Because…I might not be.
I try to push away a surging emotion. But sorrow compounds for a moment, and I know now how badly I’m hoping this baby is real.
“What are you thinking, mermaid?” Banks still has his gaze on me. Mine is still on him.
“I know we said we wouldn’t get our hopes up, but…” I take a beat, glancing between Banks and Akara. “I want a family of my own. I want to hold our little champ and teach him or her all the things my mom and dad taught me. I want to raise them with a fearlessness that I learned and grew into, and I want them to love their dads as much as I do.”
Banks uncrosses his arms. “If we’re confessing here, then I’ve been more afraid of the answer being no.”
“Me too,” Akara admits, passing his phone from hand to hand.
“Really?” I breathe.
Banks says, “I started thinking about Blue Lagoon.”
This spring, he watched Blue Lagoon for the first time with me and Kits.
Emotional tears prick my eyes, just hearing him reference one of my favorite movies. Knowing he imagined it.
His voice is deep, husky. “And I kept picturing the three of us on our island with our kids. And I got happy.” He swallows hard.
I wonder if Banks is happiest still envisioning us on an island. Because that’s where we’re all safest.
No kidnapping death threats.
Just happiness.
“I thought about Blue Lagoon too,” Akara quips, full of shit.
Banks shoves his arm.
I snort.
They both laugh a little at the sound I make.
I smile some. And I blush, feeling fucking cute in their eyes and not like Sulli the Sasquatch…or I guess the new one, Sulli the Slut.
I throttle the thought away.
Be fucking gone.
“Seriously, though,” Akara says to us.
“You seriously thought about Blue Lagoon?” I ask in surprise.
“No.”
I throw the projectile in my hand, and I forget it’s not a pillow but a hard remote. Akara catches the remote before it pelts his body.
I wince, “Sorry.”
He points the remote at me. “Careful what your hands launch, powerhouse.”
I grimace at powerhouse. “Don’t even, Kits.”
“What? I thought you liked it. You made googly eyes when he said that—”
“That was before he became a tiny fucking asshole.”
“Earth to Sullivan, he’s a big fucking asshole,” Akara purposefully curses.
I look to Banks for an assist.
He holds up his hands. “I think he’s just a regular fucking asshole.”
I sigh, then ask Akara, “If not Blue Lagoon, then what were you thinking about?”
His features turn more serious this time. “How everything I’ve completely loved hasn’t been safe or the easy decision. It’s been the three of us taking the next step, and I don’t want to move backwards. Forward. Onward. Always.”
A strong sense of desire and want hangs in the air. Swimming around us. And suddenly, it feels like we have more to lose if I’m not pregnant.
I’m still sitting on the exam table at the clinic and staring at diagrams of vaginas. Luckily, I didn’t have to do a full physical exam in a gown. I just peed in a cup and now I’m waiting for the lab results to return.
Akara and Banks both stand on either side of the bed. Really fucking supportive, despite this being a mega-surprise to us all.
One guy in the room is making this all very quiet and very awkward, and he happens to be my on-call doctor while I’m out in L.A. for the Olympics.
Farrow Redford Keene Hale.
Tattoos spindle down his arms and up his neck. He wears a black V-neck tucked into black jeans with a belt. With a pierced lip, hoop in his nose, and barbells on his eyebrow, nothing about Farrow screams doctor, yet I trust him more than anyone else walking the clinic floors.
“I’m sensing a lot of fucking tension,” I announce. I don’t believe this will make things better, but I would like very much to at least end the silence.
Farrow leans against the wall, his back touching a Wash Your Hands poster with the proper way to wash ones’ hands. (Didn’t know people needed a poster for that.) Farrow careens his head to me. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” I say. “You can stay.” He’s waiting for the lab reports too, and this clinic was kind enough to allow Dr. Hale access to the facilities for the night. He said there was a lot of paperwork involved. Knowing Farrow (I do live with him), he probably is avoiding the small talk and chit-chat with other doctors and nurses outside those doors.
“There’s no tension, Sul,” Akara tells me.
“Just a little tension,” Banks corrects.
“No tension,” Akara rebuts.
Farrow raises his eyebrows. “I don’t want to know.”
“See he doesn’t want to know,” Akara tells Banks.
Banks makes a noise under his breath that sounds like a cross between a scoff and a groan.
Now I’d like to know what’s going on. “Is this about the cinnamon roll?” I wonder. Cinnamon roll is our code name for the “bun in the oven” because if I do have a bun in the oven, I’m hoping it’s the sweet kind. My fucking favorite.
“No,” Banks says. “It’s about Farrow being best friends with my brother.”
Farrow’s brows shoot to the moon. “What?”
“Yeah, what?” I frown.
“You stole Thatcher from Akara,” Banks says plainly.
Farrow holds up both hands. “I did not do that.” He turns to Akara. “You can have him back.” He cringes as soon as he says it, like maybe he doesn’t mean it.
“I’m not worried about your friendship with Thatcher,” Akara shoots Banks a look like shut up.
Friendships.
I don’t understand the non-family kind of friends as much as Akara and Banks. Being on the outside of their friendship drama is where I like to be. Far, far away from the bullseye. Observing is more fun anyway.
Farrow’s cellphone beeps. Without hospital scrubs or a white coat, he looks more like my roommate than my physician. It makes this a little less nerve-racking. His eyes lift to me. “I’ll be right back with your lab work.” He leaves the room.
“Moment of truth.” I loosen my grip in their hands to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I thought we’d have to wait at least fifteen minutes.
Maybe thirty-seconds later, a knock sounds on the door.
We all go quiet.
13
BANKS MORETTI
She’s pregnant.
Farrow makes the announcement, and I could double-back into a million different earth-shattering, soul-swelling feelings. Elation. Fear. Pride. Insecurity.
Motherfucking insecurities.
I bunt those aside, and I embrace what matters the most. Sulli. Akara. Our triad. Our future together. A baby.
A fucking baby.
I begin to smile.
(Look, Mom, I got a girl pregnant.) Maybe. Could be Akara’s baby. The humor inside my head deflates like a whoopie cushion fart.
Sulli’s grip in my hand only tightens with the news. “I’m pregnant? You’re fucking sure?”