by Snow, Jenika
And it hurt. It hurt a lot. It was like a piece of myself was missing not talking to Devon, not being around him. And I knew that hurt him just as much, knew it was just as painful for him.
But I needed to think, to profess. I loved him, gave him my virginity whether he knew it or not, and my entire life had taken a one-eighty in such a short amount of time.
But he gave me the space. He told me he’d be there whenever I was ready to talk, to fix things. But could this fix things?
Or would this make things even worse?
14
Leila
I was running. Again. I wasn’t proud of that during the last month, month and a half. I’d been hiding, pushing away, trying to avoid him, and ignoring the person who meant the most to me. But I was terrified about what all this meant, what it meant for our future.
And so I had to get away for a bit, to think about what I was going to do, how I was going to handle everything. And the only place I could think about going was to my parents’.
With my job security so uncertain right now—having only found a waitressing job for now—my stress was already high. Coupled with the drunken night of incredible sex I had with Devon made it even higher.
Then go ahead and add on an unexpected pregnancy and now a secret baby, because I was clearly out of my mind and afraid to tell him.
What if he questioned paternity? It was his right, obviously, but I’d been a virgin that night, and I didn’t know if he was aware or not. I hadn’t told him, and he’d clearly not said anything. Maybe that wasn’t something a guy could tell?
Maybe he thought I did this kind of thing all the time, jumping in bed with guys when I drank? Although he was my best friend, the only person I hung out with, and he knew me better than anyone, I had no clue what would go through his mind.
But this was Devon. He’d never think that about me.
I admitted how immature I was acting, my emotions controlling me, but this situation had gone from uncomfortable to totally fucked up. I didn’t know how to process it, and running seemed like the only logical thing to do at the moment.
I couldn’t talk to my parents about this, not right now. And I really wasn’t about to tell them about the pregnancy before I told Devon, before I knew what the hell I was going to do.
The doctor said I had options, and although I knew what she meant, there was no way I was giving up this baby. It was mine, and I already loved it so much.
So I called up my parents and told them I was coming up for an impromptu visit. I’d just head out, pack a weekend bag, and hope I’d find some damn clarity.
It was wrong, and a part of me hated myself for running, for not going to Devon and telling him about the pregnancy. But I had to get my head wrapped around all this. I had to figure out what I was going to do. I absolutely would tell him, but when?
Already, I felt like an awful person for keeping this from him, even though I just found out myself. Maybe I could talk to my parents, explain what I was feeling, tell them about the baby? But I was already telling myself no. The first person I would tell about this would be Devon.
My parents would no doubt freak, although they would support any decision. But they were also old school, meaning they’d no doubt give me the speech about being disappointed, because I was so young, because I wasn’t married, hell, because I wasn’t even in a relationship. And that was definitely not something I wanted to deal with right now.
So for now, I’d keep this to myself for the time being, figure out what I was going to do, and then I’d tell my parents after I told Devon. I’d deal with their disappointed expressions and their concerned talk another day. Today, I’d just tell them about losing my job, which I hadn’t even confided in them yet.
I’d tell them that although I lost my job, I found another. It wasn’t anything but a part-time position at the local diner, but given the lack of job openings in town, I was lucky to have gotten that. But hell, that would hardly pay my half of the rent, not to mention all the other expenses I had. I was currently continuing to live off my savings and what I made at the diner, but things were stretched thin. So thin.
Until I found something more stable, something that made me more than minimum wage, I was good and screwed.
15
Leila
I arrived at my parents’ house a couple of hours ago, and as my dad and I sat on the back deck drinking the sun tea he insisted on making every single day, I tried to act as normal as I could, tried to act like my mind wasn’t bombarded with a bunch of shit.
My mother was in the kitchen finishing up dinner, and as I brought the cold glass to my lips, the ice clanking against the sides, I stared at the horse farm that lined the back of their property.
I could see a mare running back and forth over the pasture before slowing to a gallop. I used to come back here and watch the animals, go up to the fence and pet the horses’ manes. I called one Rosie, even though I knew that wasn’t her name. But she’d come to me regardless, butting my hand with her muzzle, letting me run my fingers through her thick fur. And when she passed away, I stayed in my room and cried for days.
Back then, my life had seemed so hard. Well, look at it now.
“So what’s been new with you, jellybean?”
I hated the nickname he’d given me, but it had been something he called me since I was a little girl. Jellybean, because one time when I was five, I’d eaten too many of them and had thrown up all over my mother’s favorite floral-print couch. My father had laughed hysterically over that, and the name had stuck ever since.
I shrugged, setting the glass on the armrest of the wooden Adirondack chair I was currently sitting on. “Nothing much,” I lied. I hadn’t told him I lost my job yet. I looked over at him and saw he already watched me.
My father was a smart man, was good at reading people. So when I saw his dark-gray eyes staring intently into mine, I knew he could sense the lie just from the tone of my voice and probably the posture of my body.
