I should have known there would be a however.

“As I looked over the images from your exam, I concluded that your cervix is very narrow, and from what I can see, very short. I’d like to show you what I mean, if that’s okay?”

Dr. West adjusts his glasses and I nod in agreement. Short and narrow cervix. I did enough research online to know what that means.

TEN LONG MINUTES LATER, he’s shown me in great detail the things I already knew. I’ve known what he would conclude with. I knew the moment that I left his office two and a half weeks ago. As I get myself dressed, his words play on repeat through my mind:

“Not impossible, but highly unlikely.”

“There are other options—adoption is a route many people choose to go.”

“You’re still really young. As you get older, you and your partner can explore the best options for you.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Young.”

Without thinking, I dial Hardin’s number on the way to my car. I’m greeted by his voicemail three times before I force myself to put my phone away.

I don’t need him, or anyone, right now. I can deal with this on my own. I already knew this. I have already dealt with this in my mind and filed it away.

It doesn’t matter that Hardin didn’t answer the phone. I’m fine. Who cares if I can’t get pregnant? I’m only nineteen, and all of the other plans I’ve made have fallen through so far anyway. It’s only fitting that this last piece of my ultimate plan is blown to pieces, too.

The drive back to Kimberly’s is long because of congested traffic again. I hate driving, I’ve decided. I hate people who have road rage. I hate the way it always rains here. I hate the way young girls blare loud music with their windows rolled down, even in the rain. Just roll your windows up!

I hate the way I’m trying to stay positive and not turn into the pathetic Tessa I was last week. I hate that it’s so hard to think of anything except that my body betrayed me in the most final and intimate way.

I was born this way, Dr. West says. Of course I was. Just like my mother, no matter how perfect I try to be, it will never happen. There is a silver lining here, a sick one, in that at least I won’t pass any of the traits I got from her to a child. I suppose I can’t blame my mother for my faulty cervix, but I want to. I want to blame someone or something, but I can’t.

This is the way the world works: if you want something bad enough, it gets stripped away and held out of reach. Just the way Hardin is. No Hardin and no babies. The two would never have mixed anyway, but it was nice to pretend I could have the luxury of both.

As I walk into Christian’s house, I’m relieved to find I’m home alone. Not home, but here. Without checking my phone, I strip down and get into the shower. I don’t know how long I stay in there, watching the water circle the drain over and over. The water is cold when I finally climb out and dress myself in the T-shirt of Hardin’s that he left for me in my suitcase, when he sent me away in London.

I’m just lying here now, in this empty bed, and by the time I start to wish Kimberly were home, I get a text from her saying she and Christian are staying overnight downtown and Smith will be at the sitter’s all night. I have the entire house to myself and nothing to do, no one to talk to. No one now, not even a little baby later to care for and love.

I keep pitying myself and I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t seem to stop it.

Have some wine and rent a movie, our treat! Kimberly responds to my text wishing her fun for the night.

My phone starts to ring as soon as I send my thanks to her. Hardin’s number flashes on the screen, and I debate whether to answer.

By the time I reach the wine fridge in the kitchen, he’s routed to my voicemail, and I’ve reserved a ticket to Pity Party Central.

A BOTTLE OF WINE LATER, I’m in the living room halfway through a terrible action film that I rented about a marine turned nanny turned mighty alien hunter. It seemed to be the only movie on the list that had nothing to do with love, babies, or anything happy.

When did I become such a downer? I take another drink of wine, straight from the bottle. I gave up on the wineglass five blown-up spaceships ago.

My phone rings again, and this time, as I look at the screen, my drunken thumbs accidently answer for me.

Chapter fifty-one

HARDIN

Tess?” I say into the phone, trying to hide my panic. She has been ignoring my calls all night, and I’ve been going insane wondering what I could have done wrong—what else I could have done wrong this time.

“Yeah.” Her voice is cloudy, slow, and off. With one word I can tell she’s been drinking.

“Wine again?” I chuckle. “Should I lecture you yet?” I tease her but only get silence on the line. “Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just watching a movie.”

“With Kimberly?” My stomach twists at the possibility of anyone else being there with her.

“Myself. I’m alone here in this biiiiiig house.” Her voice is flat, even as she exaggerates her words.

“Where’re Kimberly and Vance?” I shouldn’t be this worried, but her tone has me on edge.

“Out for the night. Smith, too. I’m just here watching a movie alone. Story of my life, right?” She laughs, but there’s nothing behind it. No emotion at all.

“Tessa, what’s going on? How much did you drink?”

She sighs into the phone, and I swear I can literally hear her gulping more wine.