I laugh, thinking of the shit weather we’ve had over Christmas and the slight loneliness I’ve felt without my girlfriends. It’s a bit of a joke how crap the season turned, but I can’t fully complain; not everything has been terrible. In fact, my usually cynical self realizes it’s actually been quite the opposite.
“The weather is shite and my apartment is bloody freezing, but Owen’s mum made a delicious Christmas dinner, so it’s not all bad. I miss you girls too.”
“It’s the dead of winter here. Thank God for heating.”
She laughs, and it’s abrupt and lacking warmth. I decide to pry, my gut telling me that something isn’t okay. And I’m guessing that something has to do with Reeve. Unfortunately for Em, the guy who manages a large portion of her happiness also has the same power over her sadness.
“Is everything all right, Em?” I keep my voice soft, not wanting to scare her off.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she responds, voice low and breathy. She’s silent for a few moments before continuing. “I just miss you, that’s all. The holidays are always hard for me.”
Fuck, here I am thinking about her being upset at Reeve when it’s Christmas and her parents are gone. Instantly I feel horrible for missing the trip to Edinburgh, but I know deep down I’m still not ready.
“I can only imagine how hard this time of year is for you, Em. I’m really sorry I wasn’t there for Christmas.”
“Oh my God, don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t want to come back to Edinburgh either if I were you. You have nothing to feel bad about. I just was in a shit mood and wanted to call and hear your voice.” She tries to put on the cheer, but it feels forced.
“It’s okay to be in a shit mood, Em. As long as it doesn’t take over every aspect of your life. Shit happens, moods happen. Accept it and it will go away eventually.”
“You’re right, Lo. But enough about me—tell me about Christmas with Owen. Did Evie make Christmas pudding?”
I can’t help but grin at the mention of Owen and his family. Meeting Evie felt as though I were officially in a secret club that only the most special attend.
“Evie’s great,” I gush. “She welcomed me with open arms despite not knowing me from Adam. I’m really thankful Owen took me with him.”
“That makes me so happy, Lottie. If anyone deserves a good holiday, it’s you. And tell me, did Evie put on Love Actually for everyone?”
“Yes!” I reply. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Owen shocked that I knew a film.” I laugh, thinking about the look on his face.
We speak for a few more minutes, filling one another in on everything we ate. It makes my stomach rumble, but I push down thoughts of more food. Ever since this baby came into the picture, I’ve been a nonstop eating machine.
A week later, everyone is finally back in London. My feet practically trip over one another as I race to Saint Street, wanting to punch the entire rush of customers that made me have to stay late at work. Okay, maybe punching them is a little extreme, but I have plans!
I tug at my oversized hot-pink sweater, thankful it’s winter and I don’t have to worry too much about hiding my bump. I’m going to tell the girls next week—I just hope they don’t murder me for waiting so long. I’ve got my bag full of shit from work, my entire demeanor a bit frazzled.
Finally here, I hastily lug open the big red door and barrel down the stairs, my black-and-gold combat boots thudding with each step.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I got stuck at work,” I call out, noticing everyone when I’m halfway down the stairs. I spot Owen, my chest doing its usual dance at his presence. I must be overly flustered from everything, because the next foot that hits the carpeted steps misses, my leg collapsing under me as my purse jolts me forward.
As if it’s happening in slow motion, I lean my weight to the side to avoid my stomach. I slip down the last few stairs, and my side takes the brunt of my fall as I connect with the ground. Someone calls my name, but I stay silent, attempting to assess how badly I’ve hurt myself.
I wince when I touch my side, and fear quickly overtakes any other thoughts or feelings. What if I’ve hurt the baby? Panic floods my system at the possibility.
“Shit, Lottie, are you okay?” Stana asks from across the room, but I don’t reply. It’s a matter of seconds after my body meets the floor that Owen is by my side, his hand on my head while the other pulls me into an upright position.
“Call 999,” he shouts to someone, probably anyone. I’m still silent, in shock. Well, probably not actual shock. Most people don’t know this, but shock is a medical condition that your body goes into. People are just frivolous with the use of the term.
Okay, now I’m rambling. Maybe I am in shock.
Everyone is silent while they make the call, Owen not taking his hands off me. I use the time to reassess myself, pain only coming from my side where I hit the floor.
I look to Owen, panic etching every little space in his eyes, his grip on me unrelenting.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers so softly to me, I question if he’s trying to convince himself.
With an operator on the phone, Owen rushes to Emilia and grabs it out of her hands.
“She’s fallen down a flight of stairs. I’m not sure if she’s seriously injured,” Owen says, voice firm but I hear the panic. Then he utters the words that will change everything for me, but keeping secrets is not a priority. “But she’s twenty-seven weeks pregnant and twenty-five years old.”
I hear the girls’ gasps, not daring to look their
