Amused by the fact that despite cutting back on caffeine for whatever weird reason Megan seems to be entirely unchanged, I lead her to the kitchen in search of cheese and crackers.
A few minutes later, we settle on the couch with a spread of three kinds of cheese—cheddar, muenster, and string cheese—two kinds of crackers—Ritz and Wheat Thins—plus some sliced ham for me, and we have ourselves a fancy version of Lunchables, the colored lights of the Christmas tree in the corner adding a cozy ambiance.
Megan laughs as she prepares her plate. “I feel like I’m in elementary school again, but this is the only thing I’ve been able to eat lately.”
I give her a quizzical look as I break off a piece of cheese and lay it on a cracker. “Are you okay, Megan?”
She nods, holding a hand in front of her mouth as she chews. “Yeah, fine. I’m fine. I’m just …” She bites her lip in an uncharacteristic display of reticence. Megan usually blabs everything that comes into her head. Especially to me.
“You’re just …”
She raises her brown eyes to mine, something in her expression that I can’t quite define—excitement? Fear?
Taking a deep breath, she straightens her spine. “I’m pregnant.”
My eyes grow wide, and I blink a few times. That wasn’t at all what I expected her to say. “You’re pregnant?” I squeak.
She’s the one that’s always hassling me about getting pregnant. Anytime I don’t feel good, she’s always popping up with comments about how Lance might’ve knocked me up. So for her to beat me to that milestone is surprising.
Her cheeks turn a little pink, and I reach for her free hand, giving her a squeeze. “That’s so great. I’m so happy for you. When did you find out? When are you due? What did Chris say?”
“Um, well.” She ducks her head again and pushes a stray dark curl behind her ear. “I haven’t quite told him yet.”
That has me blinking in astonishment again. I clear my throat and lick my lips. “Um … why not?”
She sighs, her shoulders slumping in a defeated posture that I so rarely see on Megan that I’m immediately concerned. I nudge her plate closer. “Eat. Spill. What’s going on?”
She pops a cracker into her mouth and chews slowly before shaking her head. “I honestly just found out a couple days ago. I haven’t told anybody else. You’re the first to know.”
That sends a shot of … something through my gut. While I’m thrilled she chose me to be the first to know, I also feel a little weird that I’m finding out before Chris. Shouldn’t he be the first to know he’s going to be a father? I mean, after Megan of course.
She shakes her head at the expression on my face. “I know. But he’s been so busy and all worried and out of sorts. He got hurt, you know”—she waits for my nod—“and between the talk of surgery and the physical therapy and how long he’s going to be on the injured list and what that might mean for his long-term career prospects …” She sighs. “I just didn’t want to add anything to the pile yet. He’s all wound up about Coach Hanson retiring. Chris thinks there’s something hinky about the whole thing, since Coach is young to retire. So he’s worried maybe Coach is sick or …” She waves a hand. “I’m not sure what exactly. So between pushing himself so hard I’m afraid he’ll make his shoulder worse instead of better and worrying about Coach …” She spreads her hands in a helpless gesture, then lays one gently over her belly. “I figured the news could wait a bit until things calm down.”
“Have you scheduled a doctor appointment or anything?”
She shakes her head. “No. I want to tell him before I do that. He’ll want to come with me, as long as he’s not at an away game or anything. I just don’t know if telling him will make him work harder at his therapy or if it’ll make him slack off and claim his injury has him sidelined for the rest of the season so he can be there for all my doctor appointments, you know?”
I spread my hands. “Or you tell him and let him make his own decisions because he’s an adult.”
That makes Megan laugh. “Oh, Abby. That’s a bit rich, coming from you, you know. You’re the one who always tries to make sure the outcome will be exactly what you want before making any decisions or giving out too much information.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “True. You’re right. But I’ve been working on not taking on responsibility for other people’s emotions anymore. And Chris loves you. He’ll be thrilled at the prospect of having a baby with you. He’ll be hurt if you wait too long to tell him.”
She sighs again. “You’re right. I know. It’s just …” She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath. “I’m terrified,” she whispers. “I didn’t plan for this. My birth control failed, apparently, and here we are.” When she opens her eyes and meets mine, her expression from earlier becomes more clear. That’s fear. Trepidation. It’s obvious now. “I don’t know how to be a mother. What if I screw up my kid? I mean, look at me. I’m such a fuckup that my parents cut me off.”
I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “That’s not what happened, and you know that as well as I do. You cut them off.”
She makes a derisive noise and drops her gaze to our joined hands. “That’s not quite true, and you know it too. I wanted to still have a relationship with my parents. Want to. But … they don’t want me.” A fat tear slides down her cheek and makes a damp spot on her jeans next to our hands. She sniffs and scrubs at her eyes. “And now my hormones are all wacky, and I keep crying at the drop of a hat, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“Megan,” I say calmly, waiting for her to look at me. “Listen to me. You are not the problem in your family. You gave your parents every opportunity to get to know you as the person you are and have a relationship with you. They are the ones who’ve decided that they want nothing to do with you. They are the ones who put untenable restrictions on your ability to be whole and happy and healthy.” I pause, examining her face. “You’ve been talking to your mom again.” It’s a statement, but she nods confirmation anyway.
