Page 70 of Josephine and Clay

Been off the grid.

A bit of drama.

I exhale slowly. “He texted me.”

Penny immediately sits up straighter. “Oh, excellent. Let’s ruin my morning too. What did he say?”

I turn the phone toward her. She squints. “That’s annoyingly vague.”

“Yes.”

“And late.”

“Yes.”

“And after ignoring you for freaking ages.”

“Yes.”

She considers that. “Men are fascinating.”

“They are not.”

“They are when they behave like this.”

I take the phone back, setting it face down on the bed like that might reduce its influence over my mood.

It doesn’t.

I could answer him. It would be easy to type something neutral and polite, something that doesn’t immediately detonate both of our lives.

But there isn’t a version of this conversation that stays simple anymore. Not when I know what I know. Not when one reply turns into questions I can’t dodge, explanations I’m not ready to give, and a truth that doesn’t fit neatly into a text message.

“I don’t care,” I say.

Penny makes a soft, disbelieving sound. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t,” I repeat, sharper this time. “This is exactly what I expected. Temporary, inconsistent, not something I was relying on.”

“Mm hm.”

“I have more important things to think about.”

Penny softens. “Yeah. You do.”

I swallow.

Pregnant.

Twins.

The words still don’t feel fully real, like they belong to someone else’s life and somehow got misfiled into mine.

“I’m fine,” I say again.

Penny gives me a long look. “You’re not fine.”

“I’m functional.”