Futures and Frosting (Chocolate Lovers #2)(55)

I stand at the sink in the bathroom and stare at the pregnancy test in my hand, waiting for the five minutes to be up so I can gouge out my eyes when I see another positive result. When the timer on my cell phone beeps with the new tone (“SWEET MOTHER FUCKING JESUS IT’S TIME!”) I downloaded just for this purpose, I glance down and try not to cry.

An hour later, Carter and Gavin come home from the store and find me curled up in the fetal position on the floor of the bathroom, surrounded by used pregnancy tests, instructions, and ripped open boxes.

“Mommy, where did you get all these magic wands?!” Gavin asks excitedly as he runs into the bathroom.

He picks up one of the tests and pretends like he's Harry Potter, aiming the test at random objects around the small bathroom yelling, “I curse you with my magic wand, punk toilet paper!”

I don’t even lift my head from the cold tiles; they feel too good on my tear-stained cheeks to move. I watch him with my eyes and wonder briefly if I'm a bad mother for letting him play with something that I peed on. That just starts another crying jag when I realize I will be a bad mother to two kids now. I have a vision of the future where both of my children are sitting in a tub of pee while I'm comatose on the floor.

Carter walks to the doorway and takes one look at me and the litter on the floor and jumps into action.

“Hey, Gavin, how about you put down that wand and go get the bubbles we just bought. I’ll even let you blow them in your room.”

“Sweet! This wand smells funny anyway, and it’s making my hand wet,” Gavin states as he drops it on the floor and runs from the room.

“You should probably tell him to wash his hands,” I mumble from the floor.

“Eh, he’s going to be playing with bubbles, which are like soap, so it will all even out,” Carter replies as he steps into the room and sits down on the floor next to me.

I sit up, pushing tests and boxes out of my way so I can cross my legs and sit Indian style across from him with our knees touching.

“So, how was your day?” Carter asks gently as he reaches over and brushes my hair out of my eyes.

I sniffle and look around at the mess.

“Oh you know, the usual. I worked, ran some errands, some guy put his hands up my chimichanga, complimented my uterus, and I got into a fight with a clerk at The Dollar Store.”

“Was it because practically nothing in that store is a dollar?” he asks.

“Oh my God, right? What the f*ck is up with that? I don’t go into a store called The Dollar Store to buy a five dollar toy. Someone needs to school these people on proper advertising,” I complain.

A few seconds of silence lapse, and I knew Carter was waiting for me to mention the huge “I'm pregnant” elephant in the room. Fuck that elephant! He can just sit there in the corner eating peanuts and shitting on the tile while giving me looks of disgust.

You’re the one shitting on the floor, elephant, don’t give me that look.

Carter spreads his legs out on either side of me, reaches over and grabs onto both of my ankles, unwinds my legs, and pulls me across the floor to him. He re-hooks my ankles together behind his back and puts his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“Say it,” he whispers. “I missed out on this the first time. I want to hear you say it.”

My throat is so tight I'm positive I won't even be able to take another breath, and he wants me to talk?

“Please?” he pleads softly.

He smiles at me and I can see his eyes start to fill with tears. I want to tell him so many things, but I'm too overcome with emotion and frankly, a little bit of puke. Two words are about all I can muster.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper back with a sniffle.

“You’re pregnant?” he asks with a huge smile.

Um, duh? What the f*ck do you THINK all this is about? Oh my God, what is wrong with me? I’m sorry! I love you!

“Are you not happy about being pregnant?” he asks, showing the first sign of worry since he stepped into the room.

“I figured YOU wouldn’t be happy. You’re totally screwed now. If you decide you don’t like me, I’ve got you for eighteen years. I’m your baby mama times two. That’s triflin’, yo.”

Carter laughs and wrapped his arms around my waist so he could pull me up against him.

“Stop trying to quote Kanye. You’re not a golddigger, and there’s no question whose kids they are,” he tells me as he cups my cheek with one hand and rubs it softly with his thumb.

“That’s what you think. Sperm from the floor of the sex toy shop might have jumped off of the carpet and up into my vagina. No telling who this one belongs to.”

He stares at me for a few minutes before kissing the tip of my nose.

“I know you’re freaking out. It’s okay. Just talk to me. Whatever you’re feeling, I want to know. And I am perfectly fine with this. In fact, I am EXTATIC with this. There is absolutely nothing that could ruin my good mood about this news,” he affirms.

There cannot be a more perfect man in the world than him. Fact.

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure we conceived this child the night I ate that pot cookie. I’m eighty-four percent positive our child is going to be born a pot head. It’s going to come out with dreadlocks and wearing a Bob Marley onesie. Its first word will probably be, ‘Whaaaaaazzzzzzzzuuuuup’. It’s never, ever going to sleep through the night because it’s always going to have the munchies.”