Getting Played - Emma Chase Page 0,20

head. “He didn’t stealth. He wasn’t like that. I watched him take the condoms off. And put them on for that matter—the way he ripped open the foil package with his teeth was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Well, there you go!” Judith throws up her hands. “Opening condoms with your teeth makes them, on average, 30% less effective.”

This seems to be new information to everyone one in the room.

“Really?” Brooke asks.

“Oh, boy,” Erin groans.

“Maybe you should take one of those pregnancy tests,” Jack says hopefully. “If I put a bun in your oven—you’ll have to marry me.”

Erin smacks his arm. “Focus, Jack. We’re in the middle of a Defcon 1 level Burrows-breakdown here.”

That’s when my mother walks into the kitchen. And we all go still and silent—it’s a reflex.

She smiles sweetly. “What’s going on?”

In benign, synchronized voices that can only be achieved through years of practice, we all respond, “Nothing.”

She aims that probing Mom-gaze at each of us. Erin steps forward, acting as the shield.

“We’re talking about Christmas presents, Mom. For you and Dad.”

“Hmm.” She nods, reaching for the child-friendly lemonade. “All right.”

She turns toward the door, still suspicious—but at this point, I think my mom has learned sometimes it’s better not to know.

Once she’s out the door, Brooke shakes her head. “Dad’s gonna lose it. This time he’s gonna stroke out—definitely.”

My dad’s old-school. A believer in getting an education, getting married and having kids—in that order. Still, when I dropped out of college to have Jason, he handled it well—even though I could tell at the time he was disappointed in me. And he loves Jason with his whole heart—he couldn’t be prouder that he’s his grandson.

But now, I’m worried about letting him down all over again. That he’ll view this as a mistake, a failure—his failure as a dad.

“Hold the cell-phone, everyone,” Judith says. “Don’t you think you’re jumping the panic gun a little bit here? I mean, it’s not like you have to stay pregnant. They make a pill for that now, you know.”

Brooke makes the sign of the cross. She teaches CCD at their local church. Like I said—couldn’t be more different if we tried.

But Judith does have point. I’m a free-thinking, independent woman—and now really is not a good time for me to have another child. It’s pretty much the worst time ever.

But then . . .

I hear a laugh from outside. And it’s the best laugh—the best sound in the whole world. I move to the window and look out, watching him—my son, my heart, my little bird, my sweet boy. It wasn’t easy when I had him—but it was still the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never regretted it—him—not for a second. And however difficult it will be now at thirty-four—it’ll have to be easier than it was at nineteen.

How can I . . . how can I know that and not have this baby too?

It’s just that simple, and just that hard.

I don’t have to analyze it—in those few, quick seconds my mind is made up.

I’m having this baby.

I feel my sisters’ eyes on me. And I know they see it on my face—the decision is already made.

Linda blows out a big breath. “Who’s gonna tell Dad?”

Brooke holds up her hand. “I told him last time. Judith—you’re up.”

“Great.” Judith moves to the adult vodka and lemonade and takes a big gulp—straight from the pitcher.

“Easy, cowgirl,” Linda says.

Judith wipes her sleeve across her mouth.

“I’m drinking for two—for me and Lainey.”

Yeah. She’s got a point there.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, I push back the work I’d planned to do on the house and make an emergency appointment with Dr. Werner, my OBGYN in Bayonne. After an exam and a pee-in-a-cup test, she confirms that I am, indeed, preggers—about eight weeks along. Then she has me lay back on the table for an abdominal ultrasound.

I watch the screen, the familiar gray blobby shadows—but then I see it—right before the doctor points it out. That steady, rapid, rhythmic fluttering, like visual Morse Code that says, Hi—how are you? Here I am.

It’s the baby’s heartbeat. Seeing it blows my mind.

Makes it real.

And the first bud of excitement—of joy—blooms inside me.

It’s crazy how quickly twenty-four hours can change your perspective. It’s a miracle I don’t have whiplash. Of course I’m still excited about the show, the house—but this is different. More. Bigger. Huge. A life-changing kind of surprise.

And not just for me.

After leaving the doctor’s I stop at a Starbucks