Make Me Sin (31 page)

V
egas. I’ve only been here once before, and now I remember why I’ve never been back. I can smell the desperation in the air.

“Now
this
is what I’m talking about, bitches!”

Kenji, wearing black suede platform boots, skintight purple velvet pants, a fuchsia silk scarf, and a long, black leather trench coat even though it’s over one hundred degrees outside, sails into our suite at the Wynn with his arms held out, a giant grin on his face.

I admit the room is spectacular. It’s actually not a suite, it’s a three-thousand-square-foot villa, with balconies, a private massage room, floor-to-ceiling views of the golf course, and a dining room that seats ten. Fresh flower bouquets are everywhere, scenting the air with the delicate perfume of orchids and roses. The biggest gift basket I’ve ever seen sits in the middle of the mahogany dining table with a personal note from Steve Wynn, welcoming us to his resort.

It’s weird having a famous friend.

Kat and Kenji are sharing one bedroom; Grace and I have the other. It’s Kat’s bachelorette weekend. I’m determined to smile constantly so they’ll all stop looking sideways at me, so obviously wondering how I’m holding up after being jettisoned like shit from an airplane toilet that it makes me want to scream.

“Okay, who needs a drink?”

Like Kenji, Grace is also rocking a definite Vegas style: sky-high stilettos, tons of black eye makeup, hair teased out to
there
, and a teal Valentino minidress so short I’m sure her coochie is about to make an unscheduled appearance. She stands at the large, curved bar over a three-deep row of bottles, wiggling her fingers in anticipation.

“You know what I need, girlfriend.” Kat drops her handbag on the sofa and kicks off her shoes. She heads toward the bedrooms.

Grace nods. “Margarita: rocks, salted rim, Patrón silver. Coming up. Kenji?”

“Do we have any Hendrick’s?”

Grace looks over the display of bottles, then holds one up. “Yes.”

“I’ll take a gimlet.” He doffs his leather duster, flips the collar up on his shirt, then throws himself dramatically onto the long butterscotch leather sofa, where he sighs in bliss.

“Chloe?”

When I think about having a drink, my stomach turns. It’s been doing that a lot lately. I’ve gone off half a dozen foods; everything from salad dressing to the tofu I usually love disgusts me. And I’ve been craving
meat
, for the first time in years.

A.J. not only broke my heart, he broke my appetite.

“I’ll just have a sparkling water, thanks.”

Grace stares at me as if I’ve just told her I’m plotting a government coup. “Sparkling water?” She looks at Kenji. “What language is this strange woman speaking? I don’t understand a word coming out of her mouth.” She turns her attention back to me. “Is this, or is this not, a bachelorette party?”

The argument isn’t worth it. I can always dump my drink down the sink when no one’s looking. “Fine, I’ll take a vodka rocks.”

“That’s my girl!”

From somewhere deep in the bowels of the villa, Kat shouts, “You guys! Come check out the bedrooms! They’re
huge
!”

Before I make a move, a bout of nausea hits me so hard I’m slapping my hand over my mouth as I run to the bathroom. I hear Grace calling my name, but I can’t stop; the contents of my stomach are coming up, and they’re on the express train. I barely make it to the toilet before I’m bent over, retching into the bowl.

“Jesus, honey, what did you eat?” Grace has followed me into the bathroom. Like the good friend she is, she holds my hair away from my face as I cough and spit.

“Nothing. I haven’t had anything to eat all day.” Those strange, unemotional tears that always accompany vomiting stream down my cheeks. I slump to the floor and lean against the wall, panting, my stomach in knots. Grace hands me some tissue and I blow my nose. I drag the back of my hand across my face, wiping at the wetness on my cheeks. “Whoa. That just hit me out of nowhere.”

“You should see your face, it’s totally green.” Grace turns on the sink faucet, runs water over a hand towel, and passes it to me so I can wipe my face. She jokes, “It’s not morning sickness, is it?”

The world comes to a standstill.

Clocks stop ticking, birds stop singing, the earth stops spinning under my feet. A noise like a thousand wolves howling swells inside my head.

I count, then recount, then count again. Slowly, I raise my gaze to hers. My eyes, which I’ve just wiped dry, fill again with water. I whisper, “Grace.”

Her lips part. She stares at me in wordless horror. She shakes her head in disbelief. “No.”

“I don’t know. I think . . . I think I missed my period. I can’t . . . I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve been so . . . I’ve been so . . .”

My mind blinks offline. It can’t stand the possibility of what it’s putting together, so it just shuts down completely, leaving me staring stupidly at Grace with my mouth hanging open.

She kneels on the floor in front of me. Her face is white. She grips my wrist so firmly it hurts. “Think. When was your last period?”

I swallow. In a thin, wavering voice, I say, “May. The beginning of May.”

Her eyes go very wide. “And this is the beginning of August.”

I start to shake. “No. It can’t be. I’m . . . it’s just because I’ve been
depressed, and not eating right, and working too hard, and . . . and . . .”
When I run out of implausible excuses, I look at her pleadingly, begging her with my eyes for another explanation.

