“I’m back,” Sebastian shouts from the front of the studio, and my hands fall to my sides. I turn around and see him walking toward me with a white plastic bag in his hand.
“That was fast,” I say, wishing it had taken him a little longer.
“I went to the drugstore on the corner. There wasn’t a line.” He pulls a pink box out of the bag and hands it to me. “I’d offer to help, but…” He makes a funny face that reflects my own.
“I’m good, thanks.” I take the box from him and hurry to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I don’t know what’s worse, being pregnant or wondering if I’m pregnant. Or knowing that Sebastian is standing on the other side of the door, waiting for the answer.
I take a deep breath and open the box with shaking fingers. Inside, I find two paper-wrapped pregnancy tests, like little Russian fertility dolls, and tear them open. I place them on the counter while I carefully read the instructions and then follow the accompanying picture guide.
When I’m through, I wash my hands and exit the bathroom, leaving my fate to be determined on the back of the toilet.
“What did it say?” Sebastian asks, quicker than his mouth can move.
“I didn’t look. The directions said it takes a few minutes to work.”
“Oh.” He nods and paces a few times. “Okay.”
I reach for his hand and pull him over to me. “I need a hug.”
“Me too,” he says, wrapping his arms around me.
“What am I going to do if I’m pregnant, Bas?”
“You’ll rock it, like everything else in your life.”
“What are you going to do if I’m pregnant?”
“I’ll support you and throw you a kick-ass baby shower.”
I squeeze him tight, inhale a fortifying breath, and release him. “Okay, let’s check.”
He looks at me and bobs his head. “Okay, let’s do it. I’m ready.”
I turn around and tentatively open the bathroom door, but Sebastian crooks his neck over my shoulder and pushes me inside. I fight my self-preserving instincts telling me not to look and pick up one of the tests.
“Oh, my God,” Sebastian says, looking at me.
I stare quietly at the matching pink lines in the little plastic window for several long seconds.
“I’m pregnant,” I finally say over the pounding in my chest. “Sebastian”—I look up at him with disbelief—“I’m pregnant.”
“Are you sure it’s not wrong?” he asks, looking at the other test still laying on the back of the toilet. He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Nope,” he answers his own question. “You’re pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widen and a tentative smile stretches across is handsome face. “You’re pregnant.”
“Yeah,” I say, bobbing my head, and my eyes mist over.
“Oh, my God!” He wraps his arms around me. “You’re going to have a baby! I’m going to be an uncle! I’m much more comfortable with this scenario.” He releases me and pulls me over to the couch. “You need a doctor. And prenatal vitamins. And folic acid.”
“What’s folic acid?”
“I don’t know. But I read about it in one of Paul’s surrogacy pamphlets. You need it.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping the screen with his thumbs.
“Bas,” I say, pulling one of his hands away. “I have to tell Sam first.”
“Right…of course.” He stares at me expectantly.
“Not right now, Bas!”
“Why not?”
“I can’t tell him this over the phone. I may never see him again.”
He rolls his eyes and drops his head to the side. “You’re procrastinating. And being a little dramatic.”
I look at my hands in my lap and exhale. “I know. Sam’s talked about having a family since we were kids. I just…I want to tell him in person, Bas.”
He presses his lips together over a small smile and says, “I think you just found his Christmas present.”
* * *
“It’s like the whole city has shut down tonight,” I say to Sam, stepping out onto our snow-covered balcony. I rub my bare arms and peek over the edge at the empty streets below.
“Well it’s not every day we get snow in Atlanta,” Sam says, wrapping me in the blanket draped over his shoulders. “Let alone on Christmas Eve.”
I turn around in his arms and snuggle up against his warm body. “Remember that time it snowed like this when we were kids? You turned the garbage can lid over and pulled me down the street with a jump rope?”
“Yeah, Maxine was pissed because we put a hole in the lid. Couldn’t have been more than an inch or two of snow on the ground.” He laughs and rests his chin on the top of my head. “Our kids will have the best sled money can buy.”
My heart jumps and races inside my chest, but before I can pry my tongue off the roof of my mouth, he pulls my lips to his and ignites a fire within me that warms me all the way to my bare feet, which I’m pretty sure have frozen solid.
“Sam,” I mumble against his lips, but he pulls me back inside. “I have to tell you something,” I manage in the three seconds it takes him to drop the blanket and slide the glass doors closed.
He looks at me with fire in his hungry eyes, as warm as the flames crackling in the fireplace.
“It can wait.” I reach for his handsome face and his dimples cast tiny shadows on his cheeks in the glow of the Christmas tree. I wind my fingers into his wavy hair, which has grown longer in the last couple of months, and press my body to his.
He exhales a heavy breath and reaches for my waist to pick me up, but I grab his hands and push them away. “Sam, no.”
He grumbles against my neck and presses me against the wall with his warm body. “It’s been two weeks,” he growls against my ear. “I’m better.”
I shake my head and pant, “You can’t pick me up. You’re still healing.”
“Fine.” He gives me a salacious smile that makes me giggle. “Have it your way.” He spins me around and holds my hands against the wall while he slowly kisses my neck. He presses his hips against my bottom and groans softly. “Don’t move.” He slides his hands over my waist and hooks his thumbs inside my pajama pants, tugging them down my legs. Moments later, his bare hips are pressed against me and the chill that lingers on his skin sends goose bumps down my thighs.
I exhale a slow breath that’s laced with anticipation as he pushes my feet apart and snakes his arm around my stomach. But when he squeezes my tender breast through my thin cotton cami, I let out an unintentional yelp.
“I’m sorry,” he says, turning me around with a worried look on his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” I say, ignoring my throbbing breast.
“Yes I did.”
“Sam, I’m fine.” I press my hand to his concerned face, trying to ease the worry in his eyes, and trying to wield my tongue to tell him that he’s going to be a father, but it just won’t cooperate.