The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,116

not the one who’s unexpectedly pregnant,” she says.

“I’m not pregnant,” I insist.

“Well, one way to find out.” She turns around and yanks open a drawer on her little stand of tools. She turns around and holds up a pregnancy test.

“Why in the world do you have pregnancy tests in your drawer?” I ask and stare at her wild-eyed.

“Ain’t I a hairdresser?” she asks impatiently. “Do you know how many times a week I see that deer-in-the-headlights look that’s on your face right now? I ask this ten times a day. Just go back to the bathroom and get it done.”

“No. I am not taking a pregnancy test just because I forgot to write down my period last month,” I say and put my hands up to ward her off. How is it possible for my stomach to feel heavy and flutter at the same time? My heart is racing, and my skin is tingling. I can’t even think straight.

“Okay, but I can’t color your hair today,” I say.

“Of course, you can,” I cry in desperation. This can’t be happening.

She sighs. “Let me be more deliberate with my word choice,” she says slowly. “I won’t color your hair today. Not unless you pee on that stick, and it’s negative,” she announces.

“Okay, fine. Don’t color my hair. I’ll get the cut and the blow out,” I say and watch her drop the test back in the drawer. I have a moment of regret where I think I should have just taken it, but I can’t do it.

Noé walks in with the mimosa on a small silver tray he’s carrying like it’s a tray of crown jewels.

“Good Lord, did you grow the oranges yourself?” she asks.

“So sorry, I had to run out to Randall’s to get the oranges. We were out,” he says and he drops the mimosa down in front of me. I pick it up and start to take a sip and my stomach grumbles. And I know I’m not pregnant. But I put it down because if I am, it would be very irresponsible to drink it without having proof. The thought of a baby—Hayes’s baby—inside of me makes me dizzy. But, at the trailing tip of the whirlwind of disbelief, panic, worry, doubt, and surprise is a bolt of joy.

Hayes.

His baby. I close my eyes and see a bundle with silky chocolate curls and glittering topaz hazel eyes.

“Come, let’s go back to the bowl,” she says and starts to stand me up.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “I want to take it,” I say and stick my hand out.

“Okay, here you go,” she says and then points me in the direction of the bathroom.

DISTRACTED

HAYES

“Hayes, good morning,” Amelia’s graver than-normal voice makes me wish I had ignored her call. I finish tying the laces of my sneakers and sit down on the bed.

“Your voice makes me think there’s nothing good about this particular Saturday morning, so let’s just cut straight to the chase,” I tell her.

“Your uncle and stepmother are mounting a petition to have you ousted as chairman of the board,” she says.

“You’re kidding,” I say and drop my forehead into my hand. That rat faced motherfucker. I’ve been treating him with kid gloves. But they’re about to come off.

“Hayes?” Amelia calls my name when I don’t say anything more.

“Can they do it?” I ask.

“Well, yes. Clearly, because they have,” she says.

“No, I mean, is there a way to remove me? I thought it was a position I held until death,” I said.

“Normally, that is the case. But there’s a clause for removal if you are unfit to hold the role. That is the clause they have evoked,” she says.

“Unfit?” I breathe into the phone in complete indignation. “In what way? By what measure?” I demand.

“By reason of illegitimacy,” she says slowly. Meaningfully.

“Illegitimacy?” I ask.

“Yes. Hayes. They’re demanding a DNA test and I would suggest you comply without any protest.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “A DNA test for what? That would only help them if I wasn’t my father’s son,” I say angrily.

Amelia is silent.

“Are they implying I’m not my father’s son?” I demand an answer, but my throat is dry and my heart is beating faster now.

“That’s exactly what they’re implying,” she says.

“Based on what?”

“Based on what they say is a discrepancy between your mother’s medical records and death certificate. I don’t know what that means, do you?” she asks pointedly.

“Of course not. That’s ridiculous. I’ll take the DNA test