Tears build up, running over her lids, flooding her cheeks with wetness, truly worrying me. I hate to see my best friend upset, so I lean in, wrapping my arms around her and place my forehead on the side of her head.
“Oh babe, don’t worry. You can stay here and just lay in bed until you feel better. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
She breaks her silence as a sob bubbles up, and she finally faces me. “I need diapers,” she cries, looking heartbroken.
“Okay, in any other circumstance, I’d give youshit,” I giggle at the pun. “For the rest of your life, but I know you’re actually sick. We’ll just toss your undies out, and you can borrow a pair of boxers to wear.”
Instead of laughing or chuckling, hell, even calling me a twat face like I’m expecting her to do, she busts out in a pathetic wail. I’ve known Bethany nearly my whole life, and I’ve never seen her like this—including bad breakups or drunken moments we’ve shared.
Bethany hiccups, her tearstained face swollen from crying, as I hug her to me tightly. Maybe we should go to the hospital if she’s feeling this terrible. Shit, I hope whatever she has isn’t contagious.
She takes a few deep breaths, her crying finally slowing down as she whispers, “I’m not sick; not technically, anyway. There’s something wrong with me, though.”
“What do you mean? Why haven’t you told me sooner?”
“Because…I wasn’t sure.”
“You better not be fucking dying or something and just now telling me. I won’t let it happen.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Shocked, I don’t know if I should hug and congratulate her or cry, because in all honestly, there’s a good chance she won’t know who the father is. Her mom and stepdad will most likely kick her out even though she’s an adult. They’re dicks like that. She needs to find a better job so she can get her own place.
With my eyes wide, I mutter, “Wow.”
“I know.” She swipes her hand over her face, then fills a glass of water, chugging it down and refilling it.
“So that’s what the puking was about and why you’re suddenly drinking more water.”
“Yep.”
“Wow.
“You said that already.”
“Who’s the father?”
Grabbing the 409 from the opposite counter and a few paper towels, I spray the counter next to where Bethany puked. Once I’m done wiping it, she steps away so I can do the top of the sink. Coating the inside of the basin, I rinse it out and step back, still waiting for her to answer.
“B, do you know who the baby’s dad is?”
“It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t want it, and I won’t be letting him decide my child’s fate. He’s not the one carrying the kid around or who’s going to be taking care of it, so it’s not his decision to make.”
“Holy shit, he doesn’t want it?”
She shakes her head.
“What a dickhead; he should be castrated. Who is it?”
“I told you, I just want to forget about it. I have to figure out my life and how to support myself and a kid.”
“Wait, is this the real reason why you called me so much and freaked out with Viking?”
Shrugging, she places her other cup in the dishwasher and runs her hands through her hair. “That’s what started it, but then I did begin to worry about you when I didn’t hear back.”
“That makes sense. I’m sorry you’ve been going through these changes by yourself.”
“Hey, at least I have you now. Plus, it’s still too soon.”