I don’t, but I’m out of options.
Maggie looked like hell at Thanksgiving yesterday, and I could do fuck-all about it. Before dessert was served, she excused herself upstairs and never came back down. I texted her three times, but she just told me she was tired and felt like crap and that we could talk tomorrow.
It’s tomorrow.
She’s not answering my texts and I’m genuinely worried. Coach and Jules left at five a.m. to do their Black Friday shopping. It’s a tradition, I guess. But that means Maggie’s home alone. I seriously think she needs to see a doctor and I’ll drag her there myself if I have to.
I shoot off one more text.
JT: Is this gutter pipe gonna hold me?
JT: Also, is your window open?
Thank fuck, my phone pings.
Maggie:What? Where are you?
JT: Outside your window like a perv. I was gonna ring the bell out front but there’s a doorbell cam.
JT: You feeling any better today?
Maggie: I missed your texts because I was sleeping. Go around to the garage. The code is 060809.
Maggie: I’m in my room. Top of the steps, second door on the right. But you know that because you were just eyeing up my window. Like a weirdo.
JT: Not a weirdo. A concerned boyfriend. I think you should see a doctor. I’m worried about you.
Maggie: Come upstairs.
Less than a minute later, I’m standing in her bedroom. She’s curled up in bed, looking beautiful. And awful.
“Do you have a thermometer?” I ask, touching the back of my hand to her forehead. Her skin is soft and cool.
“I don’t have a fever,” she tells me, her voice soft.
“I’ve been googling illnesses since last night. I don’t recommend it,” I tell her. “You could have mono. Or it could be autoimmune.” I pull up the list of diseases I’ve cataloged on my notes app, but my fingers fumble when my eyes land on her nightstand.
Holy.Shit.
Sitting next to her watch and a book about succulents, there’s a white cardboard box with pink and blue lettering.
“Maggie,” I say her name quietly, but my heart is pounding so loudly that I’m sure she can hear the beat.
“I haven’t taken it yet. I…I should. I will. I wanted to talk to you and then…”
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “You want to do it now?”
“Yeah,” she says as she pulls the covers back. I smile because I was right—she’s got on tiny little sleep shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. My eyes zero in on her mid-section, but I can’t notice anything because her shirt is three sizes too big.
“They say it’s most reliable first thing in the morning,” she says, taking the box from her nightstand and stepping into her ensuite bathroom. I follow her, but she blocks the doorway. “You are not watching me pee.”
If that test says what I bet it will, I’m going to be watching her give birth in the not-so-distant future. But that information would probably not help my case, so I back up and sit on her bed. “I’ll wait right here.”
“You do that,” she instructs, giving me a smile as she shuts the door.
A minute later, I hear the toilet flush and the faucet run. Finally, the door opens, and she joins me on the bed. Instead of sitting, though, she goes right back to her previous position. She’s lying on her side, the covers pulled up to her chin. Kicking my sneakers off, I lie next to her and trace her features with my finger.
“You know that doesn’t matter, right?” I say before I realize how dumb I sound. “I mean, yeah, it matters in terms of, like, medical care. You either need pre-natal vitamins or you’ve got one hell of a nasty bug. But you and me? My feelings haven’t changed, Maggie. I want to be with you.”
