don't." Why were my palms wet? I licked my lips, and they came away salty.
"Yes, you do." She sounded so gentle. So understanding. If it were me, I would've gone tough love drill sergeant. "You can do this, Lee."
I dropped my hands, and when I pried my eyes open, I saw Claire crying in earnest right along with me.
"I'm scared," I said, my voice hardly above a whisper.
"That's okay. No matter what that thing says, we'll figure it out, okay?"
Before I could think too hard on it—what it would mean, what it wouldn't mean—I snatched the phone and rolled off the bed.
"Read the label first," she said.
I smiled. "I will."
On the back of the box, I skimmed until I saw what I needed to know, reading it out loud to Claire.
"One line is no; two lines is yes."
She nodded. "Okay."
Tossing the box aside, I took a second and looked at the test lying facedown on the metal ledge. It looked eight feet long lying there. In my mind, it grew bigger and bigger until I imagined it squeezing me out of the room.
"You can do it," she said again.
With a hard puff of air out of pursed lips, I snatched the test and flipped it over.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
Two bright ass purple lines.
Claire inhaled. "Two lines?"
My nod was jerky, and I tossed the test onto the ledge, sinking onto the floor of the bathroom with the phone clutched against me.
"Lia," she said firmly, "I can't see you."
"I don't want you to see me," I cried. "Holy shit, Claire, I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant!"
"Please let me see you. Not that having the camera smashed up to your boobs isn't great, but I'd really like to see my sister's face right now."
Slowly, I pulled the phone back, resting my hands on my bent knees, but with my head against the wall behind me, I decided that staring up at the ceiling was a better life choice for me.
"What am I supposed to do?"
She was quiet. "I don't know."
"I have to tell Jude," I murmured. "Don't I?"
Claire sighed. "I think that's a difficult question to answer when you don't know what kind of person he is. But if I'm answering in generalities, then yes, I think letting him know is the right thing to do. At least give him the opportunity to support you in whatever way you need."
Finally, I met her eyes. "And what if I don't want to keep it?"
She held my gaze, steady as a rock, unwavering as a mountain. "Then we'll figure that out too. You don't have to decide anything right now, Lia. Not one single thing."
A memory popped up, and I emitted a watery laugh. "Remember when Emmett was born?"
She laughed too. "Of course."
The day our nephew was born was so clear in my mind. But in our strange little family tree, he felt like our little brother. Logan and Paige had been married for a year when she got pregnant, and even though Logan had been the legal guardian to four girls, adding a fifth into the mix felt as natural as breathing. We anticipated the birth of their baby like it was the freaking second coming or something.
Claire and I were thirteen at the time, Isabel fifteen, and Molly was seventeen. The four of us stood in that hospital hallway, ears pressed against the door, waiting for the beautiful wailing sound of what we just knew would be another girl. We'd spoil her rotten, the fifth Ward girl, and it was going to be a glorious addition to our girl gang.
Except he didn't emit a wild, loud wail when he was born. He came out clear-eyed and calm. The most peaceful baby that ever existed. When Logan opened the door to let us in, we crowded around Paige—sweat-soaked and wild-haired and holding a tiny little bundle—only to hear the words, "It's a boy."
I looked up at my big brother, and said, "Oh bullshit, it is not."
But the moment I held him, that perfect, scrunched-up, red-faced baby boy, I fell head over heels in love. We all did. He was our baby boy, and the most loved child in existence.
"Remember how we used to fight over who got to hold him?"
Claire smiled. "I got so mad at Isabel that one time she tricked me into setting him down. Didn't she tell me that someone caught sight of Justin Bieber in our neighborhood?"
I laughed, feeling strangely calm. Probably denial, but whatever. "What a bitch."
"She had him for hours