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"I need to set up a first appointment," I tell her. "I'm a new patient. I got a positive pregnancy test last night."

I do the mental math for the thirty-third time since last night. It has to be Christmas Eve, when the condom broke. So much for Plan B.

Her keyboard clicks while she asks for my name and date of birth. I read her the group number off the insurance card already sitting on my desk. I may know nothing about pregnancy, but I know paperwork.

She reads the number back to me, and I can barely follow.

"First day of your last period?"

I give her that, too, and her keyboard clicks some more. I've been tracking my period for the last year due to cramps, so I can tell her to the day.

"Okay." She goes silent on the line while she scrolls a calendar. "We see new OB patients at eight weeks. For the first visit with the ultrasound, I've got February fifth at eleven o'clock. Does that work?"

"That works."

"Great, you're booked. And who can I put down as your emergency contact?"

"Alisa Larkin." I spell it for her and give her my mother's number without having to look it up. Her typing doesn't slow down.

"And is she local?"

"Eight hundred miles is local-ish."

She laughs, exhales one short breath, and types again. Then she reads me the address, tells me to come fifteen minutes early to fill out some forms, and hangs up.

The heater ticks in the wall. My emergency contact lives eight hundred miles away, and she doesn't even know. Nor does Carson.

Shit.

I pull up his contact. There are no recent calls between us because we don't talk on the phone. I haven't spoken with him since he left the day after Christmas.

I press his name and then immediately hit the red circle before the first ring.

I'm still staring at the screen when it buzzes in my hand with Trina's name. I sit up straight and answer before the second buzz.

"Mackie Larkin."

I close the dishwasher door, and it hums along, grinding into its initial rinse. I still have my sweater on from earlier because the house is extra drafty tonight.

My phone lights up on the counter with a text notification from the doctor's office in Asheville. It's been exactly one week since I made the appointment.

Your New OB Visit: February 5, 11:00 AM

I sink down to the floor and stare at it with the dishwasher humming against my back.

I've had seven days to call Carson, and somehow I've gotten very good at not doing it. I have to tell him. I'll make sure he knows there is no pressure on his end to do absolutely anything. As long as we both understand that, this is just a business call, nothing more. There's nothing to be scared about.

I press Cowboy, and this time I keep my thumb off the red circle.

It rings once, then twice, while the dishwasher rumbles against my back. I count the third ring, and he picks up on the fourth.

"Mackie Larkin. What a nice surprise."

I open my mouth, and he gets there first.

"You there, or did you butt-dial me?"

"I'm here."