Drew smirks. “As opposed to the rest of the time, when you’re just so pleasant?”

You know how some dogs still keep chewing your shoes—no matter how many times you smack them with a newspaper? They just can’t resist?

Drew is one of those dogs.

Alexandra turns on her brother like a cat hissing at a snake.

“You know, Drew, being with child? It’s kind of like a ‘get out of jail free’ card. There’s not a jury in the country that would convict me.”

he backs away slowly.

I shake my head at him, then ask Alexandra, “Other than that, how are you feeling?”

She shrugs. “Tired, mostly. And the vomiting doesn’t help.

Most women get morning sickness, but I get it at night, which sucks pretty bad.”

Huh Vomiting.

Tired.

Moody.

They certainly sound familiar.

What? Why are you looking at me like that?

No, no—everyone knows the surest sign of pregnancy is a missed period. And my period’s not due for . . . one . . . two . . .

four . . .

Five . . .

My period was due five days ago.

Oh.

My.

God.

Chapter 5

Denial is a skill I mastered at a young age.

Don’t think about it. Don’t talk about it. Suck it up.

Choke it down.

I didn’t cry the night my father died.

Not when Sherriff Mitchell came to our door to take us to the hospital, or when the doctor told us they’d lost him. I didn’t shed a tear during the wake—or at the funeral.

Thank you for your condolences.

Yes, I’ll be strong for my mother.

You’re so kind.

Eight days after he was laid in the ground, my mother was working in the diner downstairs. I was in our kitchen, trying to open a jar of pickles.

I walked into my parents’ bedroom and called my Dad for help. And that’s when it hit me—staring at their empty room. he wasn’t there. he’d never be there again. I collapsed on the floor and sobbed like a baby.

Over a jar of pickles.

It’s that same skill set that gets me through the rest of the night at the Evans’. I smile. I chat. I hug Mackenzie good-bye. Drew and I go home and make love.

And I don’t tell him.

You don’t yell fire in a movie theater unless you’re sure there’re flames.

have you ever seen Gone with the Wind? Scarlett O’hara is my idol.

“I can’t think about this now. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

So that’s my plan. At least for the moment.

Tomorrow comes quickly.

And apparently God has a sick sense of humor. Because everywhere I turn, I’m surrounded by pregnancy.

Take a look: The dog walker passing me on the sidewalk, the police woman directing traffic, the man on the cover of People magazine at the newsstand, the fellow executive in the cramped elevator who looks like she’s smuggling a contraband medicine ball under her blouse.

I cover my mouth and keep my distance, like a tourist trying to avoid the swine flu.

Eventually, I make it to my office. I sit at my desk and open my trusty daily planner.

Yes, I still use a paper-based calendar. Drew bought me a Blackberry for Christmas, but it’s still in the box. I don’t trust any device capable of banishing my work to the unknown abyss with the touch of a button I like paper. It’s solid—real. To destroy it, you have to burn it.

Usually I’m pretty anal retentive. I write everything down. I’m a banker—we live and die by the schedule. But lately I’ve been distracted; preoccupied by exhaustion and the overall feeling of crappiness. So I missed the fact that I’d started a new pack of birth control pills, but never got a period for the last one.

And speaking of birth control pills—what’s up with that?

Ninety-nine-point-nine percent effective, my ass.

It’s the same statistical accuracy of those pee-on-a-stick pregnancy tests—so I’m not going near one of those. Instead, I pick up the phone and call the office of Dr. Roberta Chang.

Remember those four other students who Delores, Billy, and I lived with off campus in Pennsylvania? Bobbie was one of them.

her husband, Daniel, was another.

Bobbie’s an amazing person. her parents emigrated from Korea when she was just a baby. She’s petite—tiny enough to shop at GAP Kids—but she’s got the personality of an Amazon.

She’s also a brilliant ob/gyn. That would be a baby doctor for you guys out there.

Bob and her husband moved to New York just a few months ago. I haven’t seen her in years, but ours is one of those friendships that can go a decade without contact; then when we finally do get together, it’s like we haven’t missed a day.

I make an appointment and automatically mark it in my planner.

Bob—7:00.

I close the book and place it next to the phone on my desk.

Then I glance at the clock and realize I’m late for a meeting.

Shit.

I grab a folder and head out the door.

Still not thinking about it . . . in case you were wondering.

When I get back two hours later, Drew is sitting at my desk, tapping a pen impatiently against the dark wood. We usually eat lunch together—order in—and share it in one of our offices.

“hey.”

he glances up. “hi.”

“Did you already order, or were you waiting for me?”

he looks confused. “huh?”

I perch myself on the edge of the desk. “Lunch, Drew. That’s why you’re here, right?”