I’m pregnant.

After being married for five years to my high school sweetheart, I should be happy with the news. And I would be. If I wasn’t staring at those two pink lines right before I head to the funeral home to bury the baby’s father.

How did my life get so screwed up? Everything was going great. Perfect, actually. Obviously, we still had our ups and downs. Working minimum wage as a waitress while trying to get my husband, Adam, through college wasn’t easy. But things were finally looking up!

We were accomplishing all our goals. Adam had recently graduated from college as an engineer and had received the perfect job offer. We were supposed to sign on the dotted line for the perfect little house, in the perfect little neighborhood, next week.

Everything had been perfect.

Fascinating how perfect can turn into devastating so quickly.

I’m standing in the bathroom of our tiny one-bedroom apartment, trying to finish getting ready so I can get this day over with.

I refuse to look at the lime green toothbrush sitting on the chipped Formica counter next to the sink. I know that if I even glance in its direction, I’ll collapse onto the cool tile beneath me, curl into a ball, and sob for hours. And while breaking down has been a common occurrence for the past few days, it’s unacceptable this morning. I have somewhere I need to be, and I can’t miss it for the world.

No matter how badly I want to.

As I wash my face with the cool water, I can’t help but wonder, What the hell am I going to do?

I think I’m in denial. That’s the first stage of grief, after all. Don’t worry, I Googled it. Right after I Googled the accuracy of pregnancy tests. Apparently, they’re pretty freaking accurate.

Dammit.

I look at the clock on my phone and notice I’m going to be late if I can’t get my shit together and apply some more waterproof mascara. Waterproof means it shouldn’t run right?

Maybe it’s the hormones, but I haven’t been able to stop crying since I received the call that my husband was killed by a stupid teen who couldn’t stop texting for the ten minutes it took to drive home.

Now that I think about it though, a dead spouse seems like a pretty good reason to be losing it, emotionally.

I can’t help but notice the bags under my eyes as I gaze into the bathroom mirror. The lack of sleep, and the constant crying, have definitely taken a toll. I try to take a deep breath while counting to ten, praying I can make it through the funeral without collapsing in front of everyone.

I start to leave the bathroom when I notice one of Adam’s socks laying in the middle of the floor, my eyes zeroing in on the worn black material. My balance is shaky and my breathing is shallow as I bend over slowly to pick it up. I hesitate before finally grasping the sock with sweaty palms and placing it in the laundry basket. Somehow, my mind knows that it’s the last mess I’ll ever clean up for him, and it guts me.

Knowing I need to be strong to make it through the day, I force myself to turn off my emotions, flipping a switch from agonizing heartbreak to blissfully numb. I’ll deal with this pain tomorrow. I just need to get through today.

I lick my chapped lips then release a shaky breath before making my way to my car so I can head to my husband’s funeral.

---

Walking into the funeral home, I can’t help but notice the over-the-top flower decorations, and a cheesy picture of Adam in a gaudy frame on an easel by the closed casket.

I always hated that picture. It was so formal and so not Adam. His usually messy sandy-blonde hair is parted on the side, and his tie looks like it’s choking him. His mother had insisted he have a professional picture taken for his résumé.

I avoid eye contact with my mother-in-law, Susan, who is standing next to the casket greeting friends and family of her deceased son. She’s dressed in an elegant floor-length black gown and looks perfectly polished, even though I know she’s heartbroken over her son’s death. Adam was an only child, and Susan was constantly smothering him with her protectiveness and adoration. In her eyes, Adam could do no wrong…with the exception of marrying me.

To say I’m not one of her favorite people would be the understatement of the century. I was never good enough for her precious only child.

At least I wasn’t the one who had to play referee between the two of us. I think Adam had it worse. The poor guy would spend every Sunday dinner juggling his disapproving mother and his cheeky wife. Is it my fault I refused to roll over and take her shit lying down?

I doubted I would ever see her again after today. Well, that had been my assumption anyway, until I’d seen those two pink lines this morning.

Is it wrong not to tell her?

