My phone chimed as I slid into my car. A text from Tyra.
Brunch Saturday?
What day even is it? Wednesday. Good lord, it felt like the third Thursday in a row. I was exhausted and about ready to tear my hair out. If they were going to be adding clients like this, they really needed to hire more clerks.
Sounds like exactly the thing I need, I texted her. This week has been hell.
Girl, same, she replied. I never thought trying for a baby would be as exhausting as actually having one! I swear Donovan is unstoppable when he’s on a mission. I had no idea!
Well now you know, I texted back. So, 11:00? Coco Cafe?
Perfect.
Tension began to wind itself out of my shoulders. Something to look forward to. Sometimes that’s all I needed to get through; I just wished I had more of that. The week before I’d gone to that ball game with Nick had passed in a flash, even though it had been full of chaos and extra work. With that thought, my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.
I missed him, and I hated myself for it. How had I let myself get so attached to someone so blatantly temporary? I had gotten so comfortable with him so quickly that now I couldn’t seem to find comfort in my own company. Not that I had ever been particularly good at that in the first place, but it was becoming excruciating to go home to an empty apartment every night.
“It was because he was temporary,” I realized out loud, surprised at the bitterness in my own voice. “He was temporary, so I didn’t have to try to impress him. I didn’t have to act like anything, I could just relax. He gave me control and didn’t make any move to take it back. Not until the end.”
I cursed myself for that one fateful question. If I had just kept my curiosity to myself, if only I had been able to let things be, I could still be seeing him. I’d probably be paying for it, but at least I would have his company and attention once in a while. I was almost okay with sharing him with his clients, as long as I got to spend a little bit of time in his sphere.
“But you didn’t, so you can’t, so quit thinking about it,” I snarled at my reflection in the rearview mirror. It seemed to work for a moment. I was able to put Nick out of my brain long enough to shower and collapse in bed. Tomorrow was going to be another hellish day, and I needed to be well-rested.
My brain had other ideas. Vibrant, nonsensical dreams played through my mind from the time I closed my eyes until my alarm went off the next morning; dreams that dripped and shattered, dreams which left me feeling like I’d run a marathon when I woke up the next morning. Candy colors and impossible physics, getting chased by spreadsheets through a field of old shoes; sheer, exhausting nonsense.
I blamed work, Nick, and the pickle I’d eaten for dinner. Fueled on coffee and doughnuts, I threw myself back into work for the next two days, keeping myself as distracted as I could possibly be, considering how often I had to break my concentration to address the managerial tug of war happening behind my desk every hour.
When Saturday finally rolled around, it was everything I could do to drag myself out of bed and get halfway presentable before I had to meet Tyra. I was tired to my bones, as if I had been working construction all week instead of banging on keys and shuffling paperwork around. Tyra, of course, noticed immediately.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Meaning?” I said in my best cranky voice.
“Meaning, you look like you rolled out of bed and into a tree. What’s the matter with you, are you getting sick?”
“No, I’m just exhausted,” I sighed. “Work’s been hell, and I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“How come?”
I shrugged. “Stress probably. Lots of weird dreams.”
“Work dreams?”
“Kind of. Spreadsheets chasing me.”
“Do they ever eat you?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
“No,” I said with a little laugh. “They just chase me. What about you, what’s happening?”
“Oh! I’ve got so much to—”
“Hi, welcome to Coco Cafe! What can I get you started with this morning?” Tyra was interrupted by a bubbly waitress who appeared to be several months pregnant.
A twinge struck my chest; everybody around me was getting pregnant, it seemed. The waitress, three girls at work, Tyra was trying…and here I was, right back where I started, with nothing to show except a slightly less cluttered apartment and a slightly more calloused heart.
We ordered our coffee and food, then Tyra resumed her story.
“Okay, so anyway, you know how Donovan proposed, but then kept dragging his feet about setting a date?”
“I couldn’t exactly forget,” I said wryly. “It’s not like it was the core frustration of your whole relationship for three months or anything.”
“Your sarcasm is not welcome here,” she said sternly, then sighed. “Well, he finally agreed to set a date, but all of the dates he’s coming up with are completely terrible.”
“Terrible how?”
“First he wanted to do it the same week that my sister is due to have her baby. ‘Two birds, one stone,’ he said. We’ll never forget our anniversary if it’s the same week as our niece’s birthday, and vice versa.”
I stared, horrified.
“Exactly!” she said adamantly. “I told him that babies don’t come when they’re told to, and with our luck my sister’s water would break as I was walking down the aisle and we would never end up getting married at all. So then he suggests that we do it a month before the baby’s due, and I’m like, seriously? That’s my parents’ anniversary. The date is obviously cursed. No, thank you.”
I laughed and agreed. Just then, our food showed up, complete with coffee. Having skipped my usual gigantic cup that morning, I took the mug in both hands and inhaled deeply through my nose, basking in the scent. The wonderful, life-giving aroma…which was somehow stronger than I remembered it being. Too strong.
