Cal
"I'm waiting, Noelle. When were you going to tell me?"
My patience with her is running thin. I've had my suspicions, but they were confirmed this morning when I watched her closer than I ever have. Since I'm the baby of a family of five and the rest of my siblings are girls, I know a thing or two about pregnant women.
"Soon," she hedges, clasping her fingers in front of her stomach. "It's getting to the point where I can't keep it to myself," she admits, tilting her head to the side. “How did you know?”
“Say it,” I press. “You haven’t told me yet. I need to hear it from you.” I’ve known her for years, so I also know her tells. The way she’s rubbing her fingers against one another says she’s nervous and perhaps lying, but I’ll give her a pass.
“I’ve known for three weeks that I’m carrying your baby," she shrugs helplessly. "Thought I had a stomach virus."