Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Bronwyn gives Kyla an affectionate little shove. She takes a sip of her tea, but I notice she doesn’t put her phone away.
After a while, we catch up. At first, I was afraid that if someone even looked at me, they would immediately know I was pregnant. It was a silly fear, but a very real one. It’s good to sit here, catch up, and chat with the girls.
“You’re feeling better?” Bronwyn says, studying my face. She knows what the danger is as well as I do, though neither of us says it out loud.
“I’m fine now. Labs are solid, and the doctor’s not concerned.” Okay, so that’s a lie. I go on. “Must’ve been a bit of a bug,” I say, putting more jam on my scone. Why did I never realize how delicious jam tasted?
Erin gives me a curious look. “Since when do you like jam?”
“A girl can change her mind, can’t she?” I say, but I look away from her because my cheeks feel a little bright, a little flushed, and I don’t quite want to give myself away. That’s the worst of it—I’m so worried that one comment, one look, and everyone will know the truth.
“Bronwyn, look at the time,” Kyla says. “We need to go. We’re going to be late.”
They have an appointment somewhere. Bronwyn gives me a quick hug on the way out. “I’ve missed you, lass. Don’t be a stranger around these parts, will you?”
Would they still say that if they knew the truth? Would anybody?
Then Erin and I are alone. Caitlin’s still in the garden, and the large, rambling McCarthy family home is nearly vacant.
Erin turns to me, taps her papers together neatly, and in that big-sister tone I know all too well, gives me a pointed stare. “Now that we’re actually alone, it’s time you told me the truth about what’s really going on with you. I’m not a fool, Bridget. I see the signs.”
Of… what? What does she know?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You went to the doctor. Cavin was in touch with Rosenberg himself. You don’t come to the family gatherings on the weekends. You don’t answer my texts.” She leans across the table. “You’re hiding something from me, and I don’t like it. Are you really alright?”
Hiding something from her? I’m hiding everything from her.
“Bridget,” she says, reaching for my hand to give it a little squeeze. “What’s going on?” Her voice breaks a little, and that’s what does me in.
I bite my lip and look away. By my calculations, I am exactly three months pregnant. My clothes don’t fit anymore, and according to the app I downloaded and hid from everybody, my baby is apparently the size of a lemon. I’ve been hiding a lemon.
“I—Oh, Erin.”
And before I can talk myself out of it, I’m sobbing on the kitchen table—deep, wracking sobs. How much longer can we hide? How much longer do we have to do this alone?
Erin pushes herself to her feet and waddles over to me, bending down to hug me. “Shh,” she says, running her hand down the back of my head like she did when I was sick. “Whatever it is, it’ll turn out alright.”
“It won’t,” I bawl, shaking my head. “Because it can’t.”
Erin straightens and comes around to stand in front of me. Crouching down, she places two hands on my shoulders. “You look at me, Bridget Kavanagh,” she says fiercely. I sniffle hard and look at her.
“You have been through too much to be hopeless now. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what you’re hiding. But I’ve seen you battle a terminal illness. I’ve seen you bleeding uncontrollably, facing the odds that would scare anyone, and beating them. I’ve seen you watch your parents face exile, your sister marry into another family, and all with a smile on your face. I’ve held you when you bled, wiped your tears when you were spent, and watched as you were the one who told me that it would be alright.”
She leans in, holding my shoulders tight. “Whatever it is that’s happening, we can handle this. Together. Because that’s what sisters do.” And now she’s crying too.
I have to tell her. I can’t not tell her.
“I—” I open my mouth, and before I know it, it’s all coming out in a torrent of words, in a hushed whisper so no one hears. “I’m pregnant, Erin.”
I watch the way realization dawns, as her eyes go wide and bright and her lips part into a surprised smile. “Pregnant?” she whispers. Then she grins, and she’s crying in earnest now as she hugs me tight.
“Is that all? Oh my god, I’m so relieved. I was so afraid you were relapsing, and you didn’t want to tell anyone the truth.” She pulls back. “Bridget Kavanagh, don’t you ever do that to me again,” she says, then stills at my sober expression.