The Girlfriend (The Boss 2)

I knocked on the door to Holli’s room before I pushed it open. She was standing in front of her clothing rack, skimming through the few items she hadn't packed yet.

Holli was tall, blonde, and skinny. Not slender, not thin, but straight up skinny, due to a metabolic disorder. She'd given her genetic problem a big “fuck you” by turning it into a modeling career.

I grinned at the way she paused, two boots from two different pairs held up before her as she turned to face me. “Which ones?”

“The left.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “My left, or your left?”

“Whichever one you prefer.” We'd already had about seventeen similar conversations about what should go to Paris and what should stay behind. “I have to start getting ready for my big day. Can I get a goodbye hug, or do I stink too much?”

“You stink too much,” she said, dropping both the mismatched boots into her enormous suitcase. She rounded the end of her bed and lunged at me, arms open.

Holli's room is exactly like Holli: a lot of weird crammed into a tiny space. A tangle of Christmas lights illuminated the mosquito net canopy over her bed, and the walls were covered with pictures of various celebrities she found hot or envied. I didn't know why there were so many photos of George W. Bush, but I rarely questioned these things, considering their origin.

She hugged me with surprising strength and said, “I’m really sorry I can't be here for you. If there was any way—”

“Don’t even think like that. I'm going to be fine. I'll still be here when you get back.” This was Holli's big break. Way more important than my stupid relationship drama.

“I love you.” She was wiping away tears when she stepped back. Her eyes were heavily lined, so she had to be really careful as she did so. Tall, wisp-thin, her gorgeous blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail; she was going to look like a movie star walking through JFK. I wished I could have gone to see her off.

It was better that just Deja was going. The two of them had gotten super close, super fast, and now they were going to be separated for a month. That had to be a brutal blow. I had a feeling if Deja was going to drop the L-bomb, it would be at the airport, and I so, so wanted them to admit they were in love.

Someone had to have the fairy tale, right?

“I love you, too. Now get your ass moving, you're really going to miss your plane!” I left her room before she could see the tears in my eyes.

In the shower, I mentally prepped myself for my appointment. I’d done plenty of internet research already. Even though I’d decided not to the keep the baby, I still had tons of choices to make.

After a lot of internal debating, I’d decided I wanted an ultrasound. Not because I was so keen to see the fetus, but because I was having a hard time believing any of this was actually true. I needed tangible evidence. When I’d scheduled my appointment, I had to request the procedure because the receptionist didn’t ask me either way. That was unexpectedly comforting. I was worried that New York might have been one of the states that required a woman to look at an ultrasound image before an abortion. I was relieved to learn that this was not the case, and I could always change my mind about looking at it when I got there. But for right now, I wanted hard proof that this was really happening to me.

I’d also weighed the pros and cons of medical versus surgical abortion. While the medical abortion just required taking a dose of medicine rather than the more invasive surgical option, I didn’t know that I could cope with the waiting period between swallowing the pill and the abortion happening. I wanted to take an aggressive approach and have everything over quickly. I weighed that against the discomfort of a minor outpatient surgery procedure, and decided I was comfortable with the balance.

Mainly, I just wanted everything to be done, so I could move on with my life. Now that I knew it was pregnancy symptoms and not stress-sickness I was suffering from, I felt, well... pregnant. And I hated it. I hated knowing that there was a ticking clock, hated being forced into a quick decision.

And I hated, really, really hated, that I would have to tell Neil and involve him in the process. It was bad enough our relationship was in limbo, but now he had some horrible health scare thing going on. I didn't want to add to that, but there was no way I would be able to live with myself if I didn't tell him. The guilt would destroy me, and whatever chance we might have together.