Chapter 22

Imust have shivered because the next thing I knew, Jason was threading his arm around my waist and pulling me tight. I snuggled down into the covers, fitting my back against his chest. I very rarely slept in my own bed anymore. We had moved organically from friends and roommates to lovers and soul mates, although I still hadn't had "the talk" with him. Every time I wanted to bring up big feelings, I chickened out. Despite Ava's best advice, I couldn't find it in me to communicate with the man I loved.

Jason leaned across me to the bedside table and picked up his phone. "I have to go," he murmured into my ear.

I flattened myself on my back and circled his neck with my arms. We shared an intimate kiss, deep and relaxing in the safety of his bed. He extricated himself reluctantly, and I was treated to a full view of his naked form as he crossed the room. I sat up, holding the covers to my chest.

Jason opened a drawer, pulled on some boxers, and grabbed a pair of pants.

"Couldn't you play hooky?" I asked.

He stepped into his pants, zipping them up before coming back to the bed. He crawled back on top of me, the comforter between us. "I can't," he apologized. "We're so close with this case." He kissed me sweetly, taking his time.

When we came up for air, he stood, grabbed a shirt from the closet, and walked out of the room. I lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. For some reason, Jason leaving hit me harder than it should have. The man had to work, and he went to work every day. Why did today feel like the world was falling apart and being alone would kill me?

I grabbed my own phone, scrolling social media for a moment. It was only 7:30. There was plenty of time before I had to be at work myself. I wasn't sleeping, and social media was toxic, so I crawled out of bed and put some clothes on. Pulling my hair up into a messy ponytail, I decided to unpack some of my hairstyling tools. Jason and I had agreed to share the office, but since he had moved in, I hadn't taken advantage of my half of the space.

I pulled some boxes out of my closet and took them across the hall. Inside, I found three mannequin heads and a selection of wigs. There wasn't a workstation for me in the office, and it took me a little bit of time and ingenuity to move the bedside table from my room. I wasn't using it in the bedroom anyway.

I set up my foam heads and chose two of the wigs to work on. In the box, I had some styling equipment: comb, scissors, products, clips. I found some old dyes and shook them up. They seemed to be viable, so I put on my gloves and got to work dyeing one of the mannequin wigs.

When I was done, almost three hours had passed, and the wig was a beautiful, natural shade of gold. I snapped my gloves off just as the phone rang.

Picking it up, I discovered it was Macy. "Hello?"

"Hi, Lindsey," Macy said. "I was wondering if I could come in for some highlights?"

"Sure thing," I said. I was feeling a little dizzy from the chemical fumes, and I struggled to open the window while holding the phone in one hand. The window frame wouldn't budge, so I set the phone down on Jason's desk and pushed with both my hands. It slid up a crack, allowing the cool morning air to seep into my workspace. I picked the phone back up and found Macy talking. "What was that?" I asked.

"I was thinking about going lighter," she repeated.

"I was just doing some experimenting with two different blondes," I responded. "I think Honey Ash would work well with your features."

"How early can I come in?" she asked. "I have a client this afternoon."

"I'm at home," I said. "I could meet you at the salon in half an hour."

"Great. See you then," Macy said before hanging up.

I shook my head to clear it. Get a grip, Lindsey. Whatever was going on in my head was interfering with my daily activities. I had thought that focusing on the hair coloring would help, but the fogginess followed me wherever I went. I sighed, doing my best to ignore it while I got dressed, ate a quick breakfast, and drove into town.

I unlocked the salon a little early and was setting up my workspace when Macy arrived.

"Hi," she tiptoed in. "Where's everyone else?"

"We don't open till eleven," I said.

"Oh, I didn't know that," Macy gasped.

"It's fine," I waved a hand to dismiss her concerns. "It's just a half hour. I open early all the time for regular clients."

"Okay," she relented, hanging her purse on the hook beside the mirror. "I just want to look like I got some sun. It's so hard to do with all those trees."

I laughed. "Summer's still a couple months away."

"I know." She settled down into my chair. "I'm sure you know now, there's not a lot of sun in the forest any time of year."

