Authors: Stacey Wiedower
Now he looked solidly amused. "I was being serious," he said. "Who are you going out with these days? Or is it all three? You haven't talked about it, but I know you've got something going on with at least one of them, after what happened at that party."
Erin sighed and gave him a speculative look. She wasn't sure if she should confide in him or not, now that the lines between them seemed so blurred. Was this Ben, her old friend, or Ben, the guy who'd been acting jealous and who'd told her she looked sexy?
He was gazing into her eyes with an expectant expression. She sighed again.
"All three, huh?" he said.
"No," she snapped.
Ben waited, eyebrows raised.
"Well, technically, I guess," she said, and paused. "Tonight, yes, I'm on a date with Ed. And yes, I've been going out with both Paul and Devon, and I don't know what to do about it."
"Do they know about each other?"
"Yes," she said too quickly." Ben's eyebrows went up again. "They've read about each other on the blog," she added sheepishly.
"I know that," he said. "But do they know you're
currently
going out with the other one?"
"Devon does," she said, shame rushing through her as she thought about the fact that she'd avoided calling Devon for more days now than she cared to admit. She had four messages from him saved on her phone. At this point, she figured, she'd probably ruined any chance she had with him even if she did call him back.
"Paul…I don't think he knows. But he's been reading the blog. He knows I'm here with a date tonight."
Ben's eyes scanned the room for Ed, who was easy to find considering he was a head taller than most people in the room.
"I'm sure he's happy about that," he said. "How did you find this Edwa…Ed character, anyway?"
"Don't say it like that," she said, squeezing his arm lightly as they spun in slow circles to an '80s power ballad. "Ed's a nice guy."
"I'm sure he is," Ben said dryly.
She chose to ignore the comment, and braced herself for more ridicule as she said, "My mom set us up."
Ben chuckled. "That's awesome."
"You're being mean tonight," Erin said, scowling at him. "What about you? What's up with you and the doctor?"
His expression became closed, unreadable. "What do you mean?"
"Dr. Catherine,
Cat
?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. "You've been seeing her a while now, right?"
He shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. I haven't really been keeping score. It's not like we're dating exclusively or anything like that."
"Hmmph." Erin remembered his arm slung possessively over Catherine's shoulders during the wedding ceremony, and she unconsciously clutched his arm a little tighter. "What's she doing now?"
Ben's eyes scanned the crowd above Erin's, as if he'd just remembered he'd left Catherine somewhere. "She went to the bathroom."
Erin followed his gaze and spotted Ben's date threading through the tables, which were topped by elaborate floral centerpieces that rested on expensive-looking metallic tablecloths. Catherine stopped beside the table where she and Ben had been sitting and started looking around the room.
"She's back." Erin shifted her gaze before Catherine spotted them. "I wonder if she'd agree with your take on your relationship status? She might not like seeing you dance with another woman." Erin's voice was light, though her thoughts were in a turmoil.
Ben looked down at her. Their feet had slowed as they scanned the crowd, so they were almost standing still now. The song ended and a faster one started, but Erin barely noticed. "She knows we're just friends," Ben said, but his voice was huskier than normal, and Erin felt as if they were back in college, in the dark car, Ben's lips trailing almost imperceptibly against her hair. Her nerve endings were on fire, and her flight instinct in full force.
"Just friends," she agreed, her voice shaky as she loosened her grip on his waist. "If you keep picking on me, I wouldn't count on it staying that way."
He half-smiled, shook his head, and followed her off the dance floor and in the direction of their dates.
* * *
It was 2 a.m. when Sherri keyed into the apartment to find Erin, still awake and still wearing her strapless, champagne-colored bridesmaid's dress while hunched over the computer. She was already two hours late turning in an essay test for her mass comm survey class. She'd been neglecting her online coursework because the blog was taking so much of her time.
After the wedding reception she'd gone out with Ed for drinks, since she felt like she'd gypped him on the date front. She hadn't thought about how awkward it would be to take a date to a wedding she was actually taking part in. All in all, they'd probably only spent a fifth of the evening together.
