“I would never invite you to share a bed with us. And get the hell out of my T-shirt. That’s one of my favorites.”
“Calm down, JoJo. You most certainly did ask her to share your bed. Drunk Joey is a major fan of Brooke,” Juls’ voice comes from behind me. I spin around a bit too quickly and have to steady myself with a hand on the wall. And then I look at her. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and a blouse, her hair pulled back into a bun and her makeup looking fresh. Even if she has been throwing up since 3:00 a.m., she doesn’t look it. Julianna Thomas has never looked anything less than chic a day in her life. She grins at me. “Sweets, can I talk to you?”
I nod, turning back around. “Cabs will be here in thirty minutes. You guys better get moving.” All three bodies scramble out and around the bed while Joey quietly grunts his disapproval of the situation. I follow Juls out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and down the flight of stairs.
“What’s up? And why don’t you look like shit? I know I do,” I say as we make our way into the kitchen. She holds a cup of coffee out to me, and I take it with an appreciating moan.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
I inhale the biggest, hottest mouthful of coffee known to mankind when I hear her statement. The scalding beverage slides down my throat, searing my tissue as I cough it up and hang my head over the sink. Mouth open, I let it run out down my chin and into the deep basin. “Owwwahhhhhh.”
Her hand touches my shoulder. “Oh, shit. Are you okay? Do you want some water or milk or something?”
I wave her off, wiping my chin with the nearby hand towel. “No. But maybe next time wait ‘til after I’ve put my coffee down before you say something like that.” I let my mouth hang open, inhaling the cool air that fills the kitchen while my mind processes her words to me. I feel my slightly-sore lips curl up. “You think you’re pregnant? I didn’t even know you guys were talking about that yet.”
She hesitates slightly before nodding with quick drops of her head. “Well, Ian wants babies yesterday. I always thought I’d wait until I was in my thirties, but it’s all he talks about. And the more he talks about it, the more I think about it.” She plays with the buttons on her blouse, looking over my shoulder in the direction of the stairs. I turn and see Ian and Reese walking down the stairs with our suitcases, both of them smiling in our direction before they walk out the door. I return my attention back to Juls as she begins twisting the diamond stud in her ear. “My doctor told me it can sometimes take a while for birth control to get out of your system completely. Years for some women. So I stopped taking the pill a few months ago and didn’t tell Ian.”
I step closer to her, the excitement building in my gut. “Are you late?”
“My periods are irregular. I really haven’t had one since I stopped taking the pill. But, my boobs are really sensitive and there’s no way the amount of champagne I drank last night could’ve made me that sick. I can usually handle way more than that and not have my head stuck in a toilet.”
My thoughts begin to scramble as I lean back against the counter and stare at the floor. I can usually handle way more than that, too. I was pretty tipsy last night, but I wasn’t that drunk. Not to the point of it warranting the dry-heaving session I endured for several hours; at least I don’t think. And my periods are so damn sporadic I never know when to expect them. But I got my shot a few months ago, so I should be covered. There’s no way I could be…
“Sweets, are you okay?”
Juls’ voice cuts into my thoughts. I twist the towel around my one hand, making it look like something a boxer might wrap his punching hand with. “Huh? Uh, yeah. I just—” I look up at her, “—are you going to tell Ian?”
She shakes her head. “Not until I take a test first. You know how he is. He’ll tell everyone on that damn plane he’s going to be a daddy if I say anything to him now. And I’d hate to get his hopes up.”
I chuckle. Ian would do something like that. That man is crazy when it comes to Juls. I smile at the idea of my very best friend driving a minivan full of little black-haired Ian lookalikes. She’ll have no trouble balancing her wedding planner business with soccer practice and PTA meetings. She’s amazing at everything and makes it look effortless. And then another image fills my mind: me, working in the kitchen of my bakery while tiny little feet run circles around my worktop. I can see the wild mess of brown hair just above the counter height and little grubby hands reaching for a taste of whatever it is I’m making. And that image makes my eyes suddenly misty.
Juls grabs my hand, squeezing it gently. “Hey, what’s wrong? No crying during your wedding week.”