I circled her neck with the plastic bib and gave her a quick shampoo. I applied the bleach just like I had done on my wig back home, one clump at a time. Halfway through the process, I started feeling dizzy again. I thought it must be the same chemical fumes and tried to distance myself a little from the product. That was hard with the brush in my hair and standing over Macy. I felt sick. Through sheer force of will, I kept my cool until the last highlight was applied. Then I dropped my implements on the counter and raced for the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Macy called after me, but I didn't have time to respond.

I pulled my gloves off as I burst through the bathroom door, falling to my knees. It was like high school all over again, puking out my meager breakfast into the toilet, except this time I was sober. My stomach clenched and unclenched, sending tiny sparks of pain and anxiety coursing through my body. Then the moment passed, and I felt better.

I rose on shaky legs and washed my mouth out with water. Looking into the mirror, I saw a woman who was tired but not hideous. There were no bags under my eyes, no puffy lips or swollen glands. I wondered again if it was the chemical smell or if I was coming down with something. Maybe I should call in sick for the rest of the day, I thought. The problem was that I couldn't sleep either, but at least work kept me occupied.

I cleaned myself up as well as I could and returned to the salon floor. Thankfully, it was still five minutes shy of eleven, and the other part-time girls hadn't arrived yet. Macy looked up from a magazine as I entered the room. Her eyes were concerned and yet calm.

"Come sit with me," she said.

"I should get the register set up." I made to step past her, but she held up a hand.

"Just relax for a moment."

I sighed and fell down into Ava's chair. "It was nothing, just the chemical fumes. They were making me dizzy back at the cabin as well."

Macy leaned forward. "Could you be pregnant?"

My mouth fell open to deny it. The idea was absurd—of course I wasn't pregnant. Pregnancy was something that happened to happily married women, or women who were trying to trap a man into marriage. I was neither. I was just a person in the prime of my life carrying on a love affair with another equally virile person. That thought hit me like a sledgehammer and sunk to the bottom of my stomach with an audible thud.

My period was late. I hadn't noticed it or thought about it, but I realized it had been at least two months since I had seen Aunt Flo. Jason and I had been less than cautious, giving way to the passion of the moment. I opened my mouth to speak, but Macy cut me off with an understanding pat on the hand.

"My first one was a surprise to me too," she soothed.

I didn't know what to say. How was I going to tell Jason? We were just getting established with our romance—how could we throw a pregnancy into the mix? Did he even want children? Was he in it for the happily ever after, or was he more of a "happily right now and I don't want to make a commitment" kind of guy? I didn't know. We had never had that conversation. We'd never even had the "I love you" talk—now we had to have the "you're gonna be a father" one?

I felt myself sliding down the slippery slope of panic. Macy brought me back with a kind smile. "Let's not worry just yet," she said.

The door opened and the two part-time girls came in. I jumped up from Ava's chair, pasting a thick smile on my face. Was it my imagination or was it harder to get up than it had been ten minutes ago?

"Finish my hair, and I'll go get a test," Macy whispered.

I agreed with a nod, unwrapping each strand of hair and washing the bleach out. I blew her hair out, combing and shaping until I was satisfied with the look. I stood back to let Macy catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She touched the sides, tilting her head to the left and the right. "I love it," she fawned. "Be right back."

Macy hopped out of her chair, grabbed her purse, and scooted out the door. She was back just ten minutes later, obviously having gone to the drugstore down the street. I didn't know who saw her buy the test, but her status as a married woman was well-known. If it had been me buying the pregnancy test, the town gossip would have reached my doorstep yesterday at the latest. I took the frail box that was concealed in a non-descript brown bag from my friend's hand.

"Thank you," I said.

"Go take it," Macy whispered. "I'll keep an eye out for customers."

I grinned, still feeling nauseous but loving the support of a great friend. One of the part-time girls looked up to see me walking toward the bathroom. She thought nothing of it and went back to her styling. I breathed a sigh of relief. All I needed was for the entire town to know before I did or for someone to tell Jason before I had a chance.

I stopped myself as I stood outside the bathroom door. I had to focus. All my questions of future parenthood were irrelevant if the test came out negative. All I had to do was step into the bathroom, lock the door, and pee on a stick. It was only the rest of my life hanging in the balance, how bad could this be? I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and forged inside.