She also hadn't figured, when she'd considered the 30 First Dates idea in theory, how awkward "thirty first dates" would be in reality. First dates sucked. At least Ed, who was just starting to date again after a nasty divorce from his wife of fifteen months, agreed with her. It had given them a common ground—and it gave Erin a sense of relief, because at least
this
guy wouldn't expect anything from her after their date was over. He seemed even less ready for commitment than she was.
"Maybe I should just quit this whole blasted thing," Erin said by way of greeting.
Sherri looked surprised for a couple seconds—then walked into the living room, kicked off her shoes and collapsed into a chair.
"What's wrong, babe?"
"Oh, nothing." Erin sighed. "Everything. Nothing." She pushed her laptop forward in the middle of answering the last test question. "It's this damn Marissa Spiegel thing. I'm so sick of it. Every time I get on Twitter I have to read tweets about how I'm setting women back a hundred years or how I might as well let a man drag me around by my hair or how I'm just out to get my face on magazines." She huffed and tipped her head toward her laptop. "Like I had any idea anybody would even read this damn thing, let alone that I went into it with an agenda."
"Forget about the haters," Sherri said. "In fact, be glad about it. They wouldn't be hating on you if you weren't successful. Think of it as a sign that you've arrived."
Erin laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound.
"That's not the half of it," she said. She pointed to her computer again. "I'm probably going to flunk these classes." She paused and sighed heavily, then dropped her head into her hands. Her next words were muffled. "And I'm late."
"You're what? Late?" Sherri asked. "On what? Your assignment? Don't worry about it. You'll catch up. Besides, I don't think you really need this degree anyway. You can turn the blog into a writing career without getting another degree. Hey, did Cameron get back with you on the redesign of the site?" Her voice faded when she saw that Erin still had her face buried in her hands. She sat up in the chair and lowered her face to Erin's level. "Erin?"
Erin looked up miserably. "No. I'm
late
. I'm like clockwork. And I just realized I should've started, like, four days ago."
Sherri, for once, was speechless. She sat back again.
"Are you…sure?"
Erin shut her eyes tightly, and then pressed her fingertips into her temples. It took her several seconds to answer. "No." She paused. "I mean, yes, I'm sure that I'm late. I should have started around Tuesday. Am I sure that I'm…pregnant?" She had trouble getting out the word. "No. It's probably just stress. And I think it's probably too early to take a test."
"I'm sure you're just late," Sherri said. "Didn't you and Devon use protection?" She paused. "Or did you and Paul—"
"No!" Erin almost yelled. "I haven't been with anybody but Devon. And yes, he wore a condom. But, you know, ninety-six percent."
"You should be on the pill," Sherri said, as if that solved anything.
"I never have sex!" Erin wailed. "I haven't been on the pill since I was with Noah. Besides, it gives me weird side effects."
Sherri didn't argue. They'd had this conversation before.
"Have you talked to Devon?"
"No. Not in a while." Erin gulped. He'd left another voicemail message tonight while she was at the wedding. She'd almost called him back multiple times, but she wasn't sure what to say to him. Things with Devon had happened much too fast, and Erin didn't see a way to slow them down without stopping them all together. But now that her period was late…
"Girl. You've got to talk to him."
"I know." Erin rubbed her eyes, then reached forward and pulled her computer back onto her lap. "First I've got to finish this test. Then I've got to start a blog post. Then I've got to live in denial a little bit longer before I can deal with any of this."
She began typing, and after a few minutes Sherri stood up. She leaned over and brushed a strand of Erin's hair out of her face as she passed by the sofa. "It'll all be okay," she said. "Trust me."
Erin looked up at her briefly and then turned her eyes back to the screen. "I know." Sherri stood there a few seconds longer, looking sleepy and indecisive. Erin looked up again and mumbled, "I'll be all right, really."
As soon as Sherri turned and started walking to her room, Erin reached up to brush a tear from her cheek.
Waiting Game
Tuesday at work, Erin threw herself into The Ledger with gusto…anything to get her mind off her plethora of worries. She still hadn't started her period. She was now seven days late, which meant if the ads weren't lying she could take a pregnancy test at this point. But she'd done some online reading and learned that test results weren't always reliable this early, so she hadn't bought one yet. Instead she kept waiting and praying and visiting the bathroom at least once every hour.
