by T Gephart
It was for the best.
“Hey, Kenzie, you feeling okay? You don’t look so hot.” Sara sat down beside me, having arrived at my apartment five minutes before. Her green eyes looked me over with concern.
Sara Davis was not only the lead singer of our band but also my best friend. We had started Beauty Queens from Mars when we were both fifteen and bored with pretending to like the shit that was being flipped on the radio.
Neither of us were particularly athletic or popular so we banded together—literally—and celebrated our love for kick-ass female musicians who didn’t give a shit. Our eclectic dress sense had the captain of the football team dub us “The Beauty Queens from Mars.” He had meant it as an insult. I personally reveled in the title. Who wanted to be normal? Certainly not me. And so that’s what we named the band.
We didn’t get serious about the band until after high school though. With both Sara and I accepted into CUNY—yeah, one letter off from being a rather unfortunate acronym—we’d met Abbey and Becca at a MUSE appreciation night.
We graduated and tried to get regular jobs, but the band thing had always been a constant. Now it wasn’t so much of a side project as it was the real deal. The rest was sort of history.
“Sooooooooooooo.” I figured she would find out about it sooner than later, and truth be told could really use someone to talk to. “Remember how Joey and I hooked up?”
It’s not like she could have forgotten in a hurry. I’d been high from the orgasms at the hands of that man for at least a week after. I didn’t even kiss and tell; she had read it all over my face the next day.
“Please!” Sara smirked. “I’m still scarred from watching the two of you make out. It was like a porno. Except you were wearing clothes. How is Mr. Made-you-come-five-hundred-times?” The grin she’d been wearing getting wider.
“He’s good. I guess.” Well, at least he seemed good. I hadn’t really asked, probably should have done that. Oh, well. A bit late now. “I saw him again last night.”
“So that explains why you look tired. Nice.” She gave me a knowing smile. Pity on this she was so waaaaaaayyy off. “I hope he didn’t disappoint you. The sequels rarely live up to the original.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out for the second time in as many days.
In my head I’d rehearsed it better, easing into the conversation. Apparently my mouth didn’t get the memo as the smooth delivery was tossed aside for the stark reality. Meh, it was probably better that way. No one liked dragging out crap longer than it needed to be.
“It’s Joey’s. We’re having a baby.” My mouth spewed words that barely constituted a sentence. “Surprise!”
“Whoa. Hold the fucking phone. You’re pregnant? To Joey? What?” Sara’s kohl-rimmed eyes strained to maximum capacity. “Are you sure?”
I’m not sure how many times that question had been asked in the last twenty-four hours. By myself first, then Joey and now Sara. The answer always the same.
“Yes.” My head nodded as I continued with my rundown of the facts. “Period MIA, fatigue, morning sickness—all pointing to the same conclusion. There were also the multiple pregnancy tests I took. Every brand CVS carried. Just to be sure.”
“I’m assuming you’re—”
“Yes, I’m following through with the pregnancy.”
It was a valid question, considering I was a twenty-five-year old guitarist in a rock band, my only assets being my guitars and a used Chevy Malibu. I wasn’t exactly the poster child for mommy material. Nor had I ever displayed any maternal tendencies, so the fact I was hardcore about this shocked the hell out of me just as much as everyone else.
“Even if I have to do it alone,” I continued, no point stopping now. “But Joey says he’s going to help.” Unless he’d changed his mind since the last time we’d spoke. Either way, mine wouldn’t be changing.
“So, are you two going to . . . date or something?” The look on her face was skeptical like she wasn’t going to be surprised by me saying no. She had known Joey as long as I had. His past history not the kind you look for when thinking long term.
“He asked me to marry him.”
I’ll admit I threw it out there more for shock value. More because it had almost knocked me right off my feet and I felt I should share the love. It was a lot funnier now; more so because I knew the proposal hadn’t been legitimate.
Sort of like the child we were bringing into the world.
Okay. I needed to stop.
“The fuck?” Sara gave me the same holy-shit-he-can’t-be-serious that I had experienced.
“He didn’t mean it.” My hand waved off her concern, putting it and the context into perspective. “And no we aren’t dating. It’s Joey. The man wouldn’t know commitment if it bit him on the ass. And there is also the little fact that while we like each other just fine, I don’t actually love him. So, no. No relationship.”
“Sounds smart,” Sara agreed, her mouth barely taking a breath before she continued. “So you’re going to be a mom. Well, okay then. You are totally going to be kickass. Can you imagine how cool your kid is going to be? And I can help you with the baby. Kids love me. My nieces and nephews think I’m the best aunt ever.” She folded her arms across her chest, a satisfied grin playing on her lips.
And that right there was why she was my best friend. While another friend might have tried to tell me what a bad idea it was or how hard it was going to be, she did neither. She accepted my decision with a firm resolution to be by my side while I did it. Of course she’d had lots of practice. Most of the questionable situations we found ourselves in over the years had been my brainchildren. Still, her vote of confidence was reassuring even if I didn’t believe everything she said.
