18. Izzy

CHAPTER 18

IZZY

I wasn't obsessing over the change in Spencer.

He had the playoffs. A shot at the cup. Of course he was busy. Of course he was stressed.

But what had that dinner been, that whole special night? He'd cooked a whole meal for me. Tried to fold napkin swans. He'd made it romantic , and I'd thought… I'd thought…

Was it all just a thank-you for his run of good luck? Some cheesy gesture by way of goodbye? That didn't feel like something Spencer would do, but his texts over the past week told a whole other story. I could count them on one hand, five little texts:

Left in a hurry. Could you lock the garage?

Going by the store later. Lemme know if you need anything.

The Ice Bears had won their Tuesday night game. I'd texted Congrats!!! and he'd texted back ty . Two letters, not even thanks .

His final two texts were almost an insult — Dude, move your car!! Then Sorry, meant Leon.

I'd texted back a few hours ago, on my lunch hour, but he hadn't responded, maybe stuck in training. Maybe out talking strategy with the rest of his team.

I read through his texts again, searching for meaning, for some hidden subtext to make his thoughts clear. Was he just busy, or was this something more? Was our dalliance over? Had things turned weird? I didn't see how they could have in the space of a night. I'd fallen asleep in his arms, thinking maybe we were real. Maybe he was feeling all that I felt. Then, in the morning, Gotta go. I'm busy. What the hell was that?

"Damn it, Spencer."

Maybe he'd picked up on the shift in my feelings, the way I'd cuddled into him like I belonged in his arms. Maybe this was his way of creating some distance. Giving me space to let me cool off.

I turned my phone on its face. I hated feeling this way. Spencer wasn't out there staring at his phone, trying to guess what I meant by Will you be home late tonight? He hadn't mentioned his plans to me, not once this week. Instead, he was out there living his best life. Living his dreams, and I wasn't part of them.

I stared at the blueprints spread out on my desk. Slid my ruler around to try and look busy. Checked my phone one last time, and it buzzed in my hand. I saw it was Donna Fergus, and I jumped out of my seat. Jim scowled at me as I jogged past his desk, but I paid him no mind. I ducked out to the balcony and pulled the door shut behind me.

"Izzy Lavelle."

"Hi, this is Donna! We had our interview last Friday. I'm calling to tell you?—"

I could tell it was good news from the pep in her voice, but I still held my breath as Donna told me I'd got the job. She was running down my benefits and I wasn't breathing, hanging on tenterhooks for the inevitable but .

Your work's stunning, but the market might not be ready. This is still Albuquerque. This isn't New York. We'll need you to tone it down, at least for the moment.

I know our ad said self-starters, but we need a team player. You'll be joining us initially in more of a niche role. You're good with LEED compliance, right?

I realized Donna had stopped talking. Had she asked me a question? I gulped a deep breath.

"Izzy? You there? I don't need your answer today, but we'd like to hire quickly. I'll send over the full details for you to look over, and I'd love to hear back by the end of next week."

"Of course, yeah." I caught myself on the railing. "So, what kind of projects, what would I?—"

"As I said in our interview, we're a small team. We'll need you to handle a variety of clients, which with your versatility and work ethic, I think you'll be great. You won't have the large staff you do at HH&S, but you will have more freedom. Less design-by-committee — at least, from our end. The clients, well, you know."

I did know. I laughed, and Donna laughed with me. I drew another deep breath, feeling lightheaded.

"Okay, that sounds great. I'll look over those details."

"Wonderful," said Donna. "Can't wait to hear back." She hung up, and my phone buzzed again in my hand. I swiped over to my email, expecting the promised details, but instead I had an offer from Lehman and Anderson, New York. A good offer, too, more than Donna could give me, plus moving expenses and a company car.

Distance, I thought again. Maybe Spencer was right. Maybe my feelings were just, I don't know. Life had been hard of late, and Spencer was easy. Spencer felt good when nothing else did. Maybe I'd seen that, that easy escape, and I'd latched onto it for more than it was. A fresh start in New York might be just what I needed.

A wave of dizziness swept over me and I leaned on the railing. I shut my eyes tight, fighting vertigo. My head spun, my guts churned, and I swallowed back acid. Was this a panic attack? Would I faint and fall over?

My dizziness passed as fast as it hit me. I straightened up, blinking, and heard the door close behind me. Lola came up to stand with me at the railing.

"I'm guessing you got that job."

I cleared my throat. "Yeah." I hadn't told her about the one in New York, only the one I'd found here in town. It made me sad to picture my mornings without her — me, her, and Cherie at the café downstairs. We always met there for coffee, and to catch up on gossip. If I took Donna's offer, we could still do that. If I went to New York… maybe I could Zoom in? A lonely feeling welled up, a lump in my throat. I might Zoom in a few times, but it wouldn't last. These things never did, not for the long haul.

"It's the right move," Lola said. "You're better than this place."

I snorted at that. "Better than you?"

She swatted my arm. "Better than that boys' club and the way they treat you. It's one thing for me. I'm only HR. But you're competition, and you're amazing. They'd never have let you shine as you should."

"You think?"

