My throat constricted, like a rubber band twisting around my admission.

"Oh, G.o.d, Chase.

It's all so wrong!"

Our eyes reconnected.

In his, I found sympathy.

And jealousy.

It doesn't matter, Kristina.

We can make it right.

He Drove Me Home-Slowly

My stomach flip-flopped with every curve and brake.

Finally, he asked, So what do you think?

I had no answers.

None at all.

So he joked, Should be a cute kid, anyway.

Which made me smile but still gave me no answers.

He offered, Don't answer me now.

Not then, but soon.

I was already six weeks p.g.

He probed, I know it's a tough decision ...

Tough. Too tough.

And all mine to make.

He dared, but life is full of tough decisions.

Like a guy would ever have to face this one.

He suggested, Maybe you should talk to your mom.

My Mom?!?!

The ice princess? The b.i.t.c.h queen?

The "mother" of all mothers?

What was he thinking?

How could I talk to her?

We hadn't really talked in months.

What would I tell her now?

That I was pregnant?

That I was pregnant because I was raped?

That I was raped because I would have done anything for just one more taste of the monster?

Where would I start?

Where would I finish?

How much to admit?

How much to hide?

How much to confess?

Where would I find such nerve without crank to open my mouth?

And if I did dig down deep enough to find it, would I crumble and weep?

Would she?

The Kitchen Was Warm

and carried a scent of hot b.u.t.ter, wrapped in cinnamon.

It reminded me of when I was little.

Before Jake.

Before Scott.

Despite Dad.

Back when I still believed Mom was the perfect mother.

She, Leigh, and I were the trinity.

We baked together.

Canned together.

Planned together.

Plotted birthdays and holidays around homemade gifts that didn't cost much but time and love.

And the fun was not only in the giving, but in the shared creation.

I adored Mom then.

Could my own child ever love me so?

Somehow She Didn't Notice

the wavering tone of my "Hi, Mom."

I sat down at the table and she brought me a plate of warm oatmeal cookies.

Hi, Honey. How was your day?

I almost laughed. I almost cried.

I managed to hold both inside. "Okay."

Good deal. Hey, I need your input.

My input? Was this some odd attempt at bonding?

What should we get Leigh for Christmas?

Christmas. It would come right on schedule, despite my predicament.

I already put an Xbox on layaway for Jake.

Whatever choices I made, Jake would indulge in the latest video games.

And I got Scott a new set of clubs.

Come spring, regardless of my decision, Scott would enjoy a great game of golf.

But I'm just not sure about Leigh....

Leigh. Would she ever know the pleasure-or terror-of pregnancy?

Does she have a DVD player?

I bobbed my head. "Heather does.

How about a Palm Pilot?"

Great idea! Leigh's so disorganized!

The ice princess gently stroked my hair, and for one very scary instant...

There's the buzzer. More cookies?

I verged on coming clean.

I Opened My Mouth