She blows out a slow breath and slumps to the floor beside me. “There’s only one sure way to find out. You need to take a pregnancy test.”

Please, God. Please. Don’t let this be happening to me. Not now. Not after everything I’ve been through. Not this, too.

“We can’t tell Kat. It’s her big weekend. I can’t ruin it for her.”

Grace and I look at each other, and I can tell by the look on her face she understands exactly what I’m referring to. There’s an awful story in Kat’s past about a pregnancy that didn’t end well. There’s no way I can bring up my fears without being one hundred percent certain either way.

Grace reaches over and squeezes my knee. “You’re right,” she says softly, “we’ll wait until Monday to deal with this.” Her eyes are so sad I feel like bursting into tears. “But, honey, you can’t wait any longer than that. If it’s really been since May, there are decisions you have to make . . .”

She keeps talking, but I stop listening, because I’m filled with a sudden, inexplicable relief.

I’ve gotten a reprieve from reality. For another two days, I don’t have to face the possibility that I’m pregnant with A.J.’s child.

Yippee.

T
he weekend passes in a blur. I couldn’t say what we did or where we went or who we saw, it’s all a jumbled mess of memories. Flashing lights, rainbow colors, raucous laughter, and the smell of cigarettes, everything underscored by the worry gnawing my stomach. My insomnia doesn’t help matters. No matter what I try, I just can’t get to sleep. My mind runs on a hamster wheel the minute I lie down, and eventually I get up and leave Grace softly snoring in the other king-size bed in our room, and wander through the dark villa alone.

As I watch the sun come up over the desert, I say a little prayer of thanks that my suggestion to have Nico spend his bachelor weekend next door to Kat’s never panned out. I have a secret suspicion Kat put the kibosh on that after what happened between me and A.J., but the idea was never mentioned again.

No one ever speaks his name around me. We’ve all adopted an unspoken “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, which suits me just fine.

One thing I do know for certain: A.J. is still Nico’s best man, and Kat is none too happy about it. I overheard a one-sided phone conversation in which Kat hissed, “I don’t care what he’s going through, Nico, Chloe walked in on him with a
hooker
!”

I turned around and walked away before I could hear more, before my mind could spend too much time dwelling on what he might be going through. I can’t let myself care what his problems are. It will be bad enough seeing him at the wedding.

When I think of that it makes me ill.

We fly back from Vegas the same way we arrived: on Nico’s private jet. Until we disembark—or is it deplane? I can never remember the difference—I’m confident Grace and I have done a good job of covering up any possible whiff that anything might be amiss. But as we’re waiting for the limo driver to finish putting our luggage in the trunk, Kat pulls me aside and demands, “Okay, this has gone on long enough. What’s up?”

I don’t bother with evasions. She’ll find out soon enough either way; I’m headed straight to the drugstore after she drops me off at my apartment. “Okay. Two things. One: I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, and I definitely didn’t want to upset you. Because I think this might upset you.”

She frowns, and I hurry on. “And two: before I tell you, you have to promise me you’ll keep it a secret. You can’t tell anyone. Not even Nico.”

Her brows shoot up. “Honey, there’s nothing I don’t tell him. You know that.”

I nod. “But that’s my condition. He can’t know. Because if he knows, there’s the possibility that he might tell A.J., and I’m just not ready . . .”

I trail off because Kat’s mouth has dropped open. Her eyes go wide in the same way Grace’s did. “Oh, God, Chloe,
no
.”

She’s figured it out already. I should have known. “Are you upset?”

She figures that out, too. Faster than I can blink, I’m pulled into a hug. “No, you idiot, I’m not upset for
me
, I’m only worried about
you
!” She pulls back and clutches my arms. “How could this have happened? Didn’t you use protection? I thought you were on the pill!”

Suddenly it feels as if gravity is working overtime, and I’m about to be sucked down into the ground and swallowed up forever. Which might not be such a bad thing.

“I haven’t been on the pill in months, not since Eric. And A.J. and I did use condoms, just this one time . . . we got a little carried away.” The laugh I make sounds disturbing, even to me. “And it only takes once, doesn’t it?”

Kat moans. “Oh, sweetie. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Kat. Honestly, I don’t know anything anymore. Just, please—don’t tell Nico. Not yet. I’m not even sure yet. Fingers crossed, this is all just from stress.” I try on a grim smile. “Or maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll be cancer.”

Kat hugs me with all her might. “I’m here for you, whatever happens. You know that, right?”

I look over her shoulder at Kenji and Grace staring with worried eyes at the two of us, and I’m grateful that I’ve got people on my side, because I have a terrible feeling I’m going to need them.

If my trip to the drugstore ends with a little blue line on a stick that I’ve peed on, I’m going to need them all.

T
hree hours later, I stare down at the white plastic stick in my hand, laughing. I laugh and laugh and laugh, until eventually I start to cry.

Sobbing, I look up at my bathroom ceiling. “God, I’d just like you to know that I officially hate your guts. And don’t expect to hear from me ever again.”

I throw the stick in the trashcan and go into the living room to call my mother.

She’s always wanted to be a grandma.