“Um, it smells amazing in here,” she says, kicking off her shoes and sitting down on my bed, moving some of my approximately one hundred throw pillows out of the way. “What did you make?”
“An apple-ginger pie,” I say, sitting down beside her and laying my head on her shoulder. “It won’t be ready until tomorrow. By the way, I made out with Nick.”
Annie slides her shoulder out from under my head and looks me straight in the eyes, her mouth hanging open. “Is this a joke?”
I shake my head, thinking about the way his hands gripped my body. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Oh, wow.” Annie puts a hand over her heart. “Did I . . . write this into existence?”
“Annie.”
“I mean, I always knew you and Nick had a thing for each other, but for this to happen now, right before the movie comes out . . . I feel so powerful.”
“Annie. Stop.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, we made out, and yes, I blame you, but not because we’re, like, meant to be or whatever. You know I only believe in that kind of thing for sentimental freaks like you and Drew.”
She smiles smugly.
“That kind of thing doesn’t exist for us mere mortals. But your movie put all kinds of ideas into my head. Think about how you would feel if there were frequent listicles online about all the reasons why your boss was super hot and why the upcoming movie about your life was, and I quote, ‘relationship goals.’”
Annie leans back against my pillows. “There are a lot of articles about how my fiancé is the Internet’s boyfriend, in case you forgot. And that list where he was named the second-sexiest celebrity named Drew.”
“True.” Sometimes, I forget that Annie’s betrothed is a literal movie star, and that she met and fell in love with him in a positively rom-com-esque series of misunderstandings and tropes. Although now I know him as my BFF’s future husband, he was, for a while, known for being in a movie where he was shirtless and covered in grease/jumping out of exploding helicopters/having sex with former models who were trying their hands at acting.
“I still think it’s wrong that the Property Brother beat him,” she continues. “Drew isn’t even the hot Property Brother. Everyone knows that’s Jonathan.”
“Annie,” I say. “I think you’re taking a random Internet list a little too seriously. And anyway, it’s not the same. You and Drew were already bonkers for each other by the time gossip websites even cared who you were. No offense.”
“Absolutely none taken.”
“You don’t have to deal with the stress of people writing about something that isn’t even happening.”
Annie raises her eyebrows. “It did happen. Tonight.” She leans forward. “Can you please describe the entire event in detail?”
“No!” I look at her in horror. “You’d probably write it into a movie.”
She shrugs.
I sigh and lean against the wall. “I’m sorry I made you come over here—I’m sure you’re busy with work and planning a wedding. Although you’d be less busy if you took your time with wedding planning, like most people. Like, have it next year or something.”
“Nah.” She inspects the stitches on my quilt. “We don’t want to wait that long.”
“But why are you insisting on planning an entire wedding in one month? I barely have enough time to make a sufficient quantity of poms!”
Anne sits up straight, eyes wide. “I told you not to worry about the poms!”
I hold out my hands. “That wasn’t a complaint. I’m living for this pom wall. All I’m saying is, I don’t get why you’re rushing this. You and Drew are the real thing and . . . Wait, are you guys, like, waiting?”
She looks at me and blinks a few times.
“You know. Are you waiting until you get married to have sex?”
“Chloe!” Annie’s mouth drops open. “Do you not remember that I texted you after the first time Drew and I slept together?”
“Oh, yeah.” I cross my arms. “With details about his penis.”
“Which is why, frankly, I think you owe me details about your after-hours make-out sesh with Nick.”
“I only felt his penis through multiple layers of fabric, so I have very little to offer,” I say, then stand up. “I’m gonna open a bottle of wine. You want a glass?”
She waves a hand, back to inspecting the quilt. “Um, no. I’m good.”
“But . . . drinking wine and talking about my hookups is one of your favorite activities,” I say. She still doesn’t look at me, and the realization washes over me slowly.
“Wait,” I say, sitting down so close to her that I’m practically on her lap. “Are you . . . pregnant?”
She presses her lips together but can’t stop them from spreading into the hugest of grins. She nods quickly.
“YOU’RE CARRYING DREW DANFORTH’S PRESUMABLY HOT OFFSPRING?” I screech. “How pregnant are you?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks? And you’re just now telling me? You bitch!” I smack her on the arm, then recoil. “Oh, God. Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt the baby?”
Annie laughs. “Uh, my womb isn’t located in my upper arm, so no. We’re good.”
I cover my mouth. “And I shouldn’t have called you a bitch. The baby can hear me, right? I don’t want to teach them that sort of language until they can understand context.”
Annie scrunches her nose. “I’m not sure my eight-week-old fetus has a very developed sense of hearing. I mean, maybe. But either way, your light cursing is probably not going to traumatize it.”
I shake my head. “Whatever. The point is, you should’ve told me as soon as you felt a twinge of nausea. As that pee was drying on the stick. I should’ve known before Drew knew. You should’ve been texting me every time you had sex so I’d know there was a possibility you could conceive. Does the BFF designation mean nothing to you?”
“I didn’t feel sick! I mostly feel fine, but tired. I had my first doctor’s appointment this week to confirm, and I didn’t want to say anything until I really knew.”
She exhales a little shakily. “So . . . that’s why we’re getting married so soon. I want to have the wedding before the baby comes, because we’re probably going to be so busy after it comes that we’d never get around to it and . . . and I don’t know, I want to be married to Drew as soon as I can.”