?” she all but shouts.
“I’ve thrown up the last two days. Plus I feel nauseous a lot of the time. And my period’s five days late. And we had unprotected sex. And—”
“Jesus! Who needs a pregnancy test when you’ve got every symptom in the fucking book? Unprotected sex? Really? Have I taught you nothing?”
“It just kind of happened. And I told you not to be judgey!”
“I’m not judgey. I’m in shock! But okay, look. You go put your feet up or something and drink lots of water! I’ll run and get a pregnancy test and be back in like, a minute.”
“I’m pretty sure I can stay upright. If I’m pregnant, it’s like only a little bit pregnant.”
“There’s no such thing as a little bit pregnant.” Tori grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with filtered water. “Now go do something pregnant. And drink that! I’ll be back in a jiff and I want an answer so you’d better be able to pee on the little stick!”
—
Twenty minutes later, Tori waltzes back in the front door, this time accompanied by a man whose face matches one of the pictures Ethan texted me. She’s carrying a large brown paper bag and is grinning from ear to ear.