“Jellybean, who do you think you’re talking to? What’s really going on?”
I cleared my throat and shifted on the chair, stretching my legs out on the ottoman in front of me. But I stayed silent.
“Although your mother and I are thrilled you came for a visit, which is far and few between these days, it leads me to believe you’re having a hard time if you’re doing an impromptu visit.”
I felt my face heat, because he was right. I was embarrassed, because I didn’t make more of an effort to come see them. We might not be extremely close, but they were my family, and I loved them very much. So I just went ahead and said it. “I lost my job about a month back.” I stared straight ahead at that mare as she trotted back and forth in the pasture. “And the job I got to replace it is part-time at the local diner, so I’m making shit.” I picked up my glass, my fingers slightly sliding along the condensation.
I didn’t tell my father why I’d gotten fired. I didn’t want to, didn’t want to hash that all out again. But I could still feel him staring at me, probably expecting me to continue on, to tell him more. But I wasn’t ready for that.
“Why didn’t you tell us right away?” There was genuine concern and empathy in his voice. Between my parents, my father was the softie. My mother on the other hand liked to “give it to me straight,” as she put it. She used to say being gentle and beating around the bush never helped you in life.
I guess she was right.
I shrugged, not really sure how to respond. But I ended up finally saying, “Because it was embarrassing as hell, Dad.”
He reached out and placed his hand over mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Everything will work out okay.”
I wanted to believe that, but life was cruel in the things it threw your way. I always liked to believe that I could “look on the bright side” of just about anything. I supposed a part of that could be true, but right now with everything I was facing, with the uncertainty of my future, all I could feel was dread, not hope
.
If I couldn’t even find a job that could help support just me, how in the hell was I going to take care of a child? How was I going to get through any of this?
I rested my head back on the chair and closed my eyes, letting the breeze wash over me, feeling the strong, steady weight of my father’s hand on mine. I tried to draw strength from it.
Maybe I was looking at this all wrong. Maybe the answer was right in front of me. And that answer was just being honest with Devon, just telling him the truth and letting him help me work through it like he’d done during every other obstacle in my life.
Maybe I needed to stop being a fucking coward and face my fear head-on.
16
Devon
I couldn’t focus, hadn’t been able to since all this went down with Leila. There was so much unfinished stuff we had to talk about, stuff she was avoiding, pushing me away from. And I allowed her to.
I allowed her to put this wedge between us, one that was so deep I didn’t even know if it could be rectified. But it wasn’t all her fault. I allowed her to push me away. I’d try. I’d sure as hell try with my last dying breath.
I ran a hand over the back of my neck, my suit feeling especially tight today, suffocating me. I slid my fingers to my collar, pulling at the material before taking hold of the knot of my tie and slightly loosening it.
The boardroom was still a flurry of conversation, but I wasn’t paying any attention to any of it. I couldn’t focus on anything or anyone but Leila. That wasn’t anything new, but right now, it was even more consuming.
I knew I wasn’t going to let this go. We had to deal with his head-on, even if it was uncomfortable, even if it put us in a bad place. I’d rather deal with the fallout then try to handle the unknown.
“Mr. Lane?”
I blinked a few times and glanced over at Margaret, one of the assistants in the boardroom. Her duties were basically to make sure there was enough food and drinks to go around.
This board meeting had been going on for several hours, with everyone trying to lock down key details on a merger that was in the works. And everyone decided not to leave until things were settled and permanent without any flaws that could backfire.
“I’m sorry, Margaret. What did you ask?” She gave me a sweet smile and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I shook my head, and she gave a nod before moving on to the next person.
The center of the table was filled with different catered items from the local deli down the street. But my appetite was nonexistent. My thoughts consumed my hunger. I kept glancing at the clock, wanting to leave, but knowing it was impossible. I already told myself I was done waiting for Leila to realize how right being together had been. The way she touched me, looked at me, gave herself to me, told me there were emotions far deeper than what she was playing off.
I was ready to take control and finally be a man, to tell her everything that needed to be said.
No one got anywhere in life by just waiting for things to become better. You had to take them by the balls.
Or in this case, finally tell Leila I was madly in love with her and willing to do anything to have her feel the same way for me.
* * *
I left work twenty minutes ago, the sun already setting but the nightlife of the city just starting to come alive. I clenched my jaw, curled my hand around the steering wheel until I knew my knuckles were white, and spoke to Leila through the Bluetooth in my car.
Miraculously, she actually answered the phone this time. I could tell in her voice there was still this distance between us. I was ready for that to go away.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to your parents’ house?”
I planned on heading straight over to her house, but things changed now. I was heading to her folks’ place. Her folks were hours away, but that wasn’t going to stop or deter me from my mission. And at this point, this was what it felt like, some lifelong mission to set things right.
