–Me: How did he find out?
–Dad: He had an accident a couple of years ago, which makes him shoot blanks, you know?
–Me: Wow. That’s awful.
–Dad: She tried to pass it off as his, but it didn’t work. And get this—she cheated on him with his younger brother!
–Me: OMG!
–Dad: She figured he wouldn’t know, given the family resemblance.
Who needs Netflix and Prime videos when you have my father’s friends?
–Dad: Xavier’s heartbroken and pissed off, but I think it’s best this way. It’s better to find out sooner than later that the person you’re with isn’t going to work out.
–Me: Absolutely. Cut your losses.
As I hit send, my heart stings because I’m wondering if I’m going to have to my cut my losses. I don’t know how to explain Emmett why I was unhappy on Saturday if that sort of thing is normal to him.
–Dad: Exactly. How do you live with somebody you can’t trust, much less share the same values with?
After unknowingly sowing more uncertainty and doubt into my head, Dad gossips about his life and buddies for a minute or so, which keeps me entertained. At the same time, I start to wonder why he’s so text-y. Normally, he doesn’t type this much. Does he have something he wants to say, but doesn’t know how to start?
Part of me wants to prompt him, but I rein myself in. I’m the one who should be telling him about my pregnancy, since it is going to impact his life, too. But I can’t bring myself to do it when I haven’t told Emmett—or even know if I want to tell him in the first place.
Finally, Dad wraps up his gossip.
–Dad: You take it easy, you hear?
–Me: Yes, sir! Have a great Sunday, Dad. Love you!
–Dad: Love you, sweetie pie!
I can almost hear his hearty voice and even heartier hug, and feel the love swell in my heart. He’s truly the best there is. I put the phone into my purse and head to the office.
A few people are working at their desks, including Sasha. She waves when she notices me. I wave back, glancing at Emmett’s office door. It’s closed, but that doesn’t mean anything, since he could have decided to spend his unexpected free time catching up on work.
Now that the shock of the naked redhead has worn off, I realize I haven’t done anything to fix the problem, a.k.a. my secret pregnancy.
Don’t rush into anything, I tell myself. I need to be sure about my next move. So while my subconscious tackles the issue, I review an Excel model I made—not on the baby but on a real company we’re funding. I already went over it on Friday, but you can never go over a model enough times. Or so I tell myself.
The task takes longer than it should. My head is foggy with a mild headache throbbing like background static. Coffee withdrawal is real. Please, God, just one iced Americano. Or latte. Or plain drip. Any variety will do.
Be a responsible adult, Amy.
Yeah. That’s why fifteen minutes later, I’m in the break room, going over the non-caffeinated herbal tea options, hoping something will look appealing.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were working this weekend,” says Sasha, walking in. She helps herself to a huge mug of coffee, and it’s an effort not to drool.
“Just some stuff I need to review. Nothing super urgent or anything.”
She peers at me. “How are you feeling?”
“So-so.” I really want to whine about coffee, but I don’t want her to feel bad.
“Uh-huh. Well, I guess that’s good, considering. So how did he react?”
“I, uh, kinda didn’t…”