In the past two days she'd caught up on her coursework and posted a blog entry about the wedding, her date with Ed, and her thoughts on growing up and turning thirty. The post was lighthearted and funny—the polar opposite of how she really felt. She'd also answered every email related to the blog about ad placement or media requests, and she'd answered every reader comment from the past week. She'd done two phone interviews, one with a Dallas women's magazine and one with another blogger to discuss her views on women and defend 30 First Dates against its feminist critics.
She'd tweeted and Facebooked and Instagrammed and Vined and commented on other people's blogs. She'd called Cameron, the web designer Sherri had recommended, and he was working on sample designs he called "mockups." She'd emailed the tattoo parlor owner and taken him up on his offer for a tattoo and a date, which was scheduled for the next weekend.
Basically, she'd done everything in her power to stay busy every waking hour of every day so she wouldn't spend all that time worrying. She'd also started avoiding not just Devon, but Paul and Ben, too. And her mom, for that matter.
The week hadn't been all bad. Along with her burst of nervous productivity, she'd received offers from two different ski lodges for all-expenses paid trips in return for a review on her blog (thanks to item No. 2 on her list, Learn to snow ski). She also had an offer from a California winery that wanted to sponsor item No. 14, Taste wines in Napa.
With the free trips, the ad revenue she was starting to generate, the pittance she was earning from her internship, and the loan she'd taken out to fund her classes, she was less worried about being able to afford to complete her list—plus she was able to pay more than the minimum balance on her credit card. She had a long way to go to get back in the black, but at least money wasn't one of the worries plaguing her now.
Unless she was pregnant…
"Heads up, Crawford."
Erin swiveled in her chair just in time to get clocked on the right cheek by a crumpled up piece of paper. It was thrown by Mario McAllister, an associate editor whose desk was adjacent to hers and who was now standing up and peering into her cube. He was lanky, with curly hair and a complexion that bore the remnants of a teenaged acne problem, and he'd been flirting with her since she started. She'd toyed with the idea of asking him on a blog date—her old philosophy of get 'em where she could find 'em—but decided going out with another co-worker was NOT a good idea.
"What's up?" she asked.
"What's up with you?" Mario answered. He nodded toward her screen.
Erin looked over her shoulder and noticed several lines of periods tracing across her screen. In her haze she must have been leaning on the keyboard without realizing it.
Sure, I can get a period that way
, she thought, then instantly felt depressed.
"Oh." She smiled sheepishly. "Guess I'm a little distracted today."
"Guess so." He gave her a crooked smile. "Got lunch plans?"
"No," Erin said. "What do you have in mind?"
"Anamia's?" It was a nearby Tex-Mex place frequented by magazine staff.
"Sure," Erin replied. "Why don't you see if Sophie and Luke want to go? I'll ask Sheila and Kyle."
Mario shook his head. "Kissing up to the boss men," he said. "Shame on you."
Erin smirked at him, wishing she could feel as lighthearted as he always came across. As she usually came across. "Whatev."
The truth was, she felt more comfortable with Kyle than anyone else there. He was her age, for one thing, and she felt eons older than the other interns and slightly ill at ease around the writers and editors, who were all younger than she was but more experienced in the field. Kyle, she knew, "got" why she was doing this.
Half an hour later, she was goofing off with her co-workers at Anamia's, pretending she didn't have a care in the world.
* * *
That afternoon, Erin had been home for twenty minutes when the doorbell rang. Wary, she checked the peephole before answering it. She saw a receding hairline partially covered up by petals.
She opened the door and took the flowers from the delivery man's outstretched hands. After signing his clipboard and saying thanks, she walked the arrangement to the kitchen and set it down first on the countertop, then in the center of the table. She stepped back to examine the bursting spray of roses, day lilies, and another plant she couldn't name—curiously they were all yellow. As she reached for the card, her mind flashed to Devon and the yellow flowers they carried when they met.