The Pregnancy Test (NY Girlfriends #1)(8)
Author: Erin McCarthy

The door opened, and Allison walked out, wearing a hot pink sundress and heels that sent her over six feet tall. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she looked cool, classy, put together.

Mandy remembered feeling like that a long time ago. Well, she’d never rivaled Allison for that supermodel look, but she had been cute in a blowsy jean jacket kind of way, with a good complexion and high metabolism. Now she had zits and undereye circles.

Allison jumped. "Jesus, what are you doing lying on the wall? If you lost your key, you should have buzzed us."

"I was just taking a minute to rest. I think I’m having triplets or something. There’s no reason why I should feel this tired." Fifteen weeks into this gig and she already sucked at it. Other women were bouncing around looking adorable at this point – pink cheeks, shiny hair, showing off their little bubbles with low-waisted jeans.

She, on the other hand, was becoming really familiar with loose, concealing clothes since the morning sickness had hit her hard and fast. Elastic was her friend.

"You do look kind of bad." Allison leaned over and peered at her. "Maybe you should take a nap. But hey, at least you’re not puking all the time anymore."

"Yippee, lucky me." Mandy tried to peel herself off the wall, feeling emotional and crabby. It was the idea of going to the Caribbean with Damien Sharpton, spending days and days in his company in the hot sun, blue sky and ocean waves lulling her, music wafting over the sand. And her trying to pretend she wasn’t pregnant and alone.

"Remind me never to get pregnant," Allison said, shifting her clutch from one hand to the other.

Suddenly, without warning, Mandy felt tears well up in her eyes. "It’s not like I did this on purpose, you know! Ben was using protection and yet I still got pregnant, and now this poor baby is stuck with a mother who doesn’t know what she’s doing and can’t even walk up the damn stairs!"

Allison’s eyes widened as Mandy sobbed, swiping at her cheeks. She didn’t know why she was crying except that it just seemed as though there had been so little in her life she’d been successful at that the odds were against her being a stellar mother as well.

"Oh, shit, Mandy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…" Allison stuck her head in the open door of the apartment. "Jamie, come fix this! I made Mandy cry."

"I’m fine," she said, even as her eyes swelled up and her cheeks went damp with tears.

But she didn’t protest when Jamie came and put her arm around her and led her into the apartment, clucking and cooing. "What’s the matter, honey? Did that nasty boss of yours do something horrible to you?"

She nodded, plopping onto the couch and hugging a velvet sage green pillow when Jamie gave her a gentle push down. "He’s making me go to the Caribbean with him for a week."

"The bastard!" Allison said, then pressed her lips together when Jamie shot her a dirty look. "What? I would kill to go to the beach and get a real tan instead of paying fifty bucks to get sprayed with fake color. What’s wrong with going to the Caribbean? It’s been a lousy spring. It’s May, and most days it doesn’t even crack fifty degrees."

"It doesn’t stop you from wearing a sundress, though," Jamie remarked, bundled up in a chocolate brown hoodie and pants.

"I have to show off this fake tan."

Mandy tucked the pillow under her chin. "I know it sounds stupid, but the thing is, he doesn’t know I’m pregnant. I’m not sure I can hide it for a whole week."

"But you’re barely showing at all. A man is never going to notice that, and you’re not getting sick anymore." Allison shrugged her shoulder. "I say you go and relax, soak up some rays and hit the spa. Pamper yourself a little – you deserve it."

"Do you think so? I mean, he has to find out sooner or later that I’m pregnant, but I’d rather it be later." Preferably after the baby was born and she was in the hospital. "I actually like working for him, you know, but keeping this a secret is stressing me out."

"Stress is not good for the baby." Jamie had moved around the back of the couch and was massaging Mandy’s shoulders.

Jamie’s light fingers kneaded the knots in her muscles, and Mandy whimpered. "I feel completely overwhelmed. There is so much I’m supposed to know. Fetal development, what to ask the doctor, what foods to avoid, how to know when you’re in labor… I can’t keep up."

"So take all your reading material with you on this trip and just kind of take stock. It’s a lot to learn, but some of it is just common sense. And what’s important is that you be relaxed and stress-free, not whether you know which kind of bottle to buy. That stuff is trial and error."

"Listen to Jamie," Allison said, perching on the coffee table, her long legs crossed. "She’s the only one of us who knows a damn thing about babies."

"I know you shouldn’t swear in front of a baby," Jamie said.

"The kid’s not even born yet! And damn isn’t a swear word, it’s a pejorative."

Mandy’s eyes were half closed, and she rubbed the last of the tears off her cheeks. Jamie’s slow and steady massage was lulling her, relaxing her. Maybe she could do this.

Motherhood was common sense, that’s all. She knew not to swear in front of a child, just like she knew babies could drown in mop buckets. She knew babies needed powder so their bums didn’t get sore, and she knew a fever in an infant meant a visit to the pediatrician. She could handle this, one day, one diaper at a time.

She wanted her baby with a fierceness that surprised her. She wanted to love this child unconditionally and guide it to be a responsible, ethical, confident person.

It was scary, but exciting.

Now if she could just stop having sex dreams about Damien Sharpton giving her multiple orgasms, she would really have a handle on things.

Chapter 4

"Mother, I’m trying to pack for this trip for work, can I call you later?" Mandy tossed a pair of khaki pants aside. She’d never get the button closed on those.

"What trip for work? What is this all about?"

"I thought I told you… my boss is going to Punta Cana and needs me to accompany him." Linen skirts were a good choice, comfortable and cool. She stuck two in her open suitcase.

"Punta Cana? Isn’t that in the Caribbean? That doesn’t sound safe in your condition. They don’t wash their fruits and vegetables there, you know. And no air-conditioning, rough roads, huts…"