When Lucy finds me the next morning, it’s sprawled on the couch, surrounded by three empty containers of take-out cake. She closes the door of the apartment behind her, dropping her purse on the hall table and regarding me with a bemused expression.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “Did you sleep at Lou’s last night?” Lou is Lucy’s boyfriend, supposedly, although I’ve never met him. All I know is that he works in insurance or something.

“Yeah. I see you had a fun night.” She’s smirking at me, so I smirk back.

“Probably not as fun as yours.” I stifle a yawn, as if to prove my point.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she mutters.

Lucy and Lou have been together for three years, I think, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard her get all gushy about him. Then again, maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve been together with someone for that long. I smile sympathetically, even though I still think she probably had a better night than I did. Dinner with Logan had started out so promising, but any inkling of hope I’d held that maybe we could have something real, that maybe this baby could bring us together somehow, had been well and firmly dashed. Logan is who he is. I’d been an idiot to think that I or a baby could change that.

Lucy disappears into the bathroom, so I stagger to my feet and bring the empty take-away containers into the kitchen, rinse them out, and dump them into the recycling bin. Just that small amount of motion — or maybe it’s the whiff of leftover chocolate — is enough to trigger my nausea. I lean against the counter and take a few deep breaths while I wait for Lucy to finish in the bathroom, then groan when I hear the shower start up.

Okay, Blake, you can do this. Deep breaths.

I pour myself a glass of water and take small sips while I try to ignore the rocking in my stomach. I will not throw up. I will not.

Nope, I’m definitely going to throw up.

With one hand covering my mouth, I beeline towards the bathroom and throw the door open. Lucy shrieks.

“I’m sorry,” I manage, before I hit the tile in front of the toilet.

When I can look up again, Lucy, is peeking around the edge of the pink gingham shower curtain, frowning at me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I wipe my mouth with toilet paper and flush. “I guess I shouldn’t have eaten three pieces of cake last night.”

“You’ve been sick a lot lately.”

“Sensitive stomach. I’ve always been like that.”

“Hmmm.”

I can’t meet her eye as I wash my hands and rinse out my mouth, but I can feel her watching me.

“All done,” I announce. “You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.” I slip out of the bathroom before Lucy can say anything.

Once I’m in the safety of my bedroom, I flop down onto the quilt. I’m going to have to tell Lucy eventually, I realize. I won’t be able to blame my growing stomach on the cake — at least not for too long. But I should tell Logan first, right? That’s the only fair thing to do. Except now I’m dreading that more than ever.

Not having anyone to talk about this with is killing me a little bit. I need advice. Perspective. Because when it comes to Logan, I seem to have lost mine.

Just as I think that, my phone rings. Rori, I see, when I glance down at the screen. I almost cry in happiness.

“Hi!” My voice is as bouncy as Tigger. You’d never know that less than five minutes ago, I was puking my guts out.

“Well, hi to you, too. You’re chipper this morning.”

“Just being my natural, perky self.”

“Right. Listen, Emma and I were thinking of going out for drinks tonight. Do you want to come? The guys are going to some post-golf-tournament drinking thing out at the country club, and neither of us feel like going with them.”

“Yes!” I almost scream the word into the phone. Then I force myself to calm down. “I mean, yes, that sounds lovely.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rori asks, after a slight pause.

“Super.” Never mind that she’s the second person to ask me that so far this morning.

“Okay, well, we’ll pick you up tonight around eight. Bring Lucy, too, if she wants to come.”

“Sure. That sounds great. Thanks, Rori.”

“No problem,” she says, though the tone of her voice is surprised.

By eight o’clock, I’ve had about thirteen mini-breakdowns, mostly over the fact that all my clothes are horrible and scratchy and tight and I don’t want to wear any of them.

“Remind me why I agreed to this, again?” I rifle through my closet one more time, as if the perfect outfit might magically appear. All I want to wear is pajamas. Why isn’t wearing pajamas to a bar more socially acceptable?

“Because you’re a vibrant single woman living in New York City, and going out is what you’re supposed to do?”

Lucy, of course, looks ridiculously cute in a pink dress and strappy sandals. I’m not even showing yet, and I already feel like a beached whale. What the hell am I going to feel like when I actually have a basketball for a stomach? I can only imagine that once I get to that point, I’ll have given up on what’s ‘socially acceptable’ and fully embraced the pajamas-as-clothes thing.

“Your sister’s going to be here any minute,” Lucy so helpfully points out as I fling dress after dress onto my unmade bed. “I’m sure whatever you wear is going to be fine.”