This had to stop, her pushing me away, her acting like this couldn’t be repaired. I understood she was scared, but I was done waiting for Leila to come around.
I was going to tell her how I felt. The outcome couldn’t possibly be any worse than what it already was.
“I just needed to get away and think, Devon.” She sounded tired, so damn tired, and it broke my heart.
I was heading home from the office, but knowing where she was, that in essence she was running from me, had me changing course.
“Enough is enough, Leila,” I growled out those words, knowing I was being rough, abrasive. I couldn’t stop myself, wasn’t going to try to be gentle.
She needed a shock of reality, and I was going to give it to her.
“Devon,” she said softly, but I let out another growl, which promptly had her stopping whatever she was about to say.
“No, Leila. I’m coming to you, and we’re going to talk about this. Okay.” It wasn’t a question.
She was silent for long moments, and I curled my hands even tighter on the steering wheel. My body was buzzing with energy, thoughts playing through my mind. Tonight was the night I was going to tell her everything she needed to hear, things I should’ve told her years ago, things that could change the course of all this for the better… or the worse.
“Okay,” she finally said. “We do need to talk.”
I heard a slight tremble in her voice, and for a moment, that had my thoughts faltering, but I regained my inner strength.
For better or worse, this conversation was happening tonight. The air would be cleared, Leila would know how I felt about her, and we would let the chips fall where they would.
17
Leila
I saw the headlights from his car move through the open blinds of the living room. It was late, the drive to my parents’ house several hours outside of the city, but I waited up. It wasn’t like I would have been able to go to sleep anyway.
I hadn’t told my parents he was coming by, because that would have just started the million questions they’d no doubt have on why Devon was driving all the way up here so late.
I was terrified. I was a nervous, jittery mess, my heart racing as soon as I’d gotten off the phone with him, sweat beading on my brow, down the length of my spine, and between my breasts.
My palms were sweaty, everything in me so scared about this moment and how it would all play out that it was almost like an out-of-body experience.
But it had to be done. It should’ve been done when I first found out I was pregnant.
My parents had gone to bed hours ago, so I got up and opened the front door before he rang the bell or knocked. I watched him climb out of his vehicle and make his way up the driveway, his focus on the ground. He hadn’t even noticed I was standing here yet, watching him, trepidation probably written all over my face.
And when he did glance up, I saw his gait falter, but then he pulled his shoulders back and gave me a smile. I could see it didn’t quite reach his eyes. I’d never seen Devon look afraid, but right now, that nervousness poured off him.
I held the door open and stepped aside, letting him walk in. After I shut it, closing us in, I gestured for him to follow me. We still hadn’t said anything, but that was good. I didn’t want to wake my parents, and I sure as hell didn’t know how to start the conversation.
My room was in the basement of my parents’ home, something I demanded when I was a teenager for my “privacy.” Right now, I was thankful I’d been adamant on wanting the space.
We still hadn’t said anything to each other, and as we took the stairs and descended into the basement, the temperature dropping noticeably, I felt my body heat start to rise with anxiety. I had no idea how tonight was going to go, but I was glad it was finally going to be out in the open.
Once we reached the bottom of the staircase, I led him to my room. Half the basement wasn’t finished, but my room was, thankfully. My father and I worked an entire summer erecting the walls, putting carpet down, and making the sp
ace just for me.
It was even still decorated as if I was a sixteen-year-old girl, with band posters from that timeframe hanging on the walls, beads for the closet door, and the bedspread a bright tie-dye pattern.
Once in the room, I heard the door shut and turned around to face Devon, seeing him standing by it, feeling that suffocation start to consume me again. But even after feeling that, I felt the sense of completion over the fact that I was finally going to be honest.
I was going to let him be here to help me make decisions. This was his baby just as much as it was mine. And so I sat on the edge of the bed, not sure how to start this, where to begin.
“I….” The words failed me at first, and I ran my hands over my thighs. I looked a wreck right now, with sweats and a T-shirt I found in my dresser, an outfit I had when I was a teenager. Surprisingly, they still fit, albeit a bit tight around the ass and hips.
On instinct, I found my hands moving toward my belly, realizing that soon enough that too would get bigger. But I stopped myself before I made it too obvious. That was not how I wanted him to find out, with me touching my stomach, the look of fear and of the unknown on my face.
“How have you been?” he finally asked and walked over to me, sitting on the edge of the bed but keeping enough space between us that I didn’t feel crowded. He could obviously see how nervous I was.
I nodded, my throat tight, the words to actually answer not wanting to come forth.
He exhaled, and I glanced at him. “I don’t like where we are right now, Leila.” His eyes seemed so dark in the shadowy room. “I want my best friend back.” He ran a hand through his hair, an act I know he did when he was frustrated. “You’re my life, Leila.” He wore this haunted expression on his face. “I love you, and this distance you’ve put between us is killing me.”