Page 57 of The Trouble with Flings

Jesus. Our baby.

A grin tugs at my lips. That’s something else that stops me cold, but there’s too much to unpack right now, so I focus on the photos. I recognize Jayla and Rush, of course. They’re older now, but they still look every bit like proud, fit Olympians, with an adorable little boy in Rush’s arms and a little girl in Jayla’s. Jared is easy to spot from Wells’s descriptions. He’s the Adam Levine lookalike with his arm around Jennifer and a pretty darker-haired woman with the same bone structure as the rest of them but a slimmer build. Mia? The three of them are looking at the camera, laughing.

I pick up the wooden frame and study Jennifer’s smiling eyes. They’re completely unguarded, and I wonder what she’s laughing at.

“We took that at Jace and Dixie’s wedding,” she says.

“It’s a great picture.” I set it down on the bookshelf. “Is that Jared and Mia?”

“Yeah.” She hands me a glass of water.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about the whole intermittent texting thing,” she says as she sits on the couch, and I take the armchair. “I took an at-home pregnancy test three weeks ago, and it was positive, but I didn’t think it was possible. I was afraid I’d say something to you, and I didn’t want to do that when I wasn’t sure it was real or not.”

“I understand,” I say, and I do. “How have you been feeling?”

“Tired and constantly hungry.” She toes off her heels and tucks her feet beside her on the couch.

“I can order us some food,” I offer.

A flicker of something I can’t read crosses her face. “It’s okay.”

“Have you had any morning sickness?”

“Luckily, no. I felt funky for a while, but I never threw up, which is good, because I’m not a happy puker.”

Filing that tidbit away, I say, “You should see Wells. He turns into the biggest man-baby you’ve ever seen when he gets a cold.” That earns a smile. “So, you’re about three months along?”

“It seems that way.” She wraps both hands around her glass of water.

Doing the math in my head, I say, “You’re due in early September?”

“Mm-hm. Around September second.” She pulls her legs closer. “There are things you need to know before you make up your mind about being involved with this baby. At thirty-eight, I’m considered high risk. There’s an elevated risk of chromosomal abnormalities like Down syndrome.”

“Okay, so our child may need special care. We can handle that. There are special needs resources on the island, and I’m sure there are plenty of them here in the city. That changes nothing,” I say earnestly. “What does it mean for you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really register all the stuff she was saying. I was kind of in shock, but I know they sent my bloodwork to the lab for genetic testing.”

I pull out my phone to Google it.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Finding out.” The results load, and I scan them. “You’re at risk of high blood pressure, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia.” I don’t tell her there are higher rates of miscarriage or stillbirth. She has enough to worry about. I’ll carry that burden for both of us. “It says older mothers are more likely to experience complications during delivery that require a C-section.”

“Older mothers?” She looks horrified.

“I think they mean compared to—”

“Younger mothers. Yeah, I get it,” she says with annoyance.

I pocket my phone and move beside her on the couch. “That’s just medical talk about pregnancy. You and I both know thirty-eight isn’t old.”

“Says the thirty-three-year-old.”

I smile and take her hand. “Listen, this whole thing is scary, and it has to be even more so for you. I know a baby wasn’t on your bucket list. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Can you stop being so perfect?” She sounds like she’s only half teasing.