I don’t want fine. The Sex and the City life I imagined for myself when I moved to New York didn’t involve looking fine, it involved looking fabulous. At all times.

I reluctantly fish some leggings out of the drawer. I opt for a pair that’s at least black and has a strip of leather running up the sides. That makes it somewhat cool, right? Paired with a stretchy jersey tunic, it’s almost as comfortable as pajamas and almost as fashionable as clothes. This is the closest to a win I’m going to get tonight.

“Ready, Cinderella?” Lucy smirks.

“Joke’s on you — I’m not Cinderella. I’m the pumpkin.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes, then takes my arm and leads me out into the hallway.

The bar my sisters have chosen is loud and crowded and abuzz with sexual tension. I really do feel like a pumpkin now. I think longingly of all the hot dresses in my closet. Will I ever wear them again? Once I’m a mom — especially a single mom — I won’t have the time or energy to do things like go out dancing anymore. I watch a girl in a black satin dress kick it up on the dance floor and sigh wistfully. That was me, once. Not so long ago, actually.

“Thinking of switching teams?” my sister Rori shouts. She wears a wicked grin.

“Huh?”

“You’re practically drooling over that girl out there.”

Oops. Busted. “I was just admiring her dress.” I can’t tell Rori that it wasn’t really the girl I was ogling, or even really the dress. It was my former life, the one I’d dreamed of for myself. In a blink, it disappeared. Thanks to one stupid mistake.

I know the baby is too small, that it’s barely more than a zygote, but still I swear I feel it punch me in the kidneys at that. I rest my hand lightly on my stomach and blink in surprise.

“You okay?” Rori frowns.

“Absolutely.” I force a smile.

“Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

I let my sister lead me up to the bar, where we find Emma and Lucy already waiting in line. Emma and Lucy were friends first, and I know they’re still close, so when I see them huddled deep in conversation, I get a twisting in my gut that has nothing to do with the little zygote. Would Lucy say anything to Emma about how strange I’d been acting lately, or maybe about the throwing up? Surely not, right? Isn’t that the roommate code, or something? What happens on Tremaine Street stays on Tremaine Street and all that.

Emma sneaks a glance over at me and smiles. My nerves ratchet up another notch. Is that a knowing smile? Or just a friendly one?

“Ready to get your drink on?” Emma shouts.

I relax. At least a smidge. “Definitely!”

But when we get to the bar, I catch the bartender’s eye and ask for a cranberry and soda.

“What?” Rori and Emma eye me simultaneously. “Come on, have a real drink.”

“Not tonight,” I shrug. “I’m not feeling it.”

“Come on,” Emma protests. “Live a little. How often do we all go out together anymore?”

“I know, but we don’t need to drink to have fun, right?” God, I sound like a goody-two shoes preacher’s daughter or something.

Emma rolls her eyes and laughs. “No, but it helps. Come on. I’m getting you a real drink.” She flags down the bartender again. “Make sure you add some vodka to that cranberry soda,” she shouts.

The bartender glances over at me for confirmation, but I shake my head. “No, thank you. Just the soda is fine.”

“Blake, since when do you not drink? Seriously.” She turns back to the bartender. “She’ll have the vodka.”

I grab her arm. “Emma, stop. I’m not drinking tonight. My stomach’s been a bit off lately, and I don’t want to push it.”

Emma rolls her eyes. She’s so stubborn sometimes. “Blake, come on. What are you … pregnant?” Her lips quirk up at the end of the question.

“Yes,” I blurt. Everything stops. The music in the bar is still thumping, but a cavern of silence has grown between the four of us. Emma and Rori stare at me in horror and confusion. My face flushes.

“Excuse me?” Emma’s face is pale.

“Did she just say she’s pregnant?” Rori looks back and forth between Emma and me.

“You’re joking, right?” Emma’s whole body is rigid.

“I knew it,” Lucy smirks. “Nobody gets food poisoning that often. And nobody eats that many pickles for no reason.”

The bartender returns and sets our drinks in front of us — cosmos for Emma, Rori, and Lucy, and a cranberry soda for me. I take my drink and sip from it, just so I’ll have something to do with my hands. Everyone is still staring at me. I honestly can’t tell whether they’re happy or mad or disappointed or what. I think the only emotion anyone is feeling right now is shock.

Which I get. I’m feeling more than a little shell-shocked myself these days.

“Are you okay?” Rori asks, finally, putting her hand gently on my arm. “This is ... wow.” 

Tears prick my eyes. “I honestly don’t even know. I’m still trying to adjust to this new reality.” 

