The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(72)

“Maybe not, but when I saw you in class today, you looked like you were about to barf all over my shoes.”

“I did not!”

“No lie. Pale as Casper the Friendly Ghost.” He’s back to leaning back in the booth. “You hungry? You should try eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re eating for two now.” He is such a know-it-all.

“Haha, very funny.”

“Have you been sick at all? My friend Adam knocked up his girlfriend our freshman year, and she tossed her cookies every morning like clockwork.”

Seriously? His questions and concern are making me want to cry. He’s being so sweet—so freaking sweet—and the fact that he isn’t judging me is an enormous relief.

It gives me hope that my other friends will be as supportive…my other friends from back home, who will have mixed reviews on my unexpected pregnancy.

It also gives me hope that I can do this, with or without Elliot in my life.

“I haven’t been sick—that’s why I didn’t know until now that I’m…” The word gets lodged in my throat. “Pregnant.”

“How far along are you, anyway?”

“Twelve weeks.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn Anabelle, pretty soon you’ll be able to find out if it’s a girl or a boy.” Pause. “Are you going to find out? I would.” He laughs.

“I don’t know.”

I don’t know anything.

“If you need me to come to any of your doctor’s appointments, let me know. I have so much fucking spare time these days, it’s stupid.”

“You do not want to come to my appointments.” I laugh, the thought of the whole thing making me almost hysterical.

“I’ll hold the diaper bag.”

“I don’t have a diaper bag.” I’m grinning like a fool though, imagining it—imagining Rex Gunderson trailing along beside me with a pink diaper bag strapped to his body.

Pink.

Girl.

I shake my head, banishing the thought.

“Not yet you don’t.” He winks at me, flipping his phone to check the time. “Shit, I have to go—I work in an hour.”

“Thanks for the hot chocolate, Rex.”

“Hey, no problem. You look like you needed it.”

“I did. It was just what I needed.”

“I probably needed it, too.”

I smile and it feels…

Good.





I can’t actually share my thoughts with Elliot.

Can’t call him on the phone and break the news. Doing it over the phone feels wrong. He deserves to find out in person.

I have so much on my mind, so many things to tell him—but if I do, will that weigh him down?

I sit down at the kitchen table with a journal, one I’ve had for ages that has never been completely filled, used to record my thoughts.

I crack it open, glancing through a few pages I haven’t looked at in months, the last entry from two years ago. I was dating this guy, Will, from college. We were in the same town, at different universities—and I scan a passage about him that I wrote after we broke up. “Will is someone I will definitely get over…not worth the tears, Anabelle. Chin up and move on.”

My mouth curves at the memory of those weeks following. I did more soul searching than crying, and I realized I wouldn’t ever need a guy to fulfill me. Dating and falling in love were great, but they wouldn’t make me whole.

Only I could do that.

Just like I could have and raise this baby on my own, without Elliot’s involvement, but at some point, I would have to tell him, just like I’ll have to tell my parents and other friends.

I grab a pen, hovering the tip over a clean page in my journal. Press down, hesitating.

I’ll never send this letter I’m writing, but there is far too much to get off my chest. If I don’t, I’ll break inside. Burst.

I write:



Dear Elliot,



This is one letter I’m never going to send you, but I’m going to write it anyway, locked away in a diary no one but me will read or see. I have so much on my mind that’s been keeping me awake the past few days.

There is no good way to tell you this. I’m just going to say it.

I’m pregnant.

God, I thought it would be easier to write the words, but it’s not, because now they’re in ink, forever, scrolled across these pages for me to read anytime I open this notebook.

I’m pregnant. Pregnant.

I have a really small baby bump that people are going to start noticing at some point, but thank goodness for yoga pants and sweatshirts. I wonder what you’d think about the bump. Would you freak out, or would you be as levelheaded as I think you would?

Want to hear something crazy? I’m not as upset as I thought I’d be. I’m getting used to the idea of being a mom. A mom. I’m staring at that sentence, reading it over and over again. Crazy. Life is crazy, don’t you think?

What’s even crazier than us being parents is Rex Gunderson. We’ve been spending all kinds of time together, believe it or not. He’s been great, considering he’s the first person who found out—not because I told him, but because he guessed. I always figured he was smarter than he let on, and he is.