The Dirty Book Club(56)

A sudden chill woke the back of M.J.’s neck. “What the—”

“It’s a cold compress. Try to breathe.”

“Breathe?”

“Some of these sticks have expired and could give a false positive. Let’s try a few different ones just to be sure.”

Legs quaking, M.J. saturated five more. “Tell me when it’s over,” she said, praying to the God she’d stopped believing in.

“No way,” Addie said.

“What?”

“Anorexic Loo is guest DJing at the Blackbird tonight.”

“Who gives a—”

“Shit,” Addie said, as if completing M.J.’s thought.

“Exactly. Who gives a—”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“No,” Addie insisted, her wide-eyed disbelief no longer trained on her cell phone but on the shower floor.

Stomach churning, M.J. peeked through splayed fingers. Then no fingers. “Six negatives and one positive? It doesn’t make sense.”

Then it did. And the realization shocked them into silence.

“How poetic,” Addie finally said, as she lowered to sit on the Turkish towel bathmat, hands resting limply by her splayed thighs. “The pregnancy counselor gets pregnant.” She covered her face with her hands. “I hate when characters in TV shows get pregnant, don’t you? It’s my least favorite plotline ever.”

“Dan’s a doctor; he can help,” M.J. tried, though she failed to find comfort in that fact moments earlier, when the baby was thought to be hers.

“This is all Leo’s fault!”

“Leo Golden’s the father?”

“Ew, no! But if Leo didn’t die, David wouldn’t have come back from Colorado, and I wouldn’t have funeral-fucked him in the bathroom without a condom. I would have funeral-fucked him with a condom. Yes, I still would have been fired, but I wouldn’t have to use my savings to fix the bookstore because it never would have been mine in the first place. I’d be halfway to a yacht in Italy filled with guys named Fabian and Fabrizio, who wear loafers without socks and lick sweat from my cleavage while I drink Negronis and teach them how to swear in English.” She looked up at M.J., green eyes pooling regret. “I knew my boobs were bigger.”

With a roll of two-ply toilet paper in hand, M.J. set Addie up on the couch, drew the blinds, and ordered a meat-lovers pizza. She massaged her feet with extra-virgin olive oil, then switched to hair conditioner because virgins of any kind were not welcome. She ordered three seasons of Project Runway and paid a Lyft driver to bring them gelato. She did everything except search for silver linings, mention David’s name, or ask Addie how she wanted to handle the “situation.” It was too soon for platitudes, coping strategies, and solutions. Fortune had spun her wheel, and Addie came up short. As someone who understood what that felt like, M.J. insisted they ignore their phones, lie around, and not try to solve a fucking thing.





CHAPTER


Eighteen


Pearl Beach, California

Saturday, July 23

Waxing Gibbous Moon

“DO YOU HEAR that?” Addie mumbled into her pillow.

“You mean the knocking?” M.J. asked, eyes closed.

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Good.”

They settled back into sleep, which was easier now that M.J. had curtains on her bedroom windows. Easier still because their respective bellies were so stuffed with meat-lovers pizza and popcorn from yesterday, that digestion by way of hibernation was the only option.

But the knocking didn’t stop.

“You should probably get that,” Addie said.

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to know who it is?”

“No.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then you should get it.”

“I would,” Addie said, “but I’m pregnant.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Destiny said when M.J. opened the door. “Chest was gonna give me a ride, but his stepdad got all bent because we kept the car out all night so—” She hitched a thumb at the beach cruiser on the lawn, back wheel still spinning.

“Late?” M.J. asked, while she considered Destiny’s outfit: labia-grazing cutoffs, a string-bikini top, and a high-glossed smirk that suggested Jules had no idea her daughter was there. “Late for what?”

“Addie’s taking me surfing.” She removed her blue-mirrored lenses and peered into the charcoal-colored darkness. “No way. Is she still sleeping?”

“Yes,” Addie called from the bedroom.

Destiny smiled.

“How did you know she was here?” M.J. asked.

“Find My Friends.”

“You and Addie are friends?”

Destiny flashed the app on her phone. “Obviously.” Then, she called, “Ready?”

“I don’t have my boards.”

“There are a bunch out here by the garage,” Destiny offered.

“Those belong to my boyfriend,” M.J. said, suddenly protective.

“Do you think he would mind if we borrowed them?”

“The problem is Addie’s not feeling so well.”