Pretty Little Mistake

I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see the city in my entire life, but when the skyline appears ahead of us, I relax.

Home.

This holiday weekend was a clusterfuck—well, I mean, things with my parents weren’t too bad, but Lennon’s family is certifiable.

I wasn’t going to tell my mom and dad about what happened at the Wellses’ residence, but Lennon told them anyway. Horrified doesn’t even begin to cover their reaction. My mom cried, while my dad sat in stunned silence before grappling for his phone to call Caspar and chew him out. Luckily, I stopped him before he could. I don’t want more time wasted on those people.

Suffice it to say, their decades-long friendship is over.

I can’t help but wonder how Lennon came from people like that. She’s nothing like them. Her brother is baffling as well; it seems like he sees their parents for what they are, and was apologetic, but he didn’t come to his sister’s defense. Fucking pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” Lennon says, breaking the silence.

I sigh, adjusting my grip on the steering wheel. “I’ve told you, stop apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I feel like this was my fault.”

“It takes two. I think it’s safe to say we’re both responsible for this situation.”

“My dad is probably going to cut off my access to the family money,” she says softly, looking out the window. “Not that it’s the end of the world, but . . .”

“And what? You think I’m going to let the mother of my child struggle? You’d move in with me. But I don’t think he’s going to do that.”

“Why not?”

“If he’s so worried about appearances, think about what it would look like if his only daughter was cut off and struggling.” I shake my head, merging into the left lane. “He won’t want that.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

I can feel her glaring at me. It’s hard not to smile. I fucking love riling her up.

“I’m glad to see you’re back to your normal cocky self.”

“You thought that went away?”

Her sigh is her only answer.

Thanks to the typical bumper-to-bumper city traffic, it’s a while before I’m able to reach her apartment building.

“Don’t waste any more time thinking about them,” I tell her, getting out to grab her bag.

“I wish I could promise I wouldn’t.” She tries to take her bag from me, but I refuse.

“What if I said every time you think about them, you have to pinch yourself?”

“It might work,” she concedes, again trying to tug the bag out of my grip. “Give me my bag.”

“I’m taking it up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why not?” I narrow my eyes on her, my gaze shooting toward the building. Annoyance floods me. Is someone there that she doesn’t want me to see? “Are you hiding someone up there?”

Lennon gasps. “God, you’re ridiculous. No, I am not hiding anyone upstairs except Laurel, if she’s back yet. She hasn’t responded to my texts.”

I glower at her. “Then I’m definitely coming up.”

“You’ll get a parking ticket. That’s fifteen-minute parking,” she argues.

“I can afford the ticket.”

She knows I won’t give up, so she walks away into her building, leaving me to follow.

She says nothing to me on the elevator ride up to her floor. I know she’s not actually mad at me; this is just . . . our thing.

It’s weird to think of us as having any sort of thing, but the more time we spend together, the more I realize how in tune with the other we are and that there are these little games we play.

The elevator opens, Lennon fumbling with her purse to find her keys.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Her tone is snappier than normal. I know the past few days are catching up with her, so I don’t call her out on it. With how everything went down with her parents, she has every right to be snappy.

She finally locates the keys, then unlocks the door to the apartment. I carry her bag in and head straight to the bedroom. When I come out, she’s already pouring herself a cup of sweet tea, looking at the glass like it better fix all her problems. She didn’t have any the whole time we were gone, so I’m sure this must feel like a much-needed treat.

“Laurel’s not back yet.”

“The whole dark, empty apartment tipped me off.”

She rolls her eyes at me, sipping her drink. “Smart-ass.” Tucking her hair behind her ear, she leans her arms against the counter and says, “This baby is going to be here before we know it. God, that’s so clichéd.” She stands up straighter. “But it’s true, and we have a lot to figure out. We should probably see a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” I blurt out, taken off guard. That’s the last thing I was expecting her to say. My brain isn’t sure how to process this turn of events.

“Yeah—I mean, we’re not together. We need to figure out custody. I imagine it’s going to be difficult at first. I plan on breastfeeding for as long as I can, so they’ll need to be with me. But I would never stop you from visiting.”

I shake my head rapidly.

It strikes me then, that maybe her dad was onto something with the whole marriage thing. Not that I’ll ever give that man credit for anything.

It’s stupid of me, but despite us not actually being a couple, it never occurred to me how little I would actually be able to be involved initially with the baby. We don’t live together, and she’s right: the baby will need to be with her more, since she’s the mother.

Fuck.

I don’t like this one bit.

“I can’t think about a lawyer right now.” I hate how fucking vulnerable I sound, but the idea of getting a lawyer involved, talking about visitation and custody, makes me feel ill.

A wrinkle forms between her brows. “Why not?”

Because we’re already faking this for our coworkers, for our families—maybe we need to make it real.

I don’t say any of it out loud. I know if I did, it would have her spiraling. She’s not ready to hear it, and I need to be certain of my feelings before I say anything.

“I don’t think we need one,” I say instead. “At least not right now.”

She presses her lips together, thinking. “Okay. If you’re comfortable with that.”

I wouldn’t say comfortable is the correct term for it, but for now I don’t want to get a lawyer involved.

“I better go. Cheddar’s probably yelling in the car, and even though I left the engine running, I don’t want anyone to think I kidnapped someone.”

She smiles, a genuine one. “I love Cheddar.”

“He loves you too.”

And I think, maybe, I might too.