Biting down on my bottom lip, I try to think how to word the text message that I want to send.
Hey Anderson, we need to talk...
No, that’s not right. Too generic, too obvious. Says too much without really saying anything. Definitely not personal enough.
I erase that and try again.
I am trying to think how to start this message. There’s really no easy way to say this, but I think I may have been caught up in my feelings from the night before when we had that picnic last weekend. Getting back together felt right in the moment, but we’ve barely even spoken to each other since...
No, not that, either.
I backspace and try one more time.
Do you think maybe we got ahead of ourselves when we decided to get back together? We hadn’t even been broken up for a full day. We didn’t really have time to process. I think it was a mistake.
Still doesn’t look right.
Sighing, I drop the phone on the bed and cover my face with my hands.
After a few minutes, I pick it back up, but I close the message to Anderson and flip over to my chain of messages to and from Sara.
Hey! How was lunch on the dark side? Were there cookies, or is that a myth?
No, too glib when I feel so uncomfortable texting her.
I never feel uncomfortable texting Sara, so this is new territory for me.
Stupid territory. I hate it.
I backspace all of that and try again.
So, how’d it go? Did you get to talk to Wally?
That’s a little better. Still not perfect, though.
I don’t know what I want to say.
I end up dropping the phone without sending any messages.
I shove away the thought of unblocking Hunter’s phone number so I can text him. I don’t know what I’d say to him, either, but somehow it still feels easier than talking to Anderson or Sara.
It has been a long, long day and exhaustion creeps up on me. I’m not normally one to take naps in the late afternoon, but I find my eyes drifting closed of their own accord and before I know it, I’m out.
I jerk awake to the sound of my cell phone ringing.
I grope groggily until I feel it under my hand, then I lift the phone and squint at the screen.
A local number I don’t recognize, but it’s a phone call, not a text.
I don’t think Hunter would call me, but I’m still half-expecting him when I clear my throat and answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, can I speak to Riley Bishop?”
“This is,” I say, aware of the slight slurring of my words.
The voice is cheerful, upbeat. Definitely not the voice of someone who requires a late afternoon nap. “Hi, Riley. It’s Debbie from Deb’s Diner. I’m calling because I have your application here, and I was wondering if you’d be free to stop in for an interview.”
My eyes pop open. Suddenly awake, I shove myself up and sit on the bed. “An interview? Oh, yes, that would be amazing. When did you want me to come in?”
“Would tomorrow afternoon be good for you?”
“It would,” I tell her, a grin splitting my face. “Tomorrow would be perfect.”
“Okay, great. Stop in anytime between 1:30 and 2.”
“I’ll be there at 1:30. Thank you so much.”
I feel much, much better about life as a whole when I get off the phone. The only problem is a moment later when my excitement ebbs, my head aches.
I still feel a bit tired, but I should probably take an aspirin or something. I don’t have time to sleep, I need to get started on my homework. I’d like to get it all done today. Tomorrow I’ll be nervous about the interview, and Sunday I told Mom I’d go dress shopping with her for homecoming.
Homecoming just makes me think of Hunter now.
I can’t believe he asked me.
I can’t believe I had to say no.
Thinking about it makes me glum, and I’m already not in the best mood from all the unsent messages in my phone, so I don’t need more of that.
I want to focus on something else, but when I open my phone to seek out a quick distraction, instead I find myself opening my web browser and typing in, “Is being tired an early pregnancy symptom?”
Apparently, it is.
The very first result reads, “Am I pregnant?” and promises a listing of all the early symptoms to look out for if you think you might be.
My finger hovers over the little blue link, but I don’t tap it.
I frown at my phone, then close the browser before I can be tempted to tumble down that rabbit hole.
Being tired is also caused by not getting enough sleep, I remind myself. Lying awake at night, unable to stop thinking. Having your world turned upside down, being lightly stalked and constantly preoccupied, running from your problems and doing too much busywork instead of going to sleep at a reasonable hour.
All things that could make me tired without the reason being that Hunter Maxwell put a baby in me.
I don’t even want to consider that awful possibility, but it has been a week since I slept with Hunter, and it feels like it has been 300 days since my last period.
I don’t carefully track my cycle, so I’m not exactly sure when I’m due. I don’t know if I’m late, or it’s just not time yet. I do know that slipping up and having unsafe sex has made me more acutely aware of things, so I need to try not to be paranoid about it. The more paranoid I get, the more convinced I’ll be that I’m seeing symptoms even where there aren’t any.
Ugh.
I lie back on the bed and close my eyes.
I guess at least if he did ruin my life, I know the baby will be adorable.
He probably didn’t, though. I’m probably worried for nothing.
Logically, I know there’s no reason to stress out about any of this until more time has passed, that’s why I initially avoided thinking about it, and now here I am, thinking about it.
I have to fight temptation again. I want to unblock his number and yell at him.
I asked if he had a condom, dammit. And he did! Why didn’t he just put the damn thing on?
It’s funny, Hunter warned me four years ago that if he came back, he’d ruin my life like I ruined his.
I don’t think this was what he had in mind.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Riley
Like the rest of my life, weekend doesn’t go to plan.
Unlike the rest of my life, it’s for a good reason.
The interview on Saturday goes really well. Deb gives me a “tryout” on Sunday, which means dress shopping with mom has to be moved up to Saturday.
I can’t find a single affordable dress that isn’t awful-looking, that’s the worst part.
Sara is also supposed to be dress shopping with us, but we still haven’t spoken since she sat with Valerie at lunch, that’s another bad part.
I don’t even know if she’s going to homecoming with me anymore. Initially, we talked about her riding with me and Anderson since she can’t drive. I hope that’s still happening, but I guess I won’t know until we talk.
In the dressing room, I turn to get a look at another angle of the wine-colored off-the-shoulder dress I’m trying on. It’s a fit and flare lace dress—which I’m sure my mom will give me shit about if I pick it since I gave her shit about the lace on the Stepford dress, but it’s the prettiest one I’ve seen today.