Forcing myself to remain calm, I ripped the package open and dangled over the toilet while collecting my sample. I set the stick on the back of the tank and waited. I washed my hands. I paced the tiny room, two steps to the wicker table with the fake flowers, two steps back to the door. After three minutes, I approached the porcelain throne.

The test stick stared back at me, screaming its accusations. Two bright pink lines declared that I was pregnant. I swallowed in disbelief. My mouth suddenly dry. Like a criminal, my first instinct was to destroy the evidence. I shoved the stick back into its wrapper and pushed the wrapper down into my pocket. The box went in the trash, underneath a protective layer of discarded paper towels. I washed my hands not once but twice, staring at my reflection to see if "I'm pregnant" was written all over my face.

I couldn't live in the bathroom. I was going to have to face the world, and I was going to have to tell Jason. I walked back into the salon and found Macy staring at me with questions in her eyes. I nodded once. Unable to contain her excitement, Macy put her magazine down and hurried over to me. She grabbed my hand and pumped it twice, wanting to do a happy dance but understanding that maybe I didn't want the other residents of the salon to know.

"Oh," Macy said before she scooted over to the product shelf and held up a bottle of hair gel. "I thought I saw something like this at the drugstore. Will you come with me so I can show you?"

I turned to the part-time girls. "I'll be right back," I said.

They smiled and nodded. I was the senior staff member, and I couldn't walk away for too long, but a quick trip outside where I could talk freely was too good to pass up. Macy and I practically ran out the door.

"Where can we go?" Macy gasped.

"Your car," I said, lunging for the passenger seat.

We climbed inside, and Macy pulled me into a fierce hug across the gear shift. I laughed. This whole time I had been paralyzed with fear, thinking of nothing but breaking the news to Jason, and here Macy was, giddy with excitement for me. She knew something I didn't. She knew all about giving birth and being a mother, and she was over the moon with joy.

I started to feel some of the terror drain away. "I don't know what to do," I confessed.

"You'll have to make a doctor's appointment," Macy said. "And you'll have to tell Jason. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"I don't know." I hesitated. "He and his ex were married for ten years, and they never had children. What if he doesn't want children?"

"Honey, he loves you. What you have with him, he doesn't feel a single inch for whoever that woman was." Macy patted my hand. "I can see that every time he looks at you. It will be okay." She wagged her fists in excitement. "We get to plan a shower, and pick out baby names, and decorate the nursery."

"Hold on," I laughed. "You don't have to do all that work."

"I want to," she chided me. "You're gonna love being a mother."

I looked down at my phone. "Didn't you say you had a client this afternoon?"

"What time is it?" She looked at her own phone. "Oh no!"

I gave Macy one more quick hug before climbing out of her car so she could go to work. She roared out of the parking spot and took off down the street. Alone, but armed with the knowledge that I had a friend, I returned to work and finished out the day.

Coming home that night, I found Jason's truck in the driveway. I wasn't sure if I could stomach the conversation right then or if I would chicken out as I had done before. This time, there was no getting around it. For better or for worse, I had to tell him. I was rehearsing my speech when I stepped in the house and stopped.

The love seat was turned on its side, its stumpy legs sticking up in the air. The couch cushions had been ripped, and stuffing was leaking all over the floor. My spider plant was nude and potless in a corner, the pot shattered, the dirt smeared all over the kitchen island. Our clock had been torn from the wall and was floating in the full sink. I stepped into the battlefield shell-shocked, gently touching all my things as if I could will them back together.

"What happened?" I asked Jason.

He stood in the middle of the living room, surveying the damage. At first, he didn't respond, lost in his own dark thoughts. Finally, he looked up and answered my question with a shrug. "Looks like someone broke in."

"I looked at the front door which looked no worse for the wear. How did they get in?"

He shook his head, unsure.

Then I remembered opening the office window earlier that day. I had thought the chemical fumes were making me sick, and I had forgotten to close it. I raced to the office to confirm my worst fears. The window was open wide enough for someone to get in. My mannequin heads were smashed, and the wig I had spent hours dyeing had been shoved into the toilet.

I ran to my room, discovering my blankets were torn, my closet emptied out onto the floor, and my dresser overturned. I fell to my knees, grabbing fistfuls of what had once been expensive blouses, and sobbed.