“Why can’t my parents accept me for who I am?” she wails. “Why is being an artist such a horrible, horrible thing? Why can’t they accept that I’m in love with Chris and that marriage is just a piece of paper? What difference does it make if we say, ‘I do,’ in front of a witness when we say it to each other every day?”
I squeeze her hand harder, wishing I could do more than offer empty platitudes. “I know, Megan. It sucks. It super sucks. Your parents are just about the worst. I mean, my dad abandoned me, which is super duper shitty, but at least I don’t have to worry about him or what he thinks. Even if he showed up on my doorstep, I don’t think I would give a shit what he had to say about anything in my life. If he wanted to be a judgmental asshole, I’d invite him to go crawl back under the rock he ran off to a billion years ago and never return. I’m sorry your parents can’t accept you. You’re an amazing artist, and I’m glad that you’re my family, even if we’re not related by blood.”
She blubbers out a half laugh-half sob, and I release her hand to grab the box of tissues from the coffee table. Grabbing two, she presses them to her eyes then blows her nose. “You’re right,” she says after taking several deep breaths and calming down. “I know you’re right. It just sucks that they’re going to be grandparents, and I can’t even tell them. But I feel guilty for not telling them. I want to tell them, but I also don’t ever want them to know about their grandchild, because I know if they’re ever around, they’ll fill my baby’s head with lies and myths and judgment about their parents and by extension themselves. No, thank you. Hard pass.”
“It sounds like you know what you want to do. It’s okay to stop trying to heal a rift they have no desire to cross. You’re allowed to let go of people who hurt you.”
She gives me a trembling smile, seeming to calm down a little. “You’re right. Thanks, Abs. I’m glad I came.”
I give her a reassuring smile. “Me too.”
CHAPTER TWO
Megan
I mean, I suspected I was pregnant. My boobs have been super sore lately, and they’re never sore like that on the pill. Plus my period was supposed to have started days prior. I was due to start taking my next pack the next day, so I took the test, because I didn’t want to keep taking birth control pills if I was pregnant.
But somehow, I didn’t quite expect the test to be positive.
And when it was, I freaked. I reverted back into some high school version of myself who was terrified my parents would find out I was having sex with my boyfriend and disown me.
Chris was already at the stadium when I took the test, working with his trainers to rehab his shoulder, meeting with the coaches, doing all the professional football player things he does during the season. Regular workouts still feature prominently in his schedule, strengthening the parts of his body that aren’t affected by his shoulder, though a shoulder injury is apparently more irritating than you’d think at first. He can’t do regular barbell squats, so he’s having to work in more isolation work on all his leg muscles, which isn’t his favorite. Being sick or hurt turns him into a grumbly bear at the best of times, and this injury is one of the more serious ones he’s suffered. He’s been out for a week or two here and there before, but he’s been out for over a month already. He’d caught an interception during a game at the end of October and got hit by two opposing players at the same time, and they’d jammed his arm up and back in its socket, damaging the rotator cuff.
One of the team PTs claimed surgery was his best hope, but another one insisted that no, a solid therapy program could have him back in fighting shape sooner and with less long-term potential for consequences. The coach ultimately sided with the therapy plan, which was a huge relief to Chris. Surgery would’ve meant he was out for the rest of the season for sure. With therapy, he might be able to make it back into rotation during the regular season, definitely by the postseason.
But he’s stressed and frustrated that he’s not healing at a miraculous pace, despite everyone cautioning him to be patient and do the work and he’ll come back at the top of his game.
Adding a baby on top of all this?
If I’m freaking out, is he going to freak out?
Is he going to be happy? More stressed? Worried?
I’m worried. I’ve spent way too much time on the internet the last couple of days reading horror stories about pregnancy and birth and far too few positive stories.
Apparently I’m going to get super fat, be covered in stretch marks from armpits to knees, fart like a bodybuilder mainlining protein powder, shit myself in front of an audience, and lose all my hair after the baby’s born.
Who signs up for this on purpose?
Because I definitely wouldn’t.
But here I am. Pregnant. Freaking out about my parents’ reaction.
And for what?
Abby’s right. Hearing her spell it out like that has been surprisingly calming. She didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know, but it helped to hear it from her.
And when she said I was part of her family, even if we aren’t really related …
That was a balm I didn’t know I needed. Suddenly instead of envisioning my parents’ horror and anger at me getting pregnant out of wedlock—because apparently it’s still 1955—I started imagining Abby and Lance playing with my baby, buying presents for their birthday, maybe one day having a kid too and our kids playing together when we see each other.
Plus Chris’s parents will be over the moon when they find out they’re going to be grandparents.
I have people. I have family.
I just had a panic moment where I forgot that.
Coming here and telling Abby is definitely the best decision I could’ve made right now. She’s right that I need to tell Chris soon. And I will.
But for now I need a movie night with my best friend. Comfort and laughter and the reminder that everything will be alright.
