by J. K Harper
Every time that notion surfaced, bile rose up in my throat. Maybe I was overacting. We did just have what started off as a one-night stand—where I was in a semi-drunken state—with virtually no prior communication, not even to catch up on what had happened in each other’s lives during the five years I had been away. Did I imagine things, adding meaning to something that wasn’t there? Did I even have a right to demand an explanation?
I paced around the cabin, operating on blind instinct as these thoughts kept playing on my mind. I stopped to really focus on what my busy hands were doing. Hours had passed. The cabin was spotless. And my suitcase and laptop bag were packed. I sent a quick text to my Dad, letting him know I wanted to spend some time down at our house in Reno. After that, I booked a pick-up with one of the resort shuttles to get a ride down the mountain.
I needed to clear my head.
And that required getting far away from here.
Chapter 6
Robin
I was in a daze when I stepped off the plane into JFK terminal the next morning. My first rhetorical question was, how the hell did I get here? Yes, it was rhetorical, because I knew exactly how I’d managed to return to the Big Apple on Christmas Eve morning. It was simple, really. The shuttle that had picked me up to take me into Reno needed to make a rush stop at the airport first. In my hazy yet spontaneous state of mind, I told the driver I would get off there and took my stuff to the departure terminal. The airline counter for my post-New Year’s return flight was open, and when they checked, there was room on a redeye. I only had to pay something like fifty bucks to adjust my flight date. Or five hundred. I wasn’t quite paying attention after handing over my credit card. Now I was here, debating whether I’d been too hasty.
My cell rang while I walked through the terminal toward the baggage carousels. I had already made up my mind that I would only take calls from four possible people between now and New Year’s—Dad, Tiffany, my grandmother, and Mr. Bradshaw, my new potential boss.
It was Tiffany.
I groaned. Maybe I wasn’t up for talking to anyone at all. Letting the call go to voicemail, I sent her a text that read, ‘Just landed at JFK. Call you later.’
That was when she blew up my iPhone with nonstop calls. She racked up twenty-five missed calls by the time I got my luggage. Tiffany was not going to let up, so I took the twenty-sixth call.
“Really, Tiffany?” I answered gruffly. “You couldn’t wait an hour or two to hear back? I was getting my bags.”
“Jesus Christ, Robin,” Tiffany drawled in her usual high-pitched voice. “What the hell are you doing back in New York? We had dinner plans last night.”
“I couldn’t stay, hun.”
“Just like that? Not even a call to your bestie?” she pressed, grating on my last nerve because red-eye flights in cramped airplane seats were a real bitch.
“It was an unplanned thing, all right?” I snapped, then took a breath so as to not freak the hell out over my smartphone. I was still in the middle of a packed airport terminal that customarily was brimming over with security personnel observing people who acted strangely. After all, this was Christmas. No one else around me was acting the fool. Departing passengers were rushing to flights, and those like me in Arrivals were all mellow and chipper, decked out in winter coats and ugly sweaters, hugging family members who had shown up to collect them with flowers and massive wrapped gifts. There were people kissing kids, grandparents, spouses, and friends. Then there was me, screaming into my iPhone like I was the designated Grinch of the crowd.
“I’m sorry, hun,” I said, lowering my voice a bit. I kept moving toward the commuter passenger exit. “I just had to leave. How about I fill you in after I get a taxi? Or better yet, when I get home?”
“I can’t believe you’re gone. What about our Christmas plans? I didn’t even get to give you the present I got you. Is there any possible way you can try to come—”
“I slept with Landon O’Halloran!” I finally screamed to get her to stop.
Oops.
That came out too loudly.
The voices of people nearby all hushed to an eerie silence, and everyone within earshot turned to stare at me. At least now they knew for sure that I wasn’t on any Homeland Security no-fly lists.
I looked around as though I was also searching for where that voice came from, then hurried out the exit and hopped into the closest available yellow cab.
“You still there?” I murmured into the phone after giving the taxi driver the address of my off-campus loft apartment in Harlem.
“I am…wow…I didn’t realize.” Now Tiffany was tongue-tied.
“Yeah. That happened.”
She cleared her throat. “When did this all go down?”
“Two nights ago,” I answered. “Then yesterday I found out he’s probably married with kids.”
“No,” she exclaimed. “Landon? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Saw it with my own eyes.”
“That’s…wow. I can’t even picture him with a steady girlfriend, let alone married.”
“With three little ones.”
“Really?”
“They called him daddy.”
“Oh…well…well you know what?” she finally asked in a firm tone. “Fuck him. Fuck them all.”
“Exactly—” I started to agree, but she cut me off.
“Goddamned O’Halloran brothers… cheating, obnoxious, smug, sexy, gorgeous scoundrels,” she grumbled.
“That sounds insightful,” I said. “I get the feeling you have your own chapter to tell.”
“I was fixing to fill you in on it last night.”
“Hmmm. I really am sorry, hun. I kind of acted off the cuff, flying back here like this. I promise to make it up to you in May at the latest. I’m going to do social work in Sparks after all!”
