Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2) - Jana Aston Page 0,69

cost Kyle the equivalent of sixty-five cents.

I make it to my gate as they’re boarding group one, so I stop at the newsstand across from my gate and purchase another copy of MoneyWeek so I can torture myself by reading it again on the flight home—I forgot mine on Kyle’s couch. I grab a bottle of water too, and then toss Kyle’s credit card in the trash bin as I board the plane.

I fall asleep shortly after takeoff, the motion of the plane lulling me to sleep like a newborn. I drift in and out of sleep the entire flight, my mind in turmoil. Bits and pieces of my time with Kyle invading my every waking thought.

Our first appointment with my new OB/GYN was last week. We were all smiles then, having gotten another set of ultrasound pictures and another opportunity to listen to the heartbeat. Just like a normal couple.

I was so happy that day. Kyle had left work to join me at the appointment and that evening he surprised me with a present. The space cat blanket I’d told him about weeks ago—special-ordered in gender-neutral grey with a yellow border. And the cat wearing the astronaut helmet was fat and orange, just like Tubbs.

I mean, swoon. Am I right?

Hopefully Tubbs-McGee can use it.

He mentioned wanting to take me on a babymoon. The dimple in his left cheek flashed as he grinned and suggested it was a thing people do. Like we were just a normal couple expecting a baby.

But then I also remember the texts. And the fact that he left me in the first place. When he thought there was nothing tying us together—no baby—he walked right out the door without a backward glance.

My mind is one big jumble of conflicting memories and I feel like all of the events of this pregnancy are catching up with me and I’m tired. Bone-wearyingly tired. Keeping it from Violet, finding Kyle. Telling Kyle, marrying Kyle. Telling Violet. Growing a human the size of a pomegranate inside of my uterus. I’ve done a lot.

The flight takes an extra forty-five minutes, spent circling O’Hare due to weather conditions. Apparently the rain has followed me from Philadelphia and turned into a full-fledged storm in Chicago. I continue to nod in and out of sleep while the plane circles, having a bunch of strange dreams, like giving birth to a kitten instead of a baby. It’s an orange kitten that reminds me of Tubbs and only makes me sadder.

Finally we land and I grab a cab that costs nearly as much as my airfare to get me to Naperville. Kidding. It’s storming and I’ve landed during rush hour so the ride takes forever. The cab smells funny and I’m moody and I just want to be home. In my own bed, where I can focus on Plan C.

Being alone.

Which is fine, it was always the plan. I’d only intended to notify Kyle and then return home. Which would have been fine, before. Kyle making me fall in love with him is just shitty.

I finally stumble into my apartment and sigh in relief, abandoning my bag two feet from the door. Violet was here last so the place is clean, but a quick peek in the fridge reminds me that we’d both thought we were returning sooner than later. A few very old apples in the fruit bin and a half-gallon of expired milk. I decide I’ll deal with it later and shut the fridge. I’m going to miss Mrs Lascola and the magic arrival of groceries in the refrigerator.

I strip everything off and take a long, hot shower then crawl into bed. I suppose I’ll have to deal with Kyle eventually—we are married. For now, anyway. But that can wait. He can just send me some paperwork or whatever weird rich people do when they break up. He’ll probably want to stall until after the baby is born for appearances’ sake, and besides, he’s very busy planning world domination with his future company shares.

I’m moody and hungry and tired, but tired is going to win this round because I’m already nodding off.

25

Kyle

I drove all night.

By the time I got home and realized she’d fled, all flights to Chicago were canceled due to the weather in Chicago. So the options were a twelve-hour drive or waiting until morning and hoping the weather had cleared. Twelve hours gets me to her before morning, so driving it was.

I’m not accustomed to fucking up.

And I’ve fucked up.

I