Page 72 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

As the taxi turns onto Logan's street, my fingers rummage through my bag, bypassing tissues, lip balm, and wallet before closing around my phone.

Emily: I need to talk to you two.

Their almost instant responses make me wonder if my friends have been hovering near their phones, waiting.

Kate: I can't right now. Family reunion. Bo-o-o-oring!

Sarah: I'm free. Where do you want to meet?

Relief washes through me, and I send her Logan's address.

Kate: What's wrong?

Emily: I feel tired and queasy. I might have food poisoning, or I'm coming down with the flu. I don't know.

My thumb hovers over the screen as I debate whether to confess my deeper fear. Before I decide, another message appears.

Kate: Or you're pregnant.

Shit, she thinks that too.

Deep down, I know it's a possibility. I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, but even I can recognize pregnancy symptoms. I just didn't want to admit it to myself. And Kate saying it out loud somehow makes my fears real. But it can't be, right? I mean, I take the pill religiously... mostly. Sure, I've forgotten a day or two, but pregnancy? Ridiculous. We've been careful. Except for that time in the shower. And maybe the night on the couch. And...

Oh. Fuck.

Sarah: Stop it, Kate. Leave Emily alone! Em, sweetie, I'm going to run by a pharmacy to get something for your nausea, okay?

Kate: And pick up a pregnancy test while you're at it.

Emily: I'm not?—

But I can't finish typing it.

Kate: Just kidding. Just jerking your chain, Em. I'm going out of my mind with boredom here.

Kate: Truly, I'm sorry you're not feeling well. I'm sure it's nothing serious.

Kate: Em, are you there?

But I stare at the screen, barely registering Kate's attempts to backpedal.

Emily: Sarah, buy a pregnancy test too, okay?

My hands tremble violently as I type. This can't be real. Yet what if it is?

Kate: Shit.

Sarah: Shit.

Yeah, shit.

I'mface down on Logan's fancy couch, feeling like complete garbage, when the doorbell yanks me out of my pity party. I drag my sorry self to the front door, and as soon as I open it, Sarah practically tackles me, wrapping me in a hug.

“Emily!” She squeezes me. “Don't worry about anything. Everything's gonna be fine. I'll help you to?—”

“Enough, S.” I peel her off me, clocking the worry lines between her eyebrows. Her concern pisses me off and touches me at the same time. “I'm not pregnant, okay? Ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure.” Bullshit. Total bullshit and my churning stomach knows it.

“Okay.” Sarah's eyebrow shoots up as she steps inside, those big green eyes scanning through my crap like she has built-in lie detectors. “Even so, you should take the test. That point-one percent chance...” She drops her purse on the table, and I swear the pregnancy test mocks me from inside.