"I know ." She looked out over the city, squinting into the sun. "Look, it's almost quitting time. Let's go grab some dinner. We can dig into your offer, figure out what to do."

I followed her gaze over the rooftops, out to the glimmer of the Rio Grande. This was my home, where my memories lived. Where I'd grown up, where I'd had all my firsts. And it was where Lola lived, and Leon. And Spencer.

I turned away, scowling. Spencer had made his choice, and it wasn't me. I couldn't let him come into what I did next. It had to be my choice. What was best for me.

"Come on," said Lola. "Don't be that way. We'll hit that Italian place, y'know, with the meatballs? Those great, huge, juicy ones, all dripping with red sauce."

My stomach flipped over so suddenly I almost gagged. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I staggered, dizzy, and Lola caught my arm.

"Iz? You okay?"

I groped for the chair that should've been behind me. Someone had moved it, and it wasn't there. I half-fell and smacked into the edge of the doorframe. My funny bone twinged and I grabbed it, groaning. I sank down where I stood, on my knees on the concrete.

"Ew, no, don't sit there! The pigeons, the mess…"

I scrambled back upright, and found my way to the chair. Lola hovered over me, flapping around.

"What's happening, you sick? Should I get you some water?"

I shook my head, my nausea already passing. It had come out of nowhere at the thought of that red sauce — at the thought of eating at all, of looking at food. I was full up with butterflies, and not the good kind. The anxious, might-puke kind. I swallowed them back.

Lola touched my forehead. "Ugh. You feel clammy."

"I think I'm just stressed," I said. "But, yeah, dinner's out. I do want to talk to you, but my stomach's all bleh ."

Lola pulled an ew face. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll text you." I closed my eyes and leaned back, trying to peer through the cracks in the blinds. "Do you still see Jim in there?"

Lola cracked the door open and shook her head. "No. I don't see Mark, either. I think they're with Stern."

"I'm going to sneak out, then. It's after five, right?"

"Six thirty," said Lola. "Go on, you're good."

I scurried out of the office, feeling furtive somehow. Like I was sneaking out, as I'd said to Lola. But I'd come in early and I was leaving late. Maybe it was that I'd soon be quitting, and nobody knew it except me and Lola. I hadn't even told Cherie, though I guessed I soon would. As soon as I figured out where I was headed.

Jim had pig-parked me, boxed me into my spot, so it took me forever to edge my way out. I was tempted to clip him and smash his taillight, but I'd ding my car too, and Jim wasn't worth it. Once I got moving, I felt a lot better, my window cracked open, fresh air in my face. My nausea had faded, and my dizziness too, and that weird, niggling headache that'd been bugging me all day. I was probably PMSing, probably just…

My brain shorted out as I stopped for a light. PMS, yeah, that felt right. Except, it didn't quite. The timing was off. I'd bought tampons weeks ago, knowing I'd soon need them… only, I hadn't.

"Just stress," I hissed. "Stupid douchebros."

Stress made me late sometimes — three days, a week. Never much more than that, but I'd had a lot to deal with — Jim and Mark, Stern, my angst with Spencer. Hunting apartments. Maybe New York. That was enough to make anyone late. But so was a baby. So was?—

A horn blared behind me. The light had changed. I flicked on my blinker and turned right instead of straight, and headed for the grocery store instead of for home. My hands had gone numb, my throat dry and tight. My pulse raced as I made my way inside.

I found what I was looking for, paid, and stood frowning. I couldn't wait twenty minutes to do this at home. I could barely wait three minutes to watch the stick change.

"Miss?" The cashier was staring.

I coughed. "I'm sorry. Uh, where's your bathroom?"

"In back, by the pharmacy." She pointed the way.

What followed was the longest, the longest three minutes, more like three centuries, crammed into that space. I sat in that cramped little white bathroom stall, watching the light flicker over my head, trying to picture my reaction if the answer was yes. Was this something I wanted? I didn't know. Maybe. I'd always thought someday, but did I want this today? Could I do this right now, the babyproofing? The feedings? The midnight ER visits because what did I know about children? How would I know a heat rash from measles?

I thought of the cribs I'd passed heading back here, the cute little mobiles, the overstuffed bears. The car seats, the swings… babies loved swings. I'd get her a swing, and one of those bounce chairs. And those puffy books to read in the bath. Footie pajamas. A frog-shaped hat. All the cute stuff… wait. Did I want this?

I'd wanted a fresh start. Or, no. Not just that. I'd wanted to move on. To grow. To evolve. I'd have to do a lot of that to be a good parent. A scary amount of it, but maybe I was ready. Maybe this was what I'd been looking for, but what about Spencer?

The season would end soon. I'd tell him right after. Hopefully in that sweet spot when he'd just won the cup. I'd tell him, and— yeah. Yeah. It would all be okay. Whether we were a couple, or whether we weren't. He was still a good man. He'd be there for his child.

I pulled out my phone and typed an email to Donna: yeah. Yeah, I'd take it. I'd be staying right here.

Then I looked at the test, and the strip was bright pink — two pink lines. Pregnant.

I smiled so damn wide my face felt like cracking.