I hadn’t had a lot of say in the funeral planning. Not that I really minded, but Susan made it clear that I would’ve ruined it (her words, not mine). She was always so sure that I destroyed everything I touched. Like it was my fault both my parents had died, then my Grandmother when I was in high school, and now Adam. Now that I think about it, she might have a point.

It was a lovely service, if not a little cold. But what more could I expect from Mommy Dearest? The sweet stench of flowers and cleaning chemicals makes me gag. They weren’t kidding when they mentioned super-human smelling powers when pregnant.

I need some fresh air. Now.

As I open the large oak doors of the funeral home and walk down the steps to help calm my rolling stomach, a familiar hand touches my shoulder gently. I quickly turn around and see Luke Jensen, Adam’s best friend. My best friend, too, once upon a time.

He looks good. Really good. At just over six-feet tall with a muscular build, semi-short brown hair, and the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen, he’s always been a favorite among the female population, and I can’t blame them.

While I haven’t seen him since our graduation five years ago, I can’t help but feel the pull of our friendship like it was yesterday. Even if I am a little hesitant to rekindle it after his disappearing act all those years ago.

“Liv,” he says, in his deep, familiar voice.

“Luke,” I reply with a small smile.

“How are things?”

I look at him like he must be crazy.

“Really?” I reply, feeling the urge to cry and laugh simultaneously at his ludicrous question.

He runs his fingers through his dark hair and sighs.

“I guess that’s not the smartest question, is it?” His lips tilt upwards on one side. “I’m really sorry about Adam, Liv,” he says, sobering.

“I know.” My eyes feel glassy. “It doesn’t feel real.”

I’m drained, both emotionally and physically. I walk over to a nearby wooden bench along the front walkway a short distance away from the funeral home. I motion for Luke to follow me, hoping to give us a little more privacy.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

I assume he’s talking about the house signing next week, and I let out an exasperated sigh, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I wish the new house was the only thing I had to worry about.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, shocked by my bluntness. I was never very good at keeping secrets from him.

Luke’s eyes shoot to mine, but I can’t hold his stare for long. I look to the cobblestone beneath my heels and pick at some non-existent lint on my conservative black knee-length dress.

I hear him curse under his breath before asking hesitantly, “Did he know?”

I bite my lip and slowly shake my head, avoiding eye contact.

“Nope. I found out this morning. He’s not even here to crack a joke about how he slipped one past the goalie,” I smirk at Luke, feeling a tear slide down my cheek.

He chuckles as he wipes the moisture away.

“Sounds about right.” He smiles tenderly, and I know he’s remembering his friend. Adam and his inappropriate jokes. I shake my head, fondly. I love that about him.

Loved. He’s not here anymore. I sober immediately.

It’s as if Luke remembers Adam’s gone the same moment I do. His smile slowly disappears, and he asks again, quietly, “What are you going to do?”

I pause, trying to shake the overwhelming feeling of abandonment gnawing at my stomach.

What am I going to do?

“I don’t know,” I say honestly and shrug one shoulder. “What can I do Luke? How am I going to raise a baby? There’s no way I’m signing on that house. Our apartment lease is up, and it’s not like I can afford that now, anyway. I’m a widow. A pregnant widow,” I laugh sarcastically, “with no place to live, no family support, no money, and a shit job that will barely cover my expenses, let alone a freaking baby!” I’m nearly screaming now and start to feel light-headed.

Luke pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back as I sob into his chest, pathetically.

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

“What about Adam’s inheritance?” Luke questions.

I pull away from him slowly and give him a look that asks if he’s joking.

“You know my beloved mother-in-law pulled that from him as soon as he proposed right? There was no way she was ever letting me touch her husband’s precious money.” I roll my eyes.

Ironically enough, Susan is also a widow, though not until after twenty years of marriage to a man she hated. I’m still not entirely sure she didn’t poison him. Is it possible to die from being miserable?

Either way, while they weren’t rich by any means, they were definitely comfortable. Unfortunately, Gregory didn’t have a written will, silly, naïve man, so everything went to a woman he hated.