“My folks are probably going to freak the fuck out. What do you think is an acceptable amount of time I can string this out?” My head flopped against the back of my sofa. The prospect of telling my parents didn’t immediately fill me with joy. I’m sure they wouldn’t have the same optimistic outlook as Sara, possibly some disappointment thrown in for good measure. Just because I lived my life with a mostly screw-you attitude, I still cared what they thought.
“When you can no longer wear regular pants,” Sara said with all seriousness. “You can probably work the food-baby excuse for a bit and wear a baggy shirt, but the minute you need an elastic waistband, the jig is up.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” While the timeline for my expanding waistline wasn’t really certain, I expected it would get to the point that not even creative accessory placement would disguise it. That shit barely worked on television and they had a whole battalion of people to help them. “At least I don’t have to do it this week, or the next. I have plenty of time.”
“Kenz, they might be a little stunned, but they aren’t going to disown you. You know that.”
Sara was right. When it came to parents, I lucked out.
It might have been because I was the youngest of three—my older brother and sister paving the way, something they never let me forget—or it might have been that my parents realized I wasn’t made for normalcy.
The band, the tattoos, the less than traditional job choice—they accepted it all. No under-breath comments about changing my lifestyle, no passive aggressive suggestions on how much prouder they’d be if I would just get a real job. Nothing. Just encouragement and love, even when my ideas weren’t always the smartest. So they might not be thrilled about me being knocked up, but they would support my decision.
Just as they had always done.
Man, I had a lot to live up to if I was going to be half as good a parent as mine were.
“Yeah, I know. Still, let’s leave the freak out for at least a week or two. By then I’ll have been to the doctor and will have all the facts.”
Not sure exactly what facts I needed to have. Considering I could pinpoint the date of conception, and had multiple confirmations via tests and other means, the medical degree giving me the yes seemed unnecessar
y. Perhaps having Joey’s progeny inside me was making me lose brain cells; I could have sworn I was smarter than I had been sounding lately.
“Whatever, babes. It’s your deal.” Sara gave me a tight hug. “You want to get breakfast? I’d totally be cashing in on the eating-for-two card.” Her wicked smile hinted she was more than happy to distract me with the promise of food. Total team player too because the distraction was exactly what I needed. Whether or not breakfast was a good idea was still yet to be decided.
“Yes. Breakfast. Let’s go do that.” I nodded between each word. My stomach hopefully on the same page as my brain and would not evacuate any food consumed a few hours later. Let’s be honest, it could go either way.
***
“Joey.” I answered the phone for the eleventh million time this weekend. All right, maybe I was exaggerating, but it had been a lot and we still had another twelve hours before we went to the doctor.
“Kenzie, so I was thinking.” He blew out a long breath before continuing. “Are they going to need me to jack off there or am I cool to bring a sample from home? I’m good with either, but I’d just like to be prepared. Oh, and how am I supposed to store it? Tupperware container? I think I have an old Miracle Whip jar. Ha, actually that’s kind of funny.” His laugh bubbled from his throat.
“What the hell?” I pulled the phone away from my ear like it would suddenly spell out why I was having this conversation. “You want to help me work out why anyone would need you to jerk off, period?”
The phone calls I’d been fielding all weekend from him had been an involved game of twenty questions. At first they were sort of endearing, and I was glad he’d taken an interest, but as the hours wore on the questions got more and more bizarre. Joey would go online, read something and then call me to confirm. Like I was suddenly the oracle on all things pregnancy. WebMd had a lot to answer for.
“Well you said you want to do a paternity test.” He answered like it should have been my first clue. “I already told you it wasn’t necessary, but I’m on board with doing it if it makes everything easier. Do they have porn there or are we supposed to bring our own? Also, no pressure but if you want to help me out in the booth that is cool too. You can watch or you jerk me off, whatever level of participation you want is fine with me.”
“Please tell me you’re joking?” I shook my head wondering if this was an elaborate plan to push my buttons. Or some weird dare he had running with Max to see at what point I’d lose my shit. Surely, he had to know that paternity wasn’t determined in that way.
“I never joke about jerking off. As I said, you tell me what you want and I am more than happy to comply. Do you need me to repeat the questions? Apparently pregnant women forget shit a lot, it’s nothing to be ashamed of or anything. I forget shit all the time.”
At that moment I was glad for the distance. Glad it had been only his voice that was currently in my personal space and not his body, because if he had been here there was only so much restraint I could exert. And no jury in their right mind would punish me for killing him. I mean, seriously, he was obviously begging to die.
“Joey.” His name barely escaped my clenched jaw. “I’m going to try and address one question at a time using small words so I’m sure you understand.” My hand gripped the phone tighter. “You do not need to jerk off for a paternity test. They take a swab for your DNA from your mouth. The only time I can think of where you would actually need to jerk off is if you were donating sperm or for IVF, considering I’m already pregnant your donation has already been banked.” I fought the urge to follow with no further withdrawals would be taken on my part.
“Also, I am not interested in touching or seeing your cock right now. In fact, I’d go out on a limb here and say my interest is permanently suspended on all things relating to you and sex.” Unless sex was foot massages and bringing me Saltines and ginger ale, I wasn’t interested in any man right now.
