Serious Moonlight(93)

“Think you can go one night without him?” she teased.

“Ye-e-es. Probably.”

Let me just say that two people who are carrying on a secret romance at work and live on opposite sides of a giant bay of water have it rough. Especially after you’ve spent an entire night engaging in erotic activities with no one else around but the two of you; it’s unfairly sobering to realize you can’t do that every night. And desperate people do desperate things, so I’m a little ashamed to say that we may have taken advantage of our working situation and made use of an unbooked hotel room on our lunch break after our trip to Darke’s house.

And again during last night’s shift.

I had no regrets. I was riding an intoxicating high that made all hurdles tolerable.

“When the two of you are sixty, kissing on your front porch, I just want you to remember that it was me who encouraged this one true pairing.”

“Whoa. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Have you said the L-word back to him yet?”

Ugh. I regretted telling her about Daniel’s big love speech. “That’s N-U-N-Y-A.”

Just the thought of saying it made my frightened-rabbit heart wild with fear. Everyone I loved died. At least half of them did. Those were terrible odds. Did I really want to put that curse on Daniel? The rational part of me knew this was ridiculous, but something deep and feral inside my subconscious wasn’t so sure. . . .

Aunt Mona squinted at me. “You guys are being careful, right? Every time?”

“Every time.”

“Just one slipup and your entire life can change.”

“Um, very aware of that. My entire existence is the result of one slipup,” I said, gesturing to myself dramatically. “And I have no intention of repeating that cycle. I promise, hand on this coffee table book of . . . male bondage?”

Aunt Mona gave me a sheepish smile. “It was on sale. But see? This was a snap decision. In one fleeting moment, you’ve spent your entire electric bill budget on stupid things.”

“Jeez, I’ve got it, for the love of Pete. I don’t have an electric bill, so I think I’m okay for now.”

“God, I’d give anything to be eighteen again,” Aunt Mona said, falling back on the sofa and tucking her legs beneath her robe. “Not a care in the world. My entire future ahead of me.”

“You’re only thirty-six.”

“Ancient, Birdie. I’m too old. And I’m terrified.”

I sat down next to her, careful not to poke my legs with the army of pins that circled the hem of my dress. “Seriously, what’s wrong? You’ve been keeping something from me for weeks, and it’s clearly not Leon, because I already know about him.”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Are you in trouble about Young Napoleon Bonaparte? Is that why you were meeting with a lawyer last week?”

“I wish. Sharkovsky’s left me a million messages, but I’ve just ignored him. I posted all over the local art blogs about what he did. I hope he loses the Pioneer Square Gallery.”

“Okay. So why were you seeing a lawyer?”

She curled tighter into her robe and hugged her knees. “Reasons.”

“What reasons?”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “I’m pregnant.”

I snorted. That was absurd.

But she wasn’t laughing. In fact, the look on her face was very, very serious.

My thoughts tumbled around in my head like clothes in a dryer. “But . . . how?”

“I think we both know how, Birdie.”

“You were just on your period—that day I brought over chocolate pastries.”

She gritted her teeth. “No, you assumed, and I didn’t correct you. That was shitty of me, and I’m really sorry. But in my defense, I was overwhelmed and had vomited all morning. I couldn’t think straight.”

“But wait. The father is . . . ?”

“Who do you think?” she said, sounding a little perturbed that I was slow to catch on.

“Leon Snodgrass? He’s only been back in town for a few weeks!” I argued. “You said it was—you told me you hadn’t even kissed.”

“We haven’t. Not since he’s been back.” She gestured loosely to her stomach. “All of this happened three months ago.”

My brain spun through another cycle. “When you went to that art festival in Arizona?”

“He kind of, sort of, met me there.”

“And got you pregnant?”

She held up her index finger and thumb in front of one eye and looked through them. “Just a little bit.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us. Three, if you count Leon . . .” She groaned and curled up on her side, laying her head on the back of the couch as she looked at me. “We’d been texting. One thing led to another, and we spent the weekend together in Scottsdale.”

That sounded like the last place I’d want to have a romantic weekend. I was having trouble processing everything she was saying. I could feel panic and a little anger rising inside me. “And you’re here lecturing me about slipping up?”

“We used condoms. One must have broken, maybe? We don’t know. They’re only ninety-eight percent effective against pregnancy, so . . . Please don’t look at me that way—I can’t take it.”