“Are you all right?” Imogen asked me.

It had been nearly three weeks since that terrible morning, and I hadn’t heard from Jonathan even once in all that time.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled.

“You don’t look fine,” Imogen said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at me. “You haven’t looked fine in weeks. Did something happen? You know you can tell me.”

No, I really can’t, I thought. I offered her my best impression of a bright smile. “Nothing important. I’m fine, really.”

“No, you really aren’t.” Imogen crossed her arms and sat her skinny rear right in the center of my desk. “Who hurt you?”

“Myself,” I sighed. “I don’t…I don’t want to get into the details, Im. I had this…I guess you could call it a casual thing. With this guy. We set strict boundaries…sort of…there weren’t supposed to be any feelings involved.”

“Ooh, a sex buddy! God, I haven’t done that since college. So, what happened—did he fall head over heels and start texting you at all hours? Is that why you look like you haven’t slept?”

I managed a wry smile.

“Reverse that,” I told her. “Apart from the whole texting at all hours thing; I don’t do that. I think about it sometimes, but…anyway. No, I…I started having feelings for him, and then I sort of jumped the gun on something, and I screwed everything up. And now he’s gone, and he won’t talk to me, and it’s my own fault for getting attached in the first place.”

She made a sympathetic noise and patted my hand. “His loss, honey. I don’t know who this guy is, but I bet you’re too good for him, anyway.”

I disagreed, but I appreciated her words.

“Tell you what,” she said, sliding off my desk with a bounce. “Let’s go out tonight. It’s Friday; we’re young, hot, and single—let’s go hit up a club or something. My mother always said the best way to get over one guy is to get under a different one.” She said it with a wicked grin, and I almost laughed.

“Thanks,” I said sincerely. “But that seems like a little much for me right now. I’ve had this headache that won’t quit, and I don’t think getting felt up by a club full of drunk guys is going to make it better.”

“Fair,” she sighed. “All right, how about this. Let me take you to dinner with a few friends of mine. Not a blind date, just a few people getting together over nachos and beer. What do you say?”

She really wasn’t going to let this go, I realized.

“All right,” I said. “Where and when?”

“I’ll let you know in a couple hours; just let me rally the troops,” she said with a grin. “You’ll feel so much better, Kaley—trust me. This is what you need.”

She ran off to her own desk and began texting away on her phone.

No, I thought. What I need is for Jonathan to talk to me. I was tired of feeling like a criminal over a stupid chemical mistake.

Within a few hours the plans were set, and after work I followed Imogen to the Mexican place near our building.

Four people were waiting for us there; one girl I vaguely recognized from one of Imogen’s “parties”, selling leggings or candles or something. As her friend, I accepted her invitations to these things. As a broke chick with no space for clutter and little interest in leggings, I rarely bought anything. Imogen introduced her as Jenna, and the tall brunette shook my hand with a body-builder grip.

“And this is Dave, Jenna’s husband. These two handsome creatures are Brody and Aiden.” Imogen gestured to the other two men, and I shook their hands warily.

Brody was a stocky, bearded man who wore his hair in a bun and was dressed in flannel. Aiden was impeccably groomed, down to his threaded eyebrows and manicured nails. His black hair flopped over his face in two points like a ‘90s movie heartthrob, and his nose seemed to be permanently upturned. I offered them both weak smiles as we sat.

Imogen ordered for the table, then looked around at the group.

“Well, this is fun, right? Aiden, Kaley works with me at AllGood, in toy development!”

“Oh,” Aiden sneered. “So are you responsible for those god-awful talking birds? My niece has four of them, and I swear to God, they are plotting to take over the house.”

“Those were, um…before my time,” I said with a wince.

“What toys have you come up with?” Brody asked excitedly. In spite of the beard, he reminded me of a twelve-year-old.

“Mostly educational toys,” I offered, feeling apologetic for some reason. “The singing world map floor mat was my biggest hit so far.”

“Oh! I love those! I work at the children’s museum; we just put one in a couple months ago! The kids go nuts over it.”

“Just the kids?” Imogen asked teasingly.

“Well…” Brody shrugged with a sheepish grin.

The mental image of this lumberjack leaping around from Panama to Guam amused me enough to relax, and the food arrived quickly after that. A massive platter of nachos, six plates, and six yellow beers was set down in front of us. I wasn’t much of a beer drinker to begin with, and pale beers turned my stomach on a good day.

I took a sip to be polite and instantly regretted it. I quickly swamped the taste in a layer of cheese and chips, then breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t the worst people to spend an evening with, and Imogen was right; I did end up having a really good time. I knew she had brought the single guys along for me to look over; that was clear by the occasional questioning looks she shot me, but I wasn’t interested.

