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I pull out my phone and order an Uber. The practical decision would be to walk to the subway from here, but my feet are going to protest each step. I can splurge on one ride.
When it shows the closest car as seven minutes away, I make another impulsive choice.
He answers on the second ring.
“Hello?”
Wherever Kit is, it’s quiet. I was expecting raucous cheers, loud music, even a woman’s voice—or several women’s—in the background.
But all I hear is silence.
“Collins?”
“I accidentally drank vodka,” I blurt. “It was only a sip, and I spit most of it out, but …”I’m freaking out about it.
I don’t say that last part aloud, but it’s strongly implied in the panicked flurry of words.
“How do you accidentally drink vodka?”
Kit sounds amused, and the tight set of my shoulders relaxes.
“I went out for drinks with some of the other assistants. I asked them to order me a ginger ale before I went to the bathroom, and they got me a Moscow Mule instead.”
“Ah.”
Just a single syllable, but it drips with disapproval. Maybe even anger.
“They didn’t mean anything by it,” I rush to add. “I told them I wasn’t drinking because I had a headache, and they didn’t know I’m …” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I told Margot the truth. I asked her not to tell anyone, and I don’t think she will, but she knows.”
“Is that why you’re calling?” Kit sounds remarkably calm about the possibility of the entire office discovering his assistant is pregnant.
“Yes. I mean, no. I said I’d keep you updated, so …”
“So, you thought you’d let me know about Plum’s first taste of alcohol?”
I’m smiling.
I’vebeensmiling, based on the soreness in my cheeks that I’msuddenly aware of. “That’s this week?” I ask, like I didn’t memorize Sunday’s text as soon as I saw it.
“Uh-huh. Next week is a kiwi.”
“Exciting.”
“I hear the sarcasm, Monty, but I’m a visual learner. I can’t picture our kid in centimeters or ounces or whatever you’re supposed to measure babies in.”
I laugh. “It’s quiet. You’re not going out for Halloween?”
“It’s not even six. The good parties have barely started setting up.”
“Oh. Right.”
“But, no, I’m not going out tonight.”
“Lose your cowboy costume?” I tease.
Senior year, I ran into Kit at an off-campus party. There was a Western theme.
“For the last time, I was Indiana Jones, not a cowboy.”