own food and comes back to the table. I stir the soup with my spoon and watch him sit in front of me. “This is a little overwhelming.”
“I know,” he says, cutting into his food that looks like chicken parm. “It’s surreal.”
“I took seven tests,” I tell him, and he looks at me. “I wanted to be a hundred percent sure.”
“Were they all positive?” he asks me and smiles when I nod my head.
“I am going to tell my father tomorrow,” I tell him. “I’ll FaceTime my mother at the same time.”
“I’ll come with you,” he tells me, and I drop my spoon.
“Listen, this is all happening too fast,” I tell him. “One day, I wake up and go about my day, and by the end of the day, I’m pregnant, and all of a sudden, I’m going to be a mom.”
“Erin,” he says, putting his fork down. “There are certain things in life you are never sure of, at least for me. But there is one thing I’m a hundred percent sure of. I love our child with everything that I am. I never thought I would be a dad, never thought I would deserve to be a dad.” I look at him. “Maybe I don’t deserve it, but it’s here, and I’m so in love I can’t believe it. I wanted to tell every person I saw today.” He smiles. “Every single person. I don’t deserve you to be kind to me, I don’t deserve anything that you are giving me, but thank you for giving me the chance to be a father.” He looks down and then looks back up with a smile plastered on his face. “I’m going to be a dad.”
“So I guess this means you want to be fully involved?” I ask him.
“Every single step of the way,” he tells me. “Doctor visits, Lamaze classes, crib buying. You name it, I want to be there.”
“Okay,” I say. As much as he hurt me, I would never take this away from him or our child. “When it comes to the baby, you will be there every step of the way.”
“That means breaking the news to your father,” he tells me. “Besides, there are some things that need to be said, and it’s better if it’s said with the family.”
I push the soup away. “Are you not hungry?” he asks me, and I just shrug.
“Is there anymore of that?” I point at his dish. He pushes his dish in front of me and grabs my soup. “No, I’m not taking your food.”
“You aren’t, but my child is,” he says, pointing at the dish. “Eat.” I roll my eyes at him and eat the rest of his food. “Be careful how far back you roll those eyes. I’ve heard they can get stuck there.” He cleans up and then looks over at me with that smirk on his face. “I’m going to go so you can rest, but I’ll be here tomorrow at nine, and we can have breakfast before we head over to your father’s.”
I nod my head at him, and he looks at me. “Can you call me if you need anything?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, and he just nods and walks out. Stopping at the door, he turns to say something, but he must change his mind because he just turns back and walks out the door.
“He’s a funny guy, your father,” I tell my stomach, turning and getting ready for bed. The next day, I wake, and the minute I open my eyes, I have to rush to the bathroom. By the time nine a.m. rolls around, I’m lying on the couch trying to eat ginger snaps but failing miserably. I pick up my phone and call Carter, who answers on the second ring. “Change of plans. I’m going to go to my dad’s later.”
“Why?” he asks, and I take a sip of water.
“Because I literally can’t move off the couch,” I tell him and then hear a knock. “Are you here?”
“I am. Open the door,” he says, and I roll off the couch and walk to the door slowly, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. “How long have you been sick?”
“No clue,” I tell him and walk back over to the couch, not even caring that I’m wearing my pjs and no bra.
He walks to the bathroom and comes back with a wet cloth. “Did you know that they don’t call it morning sickness anymore?” He puts