Pushing myself up from the table, I look around for my phone, but it’s nowhere to be found. The ringing stops, then starts up again from the other side of the bed. Right. I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t get distracted.

I flop onto the bed and grab my purse to rummage through it. Wallet, lipstick, tissues, a couple of mints, pads and tampons, a granola bar I was saving for later. Phone. There it is.

In the span of a few seconds, the phone goes silent, and I go still. My stomach drops.

Pads and tampons.

I brought them with because I was supposed to start my period almost as soon as I got to New York a week ago. Frantically, I dump all the contents of my purse onto the bed until I find my packet of birth control pills. I’ve never been good at remembering to take medication, but with the exception of those stupid placebo pills at the end of the month, I’m usually pretty good about taking these. Because there is absolutely no way I could handle a baby right now. Not with this schedule. Not with this pressure. No matter how much I want a kid somewhere down the line.

But sure enough, I missed a few pills this month.

It’s hard to fill my lungs, almost as if the air in my hotel room is suddenly thin. Okay, Scarlett. Don’t panic, I try to tell myself. There’s nothing to do but make sure. It’s probably nothing. Stress can cause you to miss a period. So can weight loss.

I shove everything into my purse and hurry out the door.

Two lines.

Two fucking lines.

My phone rings yet again as I’m standing in the bathroom, holding the positive test. Instead of the relief I usually feel when I see Ryan’s name, my heart starts racing. Am I supposed to tell him I’m pregnant over the phone? How is he going to react? Is this something he wants? Is this something I want?

Yes. With him. Eventually.

Not now. I can’t right now. This is going to change everything, and not in a magical way where everything will be fixed. In an awful way where I will have a baby and still need to fulfill my contracts with JMP.

With a shaky hand, I answer the phone and bring it to my ear. “Hey, you.” My own forced cheerfulness makes me wince, but Ryan doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Two words.

Two lines, absolute panic, and two words have me bolstered. It’s Ryan. This is what he does for me, to me. He gives me strength to keep going without even knowing I needed it. Maybe without even knowing he’s doing it.