Those minutes I sit there waiting for her feel like the longest of my life. I don’t move, but I can’t stop fidgeting, picking at my nails, shifting in my seat, heart thudding in my ears.
When I finally hear the roar of her engine, I spring to my feet, startling ckie, and rush to the door. <b>I </b>
fling it open just in time to see her stepping out of her silver Porsche.
Lilly has always loved cars. Her garage is a shrine to that love, sleek and loud and fast. Just like her.
The moment she reaches the door, I throw myself into her arms. I don’t even think; I just cling to her like she’s the only thing keeping me from shattering.
The tears I’d been holding back. Fighting. Flow out of me in torrents. It’s like a broken dam and no matter how I try, I can’t push them back anymore.
It all spills out. Everything.
My chest heaves. My sobs are broken; feral sounds tear out of me, ripping me into pieces in the process. My chest feels like it’s in a vise, making it hard to breathe. My heart feels like it’s cracked wide open, the raw bloody flesh fighting to keep me alive.
She holds me without a word, gently rubbing circles into my back. “Let it all out,<i>” </i>she whispers, her voice trembling too.
At some point, she guides me inside. I barely register the soft couch under me or the way she tucks me into herp like she used to when we were kids. All I can do is cry until my sobs finally settle into hups. I still don’t feel okay–but at least I can breathe again.
“Now<i>,</i><i>” </i>she says softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face, “tell me what’s going on.”
There’s no easy way to say it, so I just rip it off like a bandage.
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence… And then,
“What?!”
“I’m pregnant, Lilly<i>,</i>” I repeat, eyes fixed on the coffee table. I can’t bring myself to meet hers.
She stares at me like I just told her the sky fell. Her mouth opens, then closes. She blinks hard, trying to make sense of what she’s hearing.
“But… how? You weren’t seeing anyone,” she stammers. “How can you be pregnant? Who’s the father?”
I avoid her burning stare, feeling like a teenager who just told her mom she’s pregnant.
Her questions sting like salt in a wound. I look down, fumbling with my fingers. My silence says it all.
“Fuck. Sierra… tell me it’s not him.”
I wish I could.
She watches me for a beat, then whispers, like saying it aloud will make it real, “Noah?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, feeling embarrassed.
She stands abruptly, pacing the room with her hand in her hair. I sink deeper into the couch, exhausted
now that the secret’s out.
“Have you told him?” she asks suddenly.
“I just found out.”
“Jesus,” she mutters. “I had a feeling that day you called me, but I ignored it. I thought… there’s no way you two would go there.”
Yeah. So did I.
Maybe if we hadn’t been high off our asses, we wouldn’t have, but shit happens.
“I swear this is the literal definition of ‘fuck around and find out,” she mumbles under her breath.
I ignore that.
“What am I going to do, Lilly?” I whisper.
She sighs, then sits down beside me again, pulling me into another hug.
“It’s okay. I was just shocked,<i>” </i>she says, her voice gentler now. “Let’s take a deep breath and think. First things first–you need <i>to </i>tell him.”
My entire body recoils. Every cell in my body fights against that idea.
“Absolutely not,” I say, too loudly.
Panic surges through me. Thest thing I want is for him to find out. Hell, telling Noah never even
crossed my mind. I just couldn’t.
“Then what are you going to do?” she presses.
“I don’t know<i>,</i><i>” </i>I admit. “Move cities? Or countries. He doesn’t have to know. He never has to know.”
And just like that, the moment the words leave my mouth, something shifts inside me. All the swirling thoughts stop. I know, in that moment, I’m keeping the baby. The idea of leaving makes more sense than anything else has in the past few hours.
Ch