“So then I was like—Carmen. Carmen, are you even paying attention?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My chair fell crashing to the floor behind me as I bolted to the bathroom. Tyra was shouting after me, but I couldn’t stop to listen; my stomach wasn’t going to wait for me to be polite. The only saving grace was the fact that I hadn’t yet eaten anything, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.
But how bad was it? Leaning over the toilet, I began to shake and sweat—and not only from the physical discomfort of my situation. I was doing the math, and it didn’t look good. When was the last time I’d had a period? I tried to remember, but I kept coming up blank. I hadn’t had one yet this month—skipped it entirely last month. When had it been?
“Tyra’s birthday,” I realized as I wiped my mouth. “I wore the black pants instead of the white skirt. Crap.”
My stomach felt a little better now, but as soon as I walked back out into the cafe the cacophony of smells assaulted my senses, and I nearly had to bolt back into the bathroom. Catching Tyra’s eye, I waved for her to talk to me by the door, where the hot, fresh air was a little less thick with nauseating aromas.
“What’s wrong?” Tyra asked, concern shining in her eyes.
“I think I’m sick,” I told her, softening my worries with the littlest of white lies. “I need to go home. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, doll, you want me to come with you? I can get our things to go, and you can eat whenever you feel up to it.”
“No, thanks,” I said quickly. My stomach lurched at even the thought of the greasy diner food. “Give it to Donovan, he’ll appreciate it more. I really just want to go crawl into bed with a bottle of ginger ale and a bucket.”
Tyra wrinkled her nose but quickly softened her expression into a sympathetic one. “Can I walk you home at least?”
“I really don’t want to get you sick,” I said. “I’ll be fine, I swear.”
She peered worriedly into my eyes, searching for the secret I was keeping from her. She released me though and didn’t n
ag me for an answer.
“Okay, hun, I’ll let you be a big girl about this, but if you need anything at all, you just let me know, okay?”
“I will,” I promised, relieved that she was listening to me. “But really, I think I just need to sleep for a while.”
She nodded understandingly. “All right. I’d hug you, but…”
“Hugs implied,” I said with a weak smile. “Call you later.”
I left, still clammy with sweat. Nerves? Not likely. Whatever was going on with me was bigger than nerves, and I knew it. Even so, I stopped at the drug store on the way home and bought a handful of tests, soda crackers, and ginger ale. Impulsively, I added a box of chamomile tea to my basket. I wanted the coffee experience even if I couldn’t have the drink itself this morning.
The cashier’s eyes shone with amused sympathy as she rang me up, and I pretended not to notice. If these came out positive, I wasn’t even sure it would be a joy at all; I was reserving all emotional reactions until after I knew, one way or another.
At least I tried to. My eyes were stinging with tears by the time I got home, and I didn’t even know why. I felt like I was falling and running and spinning all at once, and I hated it. Once again, the winding colors of the carpets in the common hallway messed with my stomach. I decided I was going to write a strongly worded suggestion to the super to have them replaced.
“How have you made it to thirty without a pregnancy scare?” I asked myself as I shut myself in the bathroom and pulled out a test. I read the instructions meticulously, having managed to pick up the basic idea long ago, but never having actually taken one myself.
“Pee on the stick and wait two minutes,” I paraphrased out loud. “Got it.”
I did the thing and set the test on the edge of the tub. A little pink line instantly appeared.
“That’s the control,” I told myself.
Another pink line appeared as quickly as the first.
“And that means I’m pregnant.”
I felt like I was living somebody else’s life, like I had been lifted out of my own body and placed in somebody else’s.
“False positive?” I wondered out loud. The suggestion was enticing but definitely unlikely.
Still, determined to prove the test wrong, I drank my ginger ale and followed it with about half a gallon of water. Deciding to use a cup, I managed to take five tests simultaneously. The results were unanimous, as I knew they would be.
“Well, crud,” I said, looking at the army of pink lines in formation on the edge of my tub. “Double crud.”
My first thought was to call Nick. He had a right to know, didn’t he? He was the only possible father. I knew he was, anyway; he might have doubts. I looked at the situation from his perspective, and a cold gray cloud settled over my shoulders.
I sighed as tears pricked my eyes. “He doesn’t want a family anyway. Especially not with me.”
That last part probably wasn’t fair. He had gotten along well with me. I’m sure he didn’t despise me personally, but I couldn’t shake the belief. I had a pattern which had been true time and time again; I was the practice girlfriend. Man after man had been with me, loved me—I thought—right up until I started making commitment noises, then they’d run for the hills.
Immediately after, or at least within a year, each of those who I had imagined a future with had settled down with someone else. They’d had kids, gotten married, found real jobs with 401ks and everything. They’d been happy in those new lives. Which told me that it wasn’t about them not wanting to settle down; they just didn’t want to settle down with me.
I didn’t feel strong enough to face that rejection, not right now, nor could I manage to convince myself that Nick would be any different than anybody else when it came down to it. I couldn’t…but maybe Tyra could.
