Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 70092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
"I mean, I think it's pretty much self-explanatory,” Shelby says, trying not to laugh.
"I'm eleven weeks pregnant," I share, and now even my sisters gasp out.
"That's like three months,” Clarabella says.
"I know," I say, opening my purse and taking out the picture, my baby. I stare down at the picture of my child and I can't see through my blurry vision because of the tears filling my eyes. My baby is the only thing that comes to my mind; the tightness in my chest makes it feel like my heart is coming up to my throat. "I was just as shocked. I even needed to get a second opinion, I was that much in shock."
Shelby grabs the picture from me and just beams. "Aww," she coos, handing it over to Clarabella.
"Presley Marie Baker," my mother grinds out with clenched teeth as she gets up, "you better tell me what the fuck is going on."
"She swore," Clarabella whispers. "This does not bode well, don't look at her. Look away." She looks down at her hands.
"I don't think she needs to draw you a picture, Mom." Shelby laughs, leaning back on the couch.
"You"—my mother points at her—"mind your business. You"—she points at Clarabella—"not a word." Clarabella pretends to zip her mouth and throw away the key. "You"—she points at me—"talk."
"Well, like Shelby said, I don't think there is much to say." My mouth goes suddenly dry. "According to the doctor, everything is fine."
"Who got you pregnant?" she asks me, sitting back down.
"Say Jesus," Clarabella says under her breath, pretending to look around her.
"I don't know if that matters," I avoid, getting up wanting to walk to the bar and take a shot, but instead I walk over to the kitchen. The whole time all I can hear is my heartbeat echoing in my ears. The nerves take over and fill my body and my hand shakes as I pull open the fridge. The back of my neck gets hot and even my armpits start to get a touch sweaty. I'm about to grab a bottle of water but then see sweet tea beside it and choose that instead.
"What are you talking about, it doesn't matter?" My mother gets up and turns to look at me.
"I mean, it doesn't matter," I repeat, pouring myself some of the sweet tea and drinking it. "This would be so much better if it was peach flavor."
"She's worried about peach tea when she should be worried about who the father is." My mother throws up her hands.
"Relax there, Mom." Clarabella gets up. "She knows exactly who the father is." I glare at Clarabella. "What? You don't think she's going to find out when he's, I don't know, in the delivery room with you?"
"Ugh, fine," I concede but then look at my mother. "You can't freak out," I say, knowing that she is going to freak out and knowing that her freaking out isn't going to help the fact that inside I'm freaking out just as much.
"Why would I freak out?" My mother puts her hands on her hips. "When have I ever freaked out?"
Shelby holds her hand up to say something and one look from my mother stops her. "Never"—she shakes her head—"you've always been calm, cool, and collected." Shelby then looks at me. "And go."
I think about maybe not saying his name, but I know he already told Travis, and I know that eventually it's going to come out. "Fine"—I brace myself—"the father is Bennett."
My mother looks at me in shock, her mouth opening. "This is brand-new information,” Shelby says and Clarabella just laughs at her.
"Bennett," my mother says. "Bennett, Bennett?"
"I mean, I don't know how many Bennetts you know," I say, "but yes." The smile fills my face when I say his name and think about how happy he was to have the baby's picture.
She gasps out laughing, clapping her hands together. "This is wonderful news. I mean, so…" She looks at me and we are all shocked that she didn't freak the fuck out. And only when she says the last sentence do I know why. "When is the wedding?"
Chapter 15
Bennett
Pulling into the parking lot, I wonder if maybe I should have called before coming. But as I look around, I don't see that many cars. I get out of the car and walk up the steps to the building, grabbing the handle and pushing the door open.
The bell rings above the door at the same time that I hear what sounds like fifty dogs start barking. “Oh, my," I say, looking around to see if any of them are coming my way.
One of the back doors opens and I look over when I hear footsteps. Around the corner comes the receptionist. "Oh, hey, Bennett." Petra smiles at me. "What brings you here?" She's been the receptionist here for a couple of years.