“You’re going to ... keep it?” Everything she says has a note of hesitation to it, like she isn’t even sure of the right way to talk about this.

I take a deep breath and then nod. “Yeah, I’m going to keep it. It feels crazy and like I’m probably ruining my life, but in a weird way ... it feels right, too, you know?”

“It feels right?” Emma’s lips twist. “Blake, you barely have your own life together. How do you think you’re going to be able to take care of a baby? You can’t just go live with Mom and Dad forever, you know.” 

“I know,” I snipe back. “I wasn’t planning on it. I have a job, remember?” 

“Yeah, one Tyler had to help you get.” 

The tears that had been pricking my eyes spill over now. I swipe at them with my sleeve, more embarrassed than anything else.

Rori shoots a glare at Emma. “Can you cool it?” she hisses at our sister. “I think Blake is stressed enough right now.” 

I give her a wan but grateful smile. “I know this isn’t perfect,” I admit, “and it’s not how I’d ever planned to do things. But it happened, and I’m going to try to make the best of it.” 

“Good for you.” Rori puts her arm around my shoulders, and I slump against her. “So, can I ask ... who the father is?” 

I let out a shaky breath. “Well, that’s where ... it gets complicated.” 

“Like it wasn’t complicated already.” Emma rolls her eyes. It’s a simple gesture, and one that’s not altogether unexpected from my more-perfect-than-perfect sister, but it still cuts like a knife.

“Emma!” Rori hisses again. This time she looks genuinely pissed. “Seriously. Leave her alone.” 

Emma looks as if she’s going to say something else, but when she looks around at all of us, she clamps her mouth shut.

“Is the father ... going to be involved at all?” Rori chooses her words carefully again when she turns back to me.

“Well, I haven’t exactly told him yet.” 

“Oh, Blake.” Rori’s face falls. “You have to.” 

“I know, I know. And I’m going to. I didn’t exactly come here tonight planning to tell you guys, you know. I had always planned to tell him first.” I shoot a glare at Emma, since it was her pressure that caused me to accidentally spill the news. 

“That’s good. You should definitely tell him as soon as possible,” Rori says with a decisive nod. “So, can I ask who it is? I didn’t even know you were seeing anybody.” 

“I’m not, really,” I admit. I glance over at Lucy, and her mouth falls open. She almost drops her cocktail. I can tell by the stunned expression on her face that she’s just figured it out on her own. After all, she’s the only person who knows about Logan. 

“Is it...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to. I nod. She winces. “Oh, Blake.” 

“What?” Rori looks back and forth between us. Even Emma looks curious.

I take a deep breath. “It’s my boss,” I admit. “I slept with my boss, and now I’m having his baby.” Saying the words out loud for the first time makes me feel like I just started the downhill part of a crazy rollercoaster ride. Yet, strangely, at the same time, it fills me with a deep sense of peace. This is my truth, such as it is. There’s a certain power in owning that.

Or at least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself.

“Logan Cartwright?” Emma spits. She doesn’t need to say anything else, because the look on her face says it all. It’s a look of downright horror, and my newfound sense of peace swirls away, like water down the toilet.

“Yes.” I hold my chin out defensively, daring Emma to say something. She looks like she’s about to, but Rori shoots her a killing glare. Emma snaps her mouth shut.

It’s Rori that speaks next. “Have you told Mom and Dad yet?”

More of my inner calm goes flushing down the toilet. I shake my head. “Like I said, I wanted to tell Logan first.” I pause. Gnaw my lip for a second. “What do you think they’re going to say?”

Rori and Emma exchange a glance. “I’m not sure. I think they’re going to be pretty shocked.”

“To say the least,” Emma mutters.

I set my drink down on the bar. The tart smell of cranberry is making me feel nauseous.

“You don’t look so hot,” Rori says, holding onto my elbow. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

“I’m fine. I’m just hot.” I pull my hair up off the back of my neck and try to cool myself down, but it’s no use. My face is burning up, and having my sisters and Lucy swarm nervously around me isn’t exactly helping. Suddenly, the bar feels claustrophobic, too hot, too crowded, too loud. “You know what, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lucy says automatically, setting her drink down on the bar next to mine, but I wave her off.

“I’m fine. I’m just going to get a cab and go home.”

“Blake, not by yourself,” Rori insists. Emma, I notice, is silent.

I shake off Rori’s concern and head for the door. It feels like I can’t get out of that bar fast enough.

But I don’t go home. There’s something else I have to do first, and if I leave it any longer I’m going to lose my nerve.

So I direct the cab driver to Park Avenue. To Logan’s place.