Susan had set aside money for her pride and joy, but as soon as he started spending time with the neighborhood charity case, aka me, she threatened to pull his inheritance. She kept saying his father wouldn’t approve of the relationship, and therefore, she wouldn’t financially support it.

It never mattered. We didn’t need her money or her blessing. Susan quickly realized that if she wanted to keep her son, she had to be civil toward me. Although, civil might be an optimistic word for the relationship we have.

Had.

Our relationship died when Adam did.

I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling utterly defeated.

“So you really are up shit creek,” Luke says, trying to lighten the situation.

“Yup,” I reply, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “Without a paddle.”

We both sit in silence, attempting to digest the newest development in my life that happens to be growing inside me. After a few minutes, Luke gives me a friendly side hug, squeezing me tightly before we head our separate ways. Because really? What else is there to say?

Luke

The funeral was hell. Seriously, I don’t know how people do it. Go and say your goodbyes to a closed casket? Forced to accept someone is gone forever? No, thank you. I’d like to remember them living, not dead.

I think I’d prefer to skip the whole thing, actually. When I die, they can toss my ashes in the garbage. Let them think I moved to a nice, big farm where I have lots of room to run, like parents tell their kids when their family dog dies. Yup, I went off to greener pastures with the dogs.

I’m not usually such a pessimist. But Adam and I didn’t exactly leave things in the best light. I had promised never to see him again, but he had to throw one final ‘screw you’ my way by dying too young and leaving his wife to fend for herself.

His pregnant wife.

Shit.

I loved him like a brother, but his betrayal still tastes bitter in my mouth, even after all these years.

I do miss him, though. Every. Single. Day. We’d been friends since kindergarten. He had thrown mud at me during recess, so I’d tackled him to the ground and ruined his new Spiderman t-shirt. We had been best friends ever since. Almost all of my childhood memories involved Adam in some way. It’s hard to accept that he’s really gone.

Then we met Liv.

I will never forget walking into my first period class junior year, right after Christmas break, and seeing the most beautiful girl sitting at a desk in the far corner. She was busy doodling in her notebook and refusing to look around the room, preferring to stay hidden behind her long, golden hair. I remember being so awestruck that Adam bumped me in the shoulder as he went to find a seat.

I’m sure you can figure out which seat he ended up choosing.

After that first day in school, the three of us were inseparable. Liv and Adam didn’t start officially dating until he asked her to prom that same year. I had wanted to, but was too chicken shit to go through with it.

It was the second biggest mistake of my life.

My little secret that made me flee all those years ago after graduation was the first, and it’s more than I can carry most days. I thought I had it under control. Until I saw her again.

She hasn’t changed much in the last five years. Shorter hair with a few more highlights, and a fuller face, maybe. But other than that? She’s still the same beautiful girl from high school. Even her dry sense of humor made an appearance once or twice today, which is a miracle considering the circumstances.

Those stormy gray eyes weren’t as bright as usual, but they still sparkled like they held a secret. With the bomb she dropped on me, I guess they were holding a secret.

A big freaking secret.

I have no clue what she’s going to do, but I know I need to stay out of it. It’s none of my business. At. All. I fly home tomorrow night. I just need to make it that long before I can go back to my life…to Trisha.

It was hard enough to leave Liv the first time. It felt like I had lost a limb in the most gruesome way possible. My chest aches when I think of having left for college five years ago. I’m still not sure how I achieved it.

I’m sleeping at my parents’ house while I’m in town. They haven’t moved in twenty years. It’s a nice little home, with a nice little yard, in a nice little neighborhood.

It’s very nice.

I make my way down the hallway on the second floor, the walls lined with family pictures, and into my childhood room. I can’t help the sense of déjà vu floating through my frazzled mind as I take in my Ninja Turtles sheets on a tiny twin-sized bed.

You’d think I would’ve changed the sheets to something more mature, but Liv got them for me as a joke for my seventeenth birthday. She said it would help me with the ladies. Not like I ever needed much help in that department, except with the one girl I couldn’t have.

I shake my head in frustration, stripping down to my boxers before angrily turning off the lights and crawling into my Ninja Turtles sheets. In twenty-four hours I’ll be home, and this will all be behind me.