“And another thing.” He wisely stayed silent while I continued my tirade a little longer. Had to say, at that point I probably would have kept talking regardless. “You can shove me forgetting things up your ass, there is nothing wrong with my memory. Baby brain is a fucking myth. I’m not going to suddenly turn stupid because I’m with child.”
Silence.
And had I not heard the breathing on the other side of the line I might have thought he’d hung up.
“Joey?” I asked, wondering if he had zoned or passed out. Either was a possibility and I wasn’t sure which one would make me less angry. Rewinding the conversation wasn’t happening, so I could only hope anything else he said was less crazy than what he’d already treated me to.
“I’m here.” I heard the long exhale like he’d been holding his breath. “Look, I’m not trying to piss you off but I honestly have no idea what I’m doing.”
I wanted to stay angry.
To yell a lot more and maybe throw a few more curse words around. Not because I was upset with him, but because I too had no idea what I was doing. An instruction manual on how to do this didn’t come with my vagina unfortunately, and I was just as clueless as he was. Okay—no one was that clueless—but you get the gist.
As always, there was something about him that threw off my game. Like I couldn’t continue to be angry at him even though it seemed he had a tendency to say something either dumb or offensive when he opened his mouth.
“It’s going to be fine.” Who I was reassuring wasn’t exactly clear, my own need to hear the words just as desperate as his.
“Yeah, it will be,” he answered back, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Talk to you later, Kenz.”
“Bye, Joe.” And with our see-ya-laters the call ended.
It wasn’t late. The time on my phone display gave me a big middle finger as the numbers lit up. Only nine p.m. but it felt more like two a.m. and I was wiped out. It had been a big weekend, and I still had a few last dying moments left of it. At least none of the next few hours required me to get out of bed.
Beauty Queens from Mars had played their usual gig on Saturday night. I’d confessed my condition to Abbey and Becca when, just before we’d gone on stage, I’d had to spend some time praying to the porcelain gods. Their eyebrows rose further in suspicion when I’d passed on the beer after the show, so I figured I’d just come clean. Besides, they were as much family as my brother and sister were. Almost more so. And I wasn’t sure if it was because they both were still buzzing from being on stage, or the few beers had taken them to their happy place, but both were supportive. Not one oh-shit-you-are-so-dumb had been uttered. It remained to be seen whether or not in the clear light of day and sober, if they’d still feel the same way.
Of course being on stage meant my phone had been left unattended for a while, something that wasn’t usually a problem. That was before Joey had been informed I was incubating his seed. So when I eventually awoke the magical-rectangle-of-wonder from its silent seclusion it buzzed, vibrated and pinged like a firework on New Year’s Eve.
Joey had texted, called, Facebook messaged, tweeted and then tried to text and call again. I wasn’t sure if I should be calling him back or filing a restraining order. My silent debate on whether or not to call ended when my phone had once again lit up on my way home from the gig.
“Is something on fire because I have like eleven messages from you?” I shoved my guitar and amp in the back seat as I juggled opening the driver’s door while keeping the phone at my ear. It was a complicated dance, my foot able to kick the back door shut before I climbed into the car.
“Hey, do you think we’re having twins? It’s just one baby, right?”
I sunk into the driver’s seat as his speculation gave me another scenario I hadn’t thought of. Awesome. Because having one child of his wasn’t enough.
“I don’t think so.” The thought taunted me as I considered the possibility.
Oh, shit. Could I be having twins?
“Okay, just asking.” The asshole adde
d like it was no big deal, my non-committal answer obviously appeasing him.
“Bye, Joey.”
I didn’t bother explaining the mental minefield he’d just opened up. Or the level of panic he’d thrown me in.
More for my own sake.
I was scared of what other possibility he’d throw into the ring. Triplets? Please God, let there only be one.
“See ya, Kenzie.”
The calls had continued, each time another suggestion of shit that could either go wrong or some other internet half truths he needed to confirm. The finale of course had been the last one where we discussed masturbation and my memory. I was going to have to put my phone on silent. Or smother him. Either would work.
Literally any more questions and I was probably going to have a panic attack. Or put into action all the things I’d been thinking about doing to him. None he’d actually enjoy. Mood swings were common in pregnancy apparently.
Ugh.
I was tired.
And moody.
And emotional.
It was all a big ball of suck and I had zero answers. In fact, the only thing that looked remotely appealing was curling up in bed and trying to go to sleep. Because dealing with it hadn’t worked out so well, except to make me panic. Oh, and to make me more tired and irritable.
So rather than fight the inevitable I trudged into my bedroom and collapsed onto my mattress. The weight of my body was accepted by the pillowy feather top as my eyes closed almost instantaneously. My body cocooned in my comforter seemed to know me better than I knew myself as I drifted off to sleep.
My breathing evened out as I allowed the exhaustion to wash over me.
Sleep was exactly what I needed.
It had been two days since I’d found out.
Or was it three?
Hours had mixed into each other, and to be honest a lot of it was a blur.
Let’s just say it had been a few days since I’d found out. Yeah. Let’s go with that.