Page 5

ROSIE

I called in sick to work the rest of the week and migrated from the bed to the sofa, getting up only to visit the bathroom and vomit up whatever I’d managed to keep down that day.

It’s been four days since I took that test. Since my whole world upended with the two little pink lines on the screen. Pregnant.

It’s been a long four days of panicking.

Anya has texted me a few times, sending our usual messages of inside jokes and memes, but I’ve avoided speaking to her on the phone.

I don’t want to tell her yet. What would she do?

I never thought I’d be in this position with my best friend on the other side of the world.

I have a feeling she’d be on the first flight over and as much as I love her, I will not be responsible for pulling her away from her six month honeymoon.

She was more excited about traveling with Danny than she was for the wedding.

I also don’t want to tell her before I tell the father.

The father.

Jackson Harper. The thousands of scenarios of what he might say have been rattling around my brain.

The most likely outcome is he’ll be horrified, demand I terminate or sue me.

Can I get sued for getting pregnant? I mean, I did tell him I was on birth control, even if I didn’t know that modern medicine is apparently not enough protection from his super sperm.

It was one fuck against a balcony in the middle of a wedding. And we somehow conceived a child.

God, I hope it doesn’t ask any questions about its conception.

How am I even supposed to tell the man? He lives in America and has sixteen million followers on Instagram.

Even if I messaged him, it would be a drop in the ocean.

He likely wouldn’t even see it. Danny’s sister Pip did set up a group chat for the wedding party on a fancy high security app, mainly so no details could get leaked to the press, but that was closed after the happy couple left for their honeymoon.

I could ask Anya, but then I’d have to answer questions about why I even want his number.

And then I’d have to describe how I defiled her wedding, because if I know my best friend she will demand every single detail.

I know Pip and our other friend Cassie would have his number too, but I’m way too shy to message them out of the blue.

I never really considered if I would be a mother.

My own wasn’t exactly a shining example.

I never had dreams about a white wedding or a gaggle of children, but when I took that test in my empty flat, with no one to share the news with, I couldn’t help but feel…

warm. It wasn’t just me anymore. I had a little sidekick.

The doctor handed me a bunch of leaflets when I had my appointment and talked me through all my options. I know I can schedule an abortion. I probably should. Jackson will likely want that right? He won’t want to be saddled with this for the rest of his life.

When I’d idly consider my future, I always thought I’d have an abortion, at least if it happened before I had a husband and a mortgage and a plan . I thought for sure that would be what I’d do if this exact circumstance happened.

But I can’t make that decision without telling him. I couldn’t do that to him. He deserves to know all our options.

I nibble on a plain cracker, one of the only foods I’ve been able to keep down ever since sushi-granola-gate. My phone buzzes on the arm of the sofa and I glance at the screen with surprise.

“Mum?” I ask, confused as I pull the phone to my ear. I can’t remember the last time she called me without a date scheduled in the diary or an important life update. “Everything okay?”

“Rosalie, how are you?”

I stumble. Should I tell her that I’m potentially making her a grandma? “Uh?—”

“Lovely, look I’m just calling because Cleo’s birthday is coming up.”

“Oh,” I say, quietly. “Right.”

“What are you going to buy her?”

“Uhm.” What am I going to buy the sister who has literally everything she’s ever asked for? “What does she want?”

“Really Rosalie, you should ask her,” Mum scolds.

“Okay.” I rub my eyes behind my glasses. “Yeah, I’ll text her.”

“I have to go now, but make sure it’s a good gift this year, yes? Let’s not have a repeat of her twenty fifth.”

I bite back my sigh. For Cleo’s twenty fifth a few years ago, I bought her a signed vinyl of our favorite band growing up.

I was so pleased, I was convinced she would love it.

When we gathered for her party in a fancy restaurant and I handed it over, she looked at me disgusted and said, “I haven’t listened to this since I was a teenager.

Can you return it?” It was awful, and my family has not let me forget it.

I open my mouth ready to keep her on the line, but instead I get her dial tone.

Would I have even told her?

I don’t know much about pregnancy yet but I’m ready to blame it for the tear that gets caught behind my glasses. I yank them off and throw them on the coffee table before rubbing my eyes.

Get it together , I think to myself as I attempt a steadying breath.

I keep my hands over my eyes, the darkness allowing my racing thoughts to settle slightly.

The intercom buzzes and I do not have the capacity to direct a stranger to leave their parcel for my neighbor.

My building is an old house converted into three flats so I often get asked to open the main door for deliveries, but the speaker is so old it’s impossible to ever speak clearly to the other person.

It’s a game of telephone that I do not have the energy to play right now.

It buzzes again, this time for longer. With a growl, I roll off the sofa and snatch the intercom off the hook. “Yes?”

“Eh, delivery?” The voice is staticy but I heard enough to open the door and reply, “Please leave it in the hall.”

I wish I could open a bottle of wine right now, but I am literally forbidden by my little sidekick. Instead, I pour a glass of water and attempt to stop my tears from falling.

The knock at the door makes me jump. I haven’t ordered anything, is the delivery for me?

Suspiciously, I cross to the door and tug it open .

A bouquet of flowers are thrust in my face. Mauve calla lilies, dark pink roses, and foliage invade my vision before the bouquet is pulled down to reveal the cheeky grin on Jackson Harper’s face.

I blink a few times and wish I hadn’t left my glasses on the coffee table. My surprise must show on my face as his smile strains slightly.

“For you,” he says like a dream.

I gape at him, my blurry eyes roving across his face. Same dark hair drifting to his shoulders, same tan skin and trimmed beard, same twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

And then I burst into tears.