Page 54

“What do you want, Leo? It’s one in the morning.”
Okay, so she’s still mad. I can’t blame her. “Can we talk tomorrow over dinner?”
“Leo.” She sighs, and I can hear the rustling noises of her blankets as she shifts in bed. “Why do you want to talk? To humiliate me more?”
You have to admit, I had that coming. “I’m sorry. I was never trying to humiliate you. It wasn’t meant to be rude. I didn’t know that was Evan’s drink.” It’s nowhere near good enough, but I need to say it. And so much more.
“I know. I overreacted.”
And then silence follows.
She says nothing. Not a goddamn word. I can hear her breathing, and I think, shit, what if she hangs up on me? So I talk. Say stupid shit to see where that goes. “Do you hate me right now?”
Of course she hates you, dude.
Her sigh that follows says it all. Salty, sarcastic, and foul-mouthed, Callie is no-holds-barred. If you don’t want to know, you shouldn’t ask because she’ll give the straight shit. And by the sigh, she’s about to lay into me. “I certainly don’t like you. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me, dickhead?”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to talk and apologize in person. Can I do that?”
“Fine. But don’t expect me to be nice to you.”
I laugh lightly, trying to play it cool. “Okay, I’ll make reservations at Girl and the Goat.”
There’s a long pause before she groans, giving in. “Okay.” And then she hangs up on me. No goodbye. Nothing.
Well, it’s a start toward doing the right thing, and she agrees to meet for dinner. Mentally I’ve scored two goals in one play.
Now, what the fuck am I going to say to her in person to make this situation right?
CHAPTER12
SWEEP CHECK
CALLIE
A legal check where a player goes down on one knee and sweeps his stick along the ice in order to take the puck away from an attacking player.
Every timeI’ve been to the doctor, it’s been for an annual check-up of the “am I clean?” appointment. The “am I pregnant?” appointment is new to me.
I have absolutely no idea what to expect.
Will they stick that wand thing up my vajayjay or ask me all kinds of incriminating questions like details about my sexual history?
In no way am I ashamed of my past. I’ve had some good times. But there’s something about writing it down that depresses me, makes it feel worse than it actually is. Like balancing your checkbook. You know you’re fucking broke.
Why balance it and remind yourself?
I walk inside the doctors to confirm the whereabouts of the missing period or, in other words, the missing-period-positive-pregnancy-test theory. I also go alone because it goes back to needing this one for me. I need to come to terms with what’s happening on my own before I can think about anything else. I need to prove to myself I can do this without anyone’s help. From here on out, I have to prepare for this to be a solo endeavor for my baby.
I sit in a waiting room full of mothers-to-be, including two teenage girls nervously biting fingernails beside their mothers. I stare at them and see myself at their age, maybe sixteen, possibly seventeen. Hell, maybe they’re here for the same reason I am. More than likely, they are sexually active, and their moms are putting them on the pill.
I was that girl once. Only I did this sort of thing alone. My dad wanted nothing to do with parenting a girl.
A boy he probably could have handled, but a girl, I think at times I was more than he bargained for. In turn, I raised myself and educated myself on the birds and the bees.
“Callie Pratt?” a woman in her late forties asks, standing near an open door with an iPad in hand.
I stand with a smile and walk toward her. Greeting me with a smile, she nods to the open door behind her. “Follow me, hon.”