Protecting the last spark of hope in my soul, I called her. As soon as the phone rang, though, I hung up again. I couldn’t tell her this, not yet. Not now. This was something I was going to have to figure out for myself. All by myself; no Nick, no Tyra, just me. Decisions had to be made. I was prepared to make them alone.
Sorry, butt dial, I texted her. Going to sleep now.
Get good rest, she answered.
And somehow, I did. In spite of the disaster currently wreaking havoc in my mind, I passed out the second my head hit the pillow.
Apparently, pregnancy was exhausting.
Chapter 13
Nick
“Sir, please put your tray up and buckle your seat belt.”
I shook off my haze and met the flight attendant’s eyes. She pursed her lips into a thin line and pointed at the indicator lights in the center of the cabin.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I said sheepishly. I righted my tray and buckled up, wondering how long I had been zoning out. Long enough to upset her, it seemed.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to be back in Boston, but here I was, descending. I looked out the window over the cloud bank below, rubbing a hand over my jaw. California had been good for me. It had made everything crystal clear.
Of course, Jason had more to do with it than California itself. Another military buddy, he’d managed to set himself up as an actor the same day his contract ended. He started out with little parts, here and there; an extra, a bouncer, thug #3. Those Marine muscles had opened up heavy doors for him. Now he was definitely living his life to the fullest.
I’d spent the last month with a front-row seat to his lavish Hollywood lifestyle. The year before, Jason had earned a speaking role in a blockbuster feature as well as a recurring role on a TV show, and was spending his money as quickly as he made it. Fortunately for me, it meant he had a big house filled with spare rooms. I’d set up camp in one of them.
“Now, don’t get me wrong,” he said to me one night soon after I’d arrived. “It’s great to see you, man, but you look like you been run over by a truck full of ex-girlfriends. You running from something? Am I gonna have the mob at my door looking to collect child support?”
“Nah.” I laughed, drinking something that cost more than my last car. “Nothing like that. Just trying to figure my life out.”
“What’s to figure out? You’re rolling in dough and surrounded by beautiful women all the time. You and me, man, we’re the same. We’re the bookends this country needs. We’re the men every man wants to be! The alphas, top of the heap.”
I shrugged, swirling the glittering drink in my glass. “Ever think there might be something more, though? Something we’re missing?”
“What, like a fast car? I got three, you want one?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. A fast car for the fast women and the fast degradation of my liver.” My sarcasm came out cold and bitter, and Jason raised his brows and sat back, showing his chest. He always had been ready to throw down at the least provocation. Miserably, I waved him down.
“So what are you talking about, then?” he asked, still posturing. “You got women. You got money. That’s the dream, isn’t it? Never heard you talking about anything else.”
“I never have,” I admitted. “But maybe I should have.”
“What for?” He shrugged his massive shoulders and refilled our glasses. I calculated that I’d imbibed enough to pay for a kid to go to community college, and decided not to let it get to me. It was Jason’s money, after all; I wasn’t about to tell him how to spend it.
I couldn’t even rightfully say that I wouldn’t have spent mine the exact same way if I had the excess that he did. I had never been particularly altruistic with my funds, except in moments like these when they were all hypothetical and I had slowed down long enough to feel unfulfilled.
“I saw Bradley last week. He’s getting married.”
“Pfft!” Jason scoffed before downing his drink. “He always was a softie. Bet he got himself a nice, smart girl too. A quiet little wallflower.”
“I only saw her picture,” I said. “He says she’s smart, and she’s pretty enough.”
�
��Pretty enough? Is pretty ever enough? Look, man, I got certified models walking through my house day and night. They seek me out, you hear what I’m saying? I’ve got the pick of the litter, and so do you. Why would you want to saddle yourself with pretty enough when you could have models?”
“It’s all about looks for you, isn’t it?” I said with a wry smile.
“Well no, you want to be able to hold a conversation and whatever. I’m just saying, I can talk to these girls just as well as I could talk to a passably pretty girl. So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Are you happy?”
I had to think about that for a few minutes. I waved my glass for a refill and received the price of rent in liquid fire. Maybe that was my problem. Maybe it was all about assigning value to the wrong stuff. Why was I changing the price of happiness right now? As far as I could tell, nothing had really changed.
So I did think about it. I woke up basically whenever I wanted to. Hit the gym, maybe see a client before work for some noon-time shenanigans. Go to the bar, hang out with men I could almost relate to; men who admired me for my prowess. Spend the night with another client, go sleep in my own bed unhindered by expectations for emotional entanglement, do the whole thing again the next day.
“That’s what it is,” I said, slamming my hand drunkenly on the table as realization struck.
“What, you aren’t happy?”
“No, not that. I messed up, man.”
“What’d you do?”
“I slept with a client who wasn’t really a client. Gave her a freebie.”
“Isn’t sleeping with women the point?” he asked dubiously.
“No, not like that. I don’t mean I had sex with her, although…” I let my eyebrows fill in the rest of that thought. “I mean I slept. In her bed. With her. All night.”
He whistled, shaking his head. “You messed up, man. Can’t be doing that. Do you want to get stuck in your feelings? ’Cause that’s how it happens.”
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