I filled her in on the job offer. As my call waiting had been beeping for almost the entire call, I swore under threat of death that we would catch up on the rest tonight, and then I ended her call to take one from Dad. It wasn’t easy, but I quickly explained what had happened without going into the Landon ordeal, which meant I said precious little. He was not nearly as upset as I expected, and explained the reason was that I would be moving back in May, and we’d have lots and lots of upcoming holidays to share. I probably could have found a way to subtly ask him whether Landon was attached and had children, but there was no point. Dad had the hardest time telling one O’Halloran brother from the other.
Before ending the call, he gave me a start when he added, “One of those O’Halloran brothers came by here asking for your number, sweetie.”
“What? When?” I asked. It had to be Landon, so I left the question of which brother out of the mix.
“Last night, dear.”
“You didn’t actually give him my number, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“Great. If he asks again, just tell him I’m busy with my studies, all right? I don’t want to get too distracted in my last semester.”
“Never you mind, love. If you don’t want to talk to him, don’t. No explanation needed.”
“Thanks, Dad. By any chance do you know if he’s married?”
“Who? The O’Halloran boy?”
“Yes.”
“I honestly can’t tell them apart, dear. I believe a couple of them are married. Two of the middle ones have kids…or a younger one. Hell if I can keep up with the mountain gossip. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Never mind. Thanks for not passing on my number.”
“That’s no problem at all. Well, it’s just about six in the morning out here. I’d better go. Merry Christmas, baby. I love you.”
“Merry Christmas, Daddy. Love you too.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you in May, love, but we’ll talk long before that.” He chuckled heartily. “We need to make arrangements to get you moved back here, closer to your old man.”
“Can’t wait. See you, Dad.”
Clicking the e
nd call button, I dropped the phone into my purse and bided my time to make it home in the usual city traffic. Once I got in, I did what I’d always done around the holidays in the big city—I buried myself in work, planned out my coursework and independent projects, binge-watched online movies, and caught up on sleep.
Chapter 7
Robin
I was not okay.
It was close to the end of January. I was about halfway through leading an afternoon group therapy session in the basement of an Anglican church. It was a diverse crowd, as this program was affiliated with a publicly-funded addiction and mental health clinic near the campus. We had just reached the end of a short intermission, and although I was used to much longer sessions, I couldn’t wait for this one to end. I had woken up feeling like shit, probably due to food poisoning from the three-day-old pizza I had for dinner last night, so it was a struggle to keep much of anything down. Thankfully, no one complained about the break ending quickly. The sooner we could resume the sharing, the better. I needed to wrap up this session and fast.
Sitting at the front of the room, I looked at each face in the circle of about thirty regulars and guests who were settling in.
“We have another thirty-five minutes or so,” I told them, swallowing hard as I tried to keep the indigestion at bay. “How many of you would like to share today and have not yet had the chance?” About six hands went up. I gulped and pointed at the first of two faces I had never seen at the session or the clinic before. “We’ll start with you. Thanks for raising your hand. What’s your name?”
“Hello everyone,” the middle-aged blonde woman said with a shy wave. “I’m Monique. I’m an alcoholic, and I’m French. I’m from France.”
Everyone welcomed her with a chorus reply of, “Hi Monique.”
“Well, I just want to share that I’ve been clean and sober for two weeks, and I’m grateful to have everyone’s support. That’s all, really. Thank you.”
The group gave a short round of applause. I clapped my hands a couple of times, but was deteriorating fast. I swiped my upper lip to cover the burp I couldn’t keep from letting out. Shit. My skin was damp with sweat. Taking a deep breath, I sped things up a little. “Anyone else?” I asked, looking around the room. A dark-haired man in his mid-twenties raised his hand next. “Go on.” I told him.
“Hi peeps,” he started. “I’m Jake, and I’m a sex addict. And an alcoholic. And a drug addict.”
The group was warm and understanding. No one reacted with any shock or horror, and to be honest, any reaction on my face had more to do with darting my eyes around the room for a trash can, just in case.
“Hi Jake,” they all replied.
“I’ve been sober for…” he started to say, then he looked at his watch. “For seven hours.” The group nodded supportively and let Jake continue. “I actually didn’t think I could last this long, so I’m grateful for that. If I can make it to midnight tonight, well hell, I’ll break my best record.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” I told him, hand on my chest, swallowing down whatever was fighting to rise up my throat. “With the support of our group here, and the guidance of your sponsor, you can continue to make great strides in the direction you want to go.”
“That’s awesome,” Jake said. Attendees cheered him on with applause, and then quieted down when they realized he had more to say. “There was a time a while ago that I was craving it so bad, I was sure I’d die if I didn’t have sex. And crack. And my bottle of Jack. I was lost, you know? I’d find myself coming to in places I didn’t recognize. I’d wake up nauseous, pale and sweating profusely, and…” he paused for a moment and stared at me. “Kind of like the way you look right now. Lady, are you okay?”
