Page 69 of Made for Wilde

We finish lunch with Dad telling me more about Rebecca, about their plans to go camping next weekend, about how nervous he is to introduce her to his friends.

I try to focus, to respond appropriately, but the diner feels increasingly warm and stuffy.

The smell of fried onions from the next table makes my stomach roll dangerously. As lunch winds down, Dad pays the bill despite my protests. Then we walk outside together, the sunshine momentarily blinding after the diner’s dim interior.

“I’ve got to get back on the road.” Dad checks his watch. “Supplier meeting in Jackson this afternoon.”

“Drive safe.” I step into his open arms for a goodbye hug.

He holds me tight, his embrace full of unconditional love. “Love you, kiddo. Call me more often, okay? I miss hearing your voice.”

Guilt crashes over me in a wave. “I will. Promise.”

Dad kisses the top of my head, then walks to his truck. I wave as he pulls away, maintaining my smile until he’s out of sight. Then I turn and rush back into the diner, making a beeline for the restrooms.

I barely make it into a stall before my lunch makes a violent reappearance. I grip the cold porcelain, my body heaving until there’s nothing left but bitter bile. When it finally stops, I slump against the stall door and wipe my mouth with toilet paper.

What is wrong with me?

I lean against the cold tile wall of the bathroom stall, my legs shaking beneath me. The bitter taste of bile lingers in my mouth despite my attempts to rinse it away. My phone buzzes in my pocket, cutting through the quiet of the empty bathroom. I pull it out with trembling fingers to see Sarah’s name on the screen:

pages. July? August?

“Charlotte? You still there?”

“I’m at least four weeks late,” I whisper, the realization crawling over me like insects. “Maybe more.”

“Holy shit.” Sarah’s voice drops to match mine. “Are you serious right now? How did you not notice?”

My free hand grips the toilet paper dispenser, needing something solid to hold onto. “I’ve been so busy with school and work and Koda. My periods have never been super regular anyway, and with all the stress?—”

“Okay, stop.” Sarah cuts me off. “Are you still at the diner?”

“Yeah.”

“Go to Thompson’s Pharmacy. Right now. Get a test. Two tests, actually. Different brands.”

My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Sarah, I can’t be pregnant. We’ve been careful.”

“Careful how?” Her voice is gentle but firm. “Condoms?”

“Not exactly,” I admit. “But I got the birth control shot.”

“Those shots only last about twelve weeks. You’re probably due for another one.”

My throat closes up, making it hard to breathe.

“Get the test,” Sarah says, her voice softening. “It might be nothing. Stress can mess with your cycle, too. Call me after. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walk to my car on autopilot, barely registering the spring sunshine or the people passing by. Pregnant with Koda’s baby. The thought simultaneously terrifies and thrills me in ways I can’t begin to process.

I start the engine and pull away from the diner, heading toward the pharmacy on the edge of town. Not the one in the center where everyone knows me. I need anonymity for this.

My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as I drive. Koda and I never discussed children. We’ve been so focused on the immediate challenges—hiding our relationship, figuring outhow to tell Dad, building our life together. A baby would change everything. My education, my career plans, Koda’s carefully ordered life.

The nursery room flashes in my mind—the room he’d prepared three years ago for a child that wasn’t his. A room he’d kept locked until I came into his life. What would he think about a real baby? His baby?