I found Aiden to be insufferable in every imaginable way, and Brody alternated between reminding me of a pre-adolescent boy and a Labrador puppy. Still, they kept me distracted for a few hours, and I was feeling better about life by the time I slid into my car to drive home.

Then suddenly, I felt a whole lot worse. Halfway home, my stomach turned over on me, forcing me to pull to the side of the road. Several minutes later, I called Imogen.

“What’s up? Did you forget something at the restaurant?”

“No… Did anyone else get sick from the nachos?” I asked.

“Sick? Oh my God, did you throw up? I’m so sorry. I feel fine, and…Aiden, did the nachos upset your stomach? No, we’re both fine. I can text the others if you like.”

“No, don’t do that,” I said quickly. “It’s probably just me. Thanks, Im.”

“Okay…feel better, hon. Aiden, stop it, I’m on the phone…!” She hung up under a stream of giggles, and I rolled my eyes.

It was astounding to me how level-headed Imogen could turn into a giddy schoolgirl under the influence of male attention. Groaning and nauseated, I got back in my car. I had just turned the key in the ignition when a thought struck.

“No,” I said to myself firmly. “No, don’t even go there. You’re not; you weren’t last time, and besides, you aren’t even late.” But I wasn’t entirely sure of that last part.

I pulled out the little day planner I kept in my purse, flipping back through the weeks until I found the last string of little red hearts in the corner of several sequential days. I counted the weeks from the first heart to the current date, then frowned. It hadn’t been that long, had it?

I crinkled my brow in concentration, trying to remember. I had been relieved because Jonathan had just left on his business trip, which meant I wouldn’t have to have that awkward conversation. Not a drop since. Which meant…

“Five weeks,” I breathed. “I’m a week late, and throwing up perfectly good nachos. Crap.”

In a sudden panic, I changed my route to hit the store before going home. I spent about half a second trying to decide between brands before just loading every last pregnancy test they had on the shelves into my cart and racing to the checkout. I would take one tonight, I decided, and the rest in the morning. I told myself it would be negative.

The cashier’s shocked look and quick comments didn’t even register as I unloaded my cart; my mind was too full of what-ifs. What if I really was pregnant this time? Would he believe me? Would he believe it was his? Would he still be angry, and want to call the whole thing off regardless?

What if I wasn’t pregnant? What would it mean? Did I have the flu? Stomach cancer?

I worked myself up into a complete panic-fest before I made it back to the car with my bags, and hyperventilated for the entire drive home. The four flights of stairs up to my apartment just about killed me, leaving me trembling and faint as I dumped out the bags in my bathroom.

“One tonight,” I told myself firmly. “More tomorrow.”

In spite of my direction, I ended up taking four. There were still plenty to take the next day. I didn’t even bother setting a timer or watching the clock this time. Instead, I gripped the countertop and stared at the tests. Slowly, the liquid spread from one side to the other, sweeping pink across some tests, blue across others.

The control lines popped up immediately. One by one, the tests began to sprout an additional line. Plus signs. Double lines. Positives, across the board.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

I glanced at the pile of tests on the floor behind me. Two more couldn’t hurt, right?

I added them to the four on the counter and waited. Both positive. My heart was racing now, but I had nothing left to test with. Fighting tears and hysterical laughter, I drank a pitcher of water and went to bed.

Over the course of the weekend, I took each and every one of them—twenty-eight in all. Each came out positive. I piled the evidence in the center of my table, and by Monday morning, I was finally certain that what I was looking at was real. I was actually and legitimately pregnant with my boss’s child.

Fingers trembling with anxiety, I dialed Jonathan’s number.

“Your call is being redirected”, the calm, automatic voice on the other end informed me.

“What? To where?”

“Good evening, this is Cory Tillman. How may I help you this evening?”

“I need to get in touch with Jonathan,” I blurted out. “Er…Mr. Dane. Please.”

“I’m sorry, miss. I’m afraid Mr. Dane is in a meeting, and won’t be available for several hours. Is there a message you would like to leave for him?”

“Oh God, no!”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, no, thank you,” I said, mortified. “I’ll try to reach him later.”

I hung up and paced the room. I was running out of time. I had to get to work, but I couldn’t leave without telling him. He had a right to know, didn’t he?

Desperate, I resorted to the next-best thing at my disposal: technology. I took a picture of the pile of positives, making sure to get several plus signs and double-lines in focus.

Inhaling sharply, I pressed Send.