I settle on the couch with the remote, browsing through the available streaming services and pick Clueless, the 90’s feel-good classic.
Abby brings in a bowl of popcorn and chuckles at my choice as she takes the seat next to me. “It’s been ages since we last watched this one.”
“Right? But it was our go-to choice in high school whenever one of us needed cheering up. So I thought it was appropriate.”
With a look full of sympathy and commiseration, Abby hands me a gray fleece throw blanket from the basket at the end of the couch. I wrap it around me, relishing the tactile comfort, and reach for the popcorn as the movie starts. We won’t have time to finish it before Lance gets home, but that’s not important. What’s important is the simple comfort of a movie, popcorn, and a blanket with Abby. Reminders that even while everything around me seems to be changing, I can always count on certain things. Certain people. Abby. Chris. Lance.
“Don’t tell Lance,” I murmur as I grab another handful of popcorn. I’m aware of Abby’s eyes on me, but I keep mine glued to the screen.
“You know I wouldn’t,” she replies quietly. “Not until you tell Chris, at least. I won’t breathe a word to anyone until you give me the go-ahead.”
Another knot of tension in my chest relaxes. I didn’t really think she’d spill the beans. Not on purpose. But her reassurance helps.
We quote our favorite lines along with the characters, laughing and giggling, and reminiscing about all the times we’ve watched this movie together before. We’re not quite halfway through when the front door opens, and Lance strides in.
Like Chris, he has that magnetic energy that livens up any room he’s in. All eyes are drawn to him, no matter where he is or who he’s with.
Abby’s face lights up, and she pauses the movie as she stands and welcomes him home with a kiss.
Years later and they’re still as in love as ever. Watching them sends a pang of longing through me. I miss Chris. Sure, I only said goodbye to him this morning, and I’ll see him again in just a few days. But I wish he were here anyway. Pulling out my phone, I send him another text—Miss you—a follow up to the one letting him know I’d arrived safely. He’s still in his PT session, so he hasn’t responded yet. He’ll call as soon as he has a few minutes.
And now that I’ve told Abby and spilled all my fears, I wish I’d told Chris about the pregnancy already. I’m tempted to just blurt it out as soon as he calls, but I want to see his face. And not on a video chat. In person. So as much as I’m dying to tell him now, I’m going to force myself to wait.
Ugh. Patience has never been my strong suit. I guess this is good practice, though. Because babies require bucket loads of patience, right? Even more so when they’re kids?
And just like that, another shard of icy panic stabs into my heart. How the hell am I going to handle being a mother?
CHAPTER THREE
Matt
“You about ready, Han?” I call from the living room.
Hannah’s in the kitchen, finishing up with the dessert she insisted on bringing over to Lance and Abby’s tonight.
“Almost!” she calls back, then she appears a moment later, carrying a glass pan wrapped in a towel, her face flushed from the heat of the oven. She gives me a wide smile and steps closer, angling her body so she can kiss me without bumping me with the hot pan. “Don’t be nervous,” she tells me. “The worst he can say is no.”
I give her a wry smile. “I know you mean that to be reassuring, but somehow it really isn’t.” My surf touring company, Schwartz Surf Tours, has been growing like crazy, and for the last five months, Hannah’s been working part time for Earth Ambassadors, an environmental company we’ve been partnering with the last few years. Having a charitable arm of Schwartz Surf Tours was part of the plan from the beginning. Hannah’s spent a lot of time ov
er the last few years seeking out organizations we can sponsor and partner with, and Earth Ambassadors was so impressed with her that they offered her a remote position running their social media properties. They actually wanted her full time, but since she does all the marketing for me, they compromised at half time. But she’s been struggling to keep up with the workload for two companies, and since her passion has always been working to clean up the environment, she’d rather work for them.
It all came out a few weeks ago, when I found her in the bedroom crying. She’d been afraid to tell me, thinking that I might take her wanting to quit Schwartz Surf Tours as some kind of betrayal. But I reassured her that I will always support her, and I’ve appreciated all her help and support while I was getting my business off the ground. She worked for Eco Utilities for about a year before coming to work for me full time.
The solution she offered was for me to hire Lance to take over for her. He has a degree in marketing and has been working for an agency since he graduated. The prospect of working with one of my best friends is exciting. We don’t see each other much these days. I talk more to Abby than I do to Lance, actually, because she helps me with translations to and from Spanish when I’m booking tours in Central and South America.
But the four of us get together every so often. And tonight we’ll get to see Megan too, who I also haven’t seen in far too long.
Hannah chuckles and gives me a sympathetic glance while she puts on her puffy winter coat. “Sorry. But it’s true. If he says no, we’re no worse off than we were before. We can find someone to take over for me eventually. It’ll be okay.”
I pull on my wool coat and wrap an arm around her waist under her jacket before she can zip it closed, pulling her in for another kiss, this one lingering a bit before we break apart. “You’re right. It would just be great if he said yes.” Plus, if Hannah’s already been stressed out to the point of tears, I’m anxious to ease her load. If Lance says yes, we can start working on a transition plan. If he says no …
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