Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
And a bit on the big side too…
My brain takes inventory of my current state—emotional, sensitive boobs, migraines, lower back pain—and I drop my toothbrush onto the counter.
No way, right? No fucking way.
I mean, I’m forty-three. There’s no way I’m pregnant.
I look at my boobs again in the mirror, and when I notice that my nipples are red as fucking roses, I decide it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to just make sure that I’m not pregnant.
Obviously, I’m not. I mean, that would be crazy. But I’ll just grab a test at the grocery store while I’m out getting stuff for dinner tonight.
Yeah. That’s exactly what I’ll do.
Just in case.
Maria
An hour later, I’m surrounded by six pregnancy tests, all out of their boxes, and all freshly peed on by yours truly.
I don’t know what made me take six of these fuckers, but here we are.
I set my phone timer to the recommended five minutes and head back into the kitchen to start cutting up some fruit and vegetables while I wait on the confirmation that I’m not pregnant.
And I almost want to laugh at myself that I’m even taking these tests. I mean, if anything, I’m probably nearing freaking menopause, not another round of motherhood.
My phone’s alarm goes off, and I wash my hands in the sink before heading back into our bathroom to check the results. You know, the ones that are going to say, You’re not pregnant, you’re just a little crazy.
I grab the first one off the counter and look down at it—Pregnant.
What the…?
Instantly, I start picking up the other five sticks.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Holy shit! I’m not in menopause! I’m with child!
I stare at myself in the reflection of the mirror, and I look exactly how a forty-three-year-old woman with a nine-month-old baby who just found out she’s pregnant would look. Absolutely freaked out.
How am I pregnant? I’m on birth control!
“Oh, c’mon, Maria. You’re old enough to know that birth control isn’t pregnancy-proof. Only abstinence is,” I muse, now talking to myself. “And since your husband is crazy hot and you just looooove having sex with him, abstaining is out of the question for you.”
Remy and I are going to have a baby.
Izzy is going to have a little sister or little brother.
Holy fucking shit.
Wide-eyed, I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to figure out how I’m going to manage making dinner for the entire Winslow gang now.
And when should I tell Remy? Before or after dinner tonight?
Instantly, I’m reminded of the big surprise he’s planned for his brothers.
“After,” I tell myself. “Yeah, definitely after. And looks like we’re all going to be eating pizza tonight.”
Let’s hope the mysterious “C” likes pepperoni.
Remy
I press a kiss to Maria’s cheek, snag a whining Izzy off her hip, and head into the dining room, where the rest of our family is seated and ready to dive into dinner.
After she dealt with a migraine all morning, I’m glad my wife decided not to slave over a hot oven and went with ordering pizza instead.
And by the looks of my brothers’ plates, stacked up like they’re heathens, it’s safe to say no one minds that tonight’s meal was catered by the little pizzeria up the street.
Izzy whines in my arms, her little legs kicking against my hip while she tries her best to escape my hold so she can try her hand at crawling around the room.
At nine months old, my girl likes to be on the move.
“Izzy girl!” Lexi calls for her, and thankfully, Izzy spots her right away.
Seated by her high chair, her favorite cousin Lexi is waving at her, and Izzy immediately holds out her hands, letting me know exactly where she wants to go.
And I don’t hesitate to set her down, strap her in, and put a few small pieces of watermelon on her tray while Lexi keeps her entertained.
I glance at the screen of my phone, wondering where in the hell my guest of honor is, but there are no missed notifications. What the hell?
I would’ve thought she would’ve been here by now. Surely she isn’t going to stand me up, right?
From across the room, I watch as my beautiful wife takes a seat, her skin glowing with the kind of beauty that always seems to hit me square in the chest, and I decide to sit down beside her and enjoy the meal.
If she shows, she shows. If she doesn’t, well—
The doorbell rings, and three knocks sound right after it.
Fucking yes!
Maria looks over at me with a secret smile, and I hop out of my chair to go answer the door.
“Who else is coming?” I hear Jude asking behind me, and I’m practically bouncing on my fucking feet over how excited I am for him to see the answer to that question.
And when I swing open the door, I am not disappointed. There stands Cleo, with a smile on her lips.