I wished he hadn’t said nauseous. “Um…it’s Robin, and yes,” I answered. “I may have slight indigestion, I think. But it’s not serious. Please, carry on.”
“Is there something that you want to share with us, Robin?” he continued. “I mean seriously, you can unburden yourself with us if you’ve strayed from the path…if you’re on something, like right now. We’re all human. We won’t judge.”
I shook my head, fanning my face as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of my cheek. “I can assure you, I’m not high.”
“Maybe just a little?”
“I’m not an addict, I promise—”
I tried to finish, but had to make a beeline to the waste bin beside the food table. In a run. To puke my guts out. One of the ladies came to my side. She held my hair out of my face so I could finish. Someone else got me a bottle of water, which I sipped just to get the bile taste out of my mouth.
Jake came up behind me and started rubbing my back. My skin crawled.
“You’re in a safe place, Robin,” he said. “Just let it all out.”
I shook his hand off my back and straightened up. “I apologize for the…for this…inconvenience. We’re going to have to wrap up early today, ladies and gentlemen,” I announced, heading back to my chair to gather up my things. “Thanks to each of you who shared. See you all on Thursday.”
I bolted from the room, ran up the church steps and out to the street to hail a cab. Once I got outside, I saw it for the bad idea that it was. No self-respecting cabbie would let me in his taxi in my sorry state. Even the group therapy patients were looking at me like I was coming down from something potent. I was ten or twelve blocks away from my place, so I dragged on my winter coat and walked.
The fresh air actually helped. I was at my apartment in twenty minutes or so, and the first thing I did was run up to the stairs to my loft bedroom to check the wall calendar. I recoiled, taking a huge stumble of a step backward after looking closely at the circled dates. My hand covered my mouth in disbelief. All the blood drained from my face, and nausea took hold again.
I was almost three weeks late.
Chapter 8
Robin
I couldn’t take it anymore. I had hurled enough, and worried too much. Now, I needed to talk to someone about the whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in my mind.
I send a text to Tiffany. “Hey. I think I’m late.”
My iPhone buzzed a minute later. “Hi! Late for what? An assignment? Project? Therapy session? You’re never late. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“No. LATE late. Late as in ‘skipped PMS and bloating, then went directly to puking’ late.”
Tiffany’s call popped up with the FaceTime option almost immediately.
“Hi hun,” I droned, after accepting the call. I noticed she had her chestnut brown hair pulled up into a tight bun, was wearing a sleek black suit jacket, and sitting in a leather chair in an office I didn’t recognize. Only then did I remember that with the time difference, it was early afternoon for her. “Did I get you at a bad time?”
“No, it’s fine. Oh my God, Robin. You look awful!”
“And that’s precisely the confidence boost I needed this evening, bestie,” I whined, my tone dripping with sarcasm as I sipped on club soda and lime to help my tummy.
“Sorry, hun. I’ve just never seen you so pale. So what happened? Are you… pregnant?”
“I’m not sure…I think so. That has to be it.”
“How late are you?”
“Close to three weeks.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just forget to record your last period? Actually, forget I asked that question. You’re too meticulous to overlook stuff like that. Have you done one of those home pregnancy tests?”
“Not yet. Think I should?”
She folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the office ceiling. “Hmmm. Let me think about that for a second. Option one. Know for sure now. Option two. Ignore it completely and potentially end up having a baby pop out of you at the hair salon or while going on a jog in say, eight or nine months. I’m kind of torn on which option to pick here,” she teased. “Seriously, of course get a pregnancy test! Hang up now. Go get some different brands at the pharmacy. No matter what it tells you,
get your ass to your OB/GYN. Don’t even make an appointment. Do a walk-in, or better yet, Google one of those family planning birth control clinics and pay them a visit. Like right now.”
“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” I muttered, flopping back into bed.
“Awww honey. I’m sorry. But you know what?”
“What?”
“We still don’t know what ‘this’ is! Don’t worry and do not speculate. They both bring on premature wrinkles. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to start getting Botox treatments before I turn twenty-five. Go now. Get the tests. Then we’ll talk.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I am. And hun?”
“Yeah?”
Her face softened, and she brought the phone up to her face. “We’ll get through this.”
“Thanks, Tiff. Look, I’m going to go now,” I told her, aware that my eyes had filled with tears.
I ended the call and grabbed my purse. Time to get the facts.
* * *
I was a mess after leaving the off-campus birth control clinic for the second time in five weeks. The first visit was to have a pregnancy test and find out the results. The doctor didn’t keep me for too long that time, because he of all people probably knew that saying the words ‘Congratulations, you’re pregnant’ made every woman’s mind go blank, whether they were hoping to get that news or not.
So yes. I was pregnant.
Pregnant and nauseous and numb, all at the same time. The news had little effect on my last semester or my field placements. After my mother had passed, I became very good at mentally compartmentalizing my emotional states. If I had to self-diagnose, I would have said I was a high-functioning, depressed, grieving person. So now, I could just add ‘pregnant’ or ‘expectant unwed mother’ to the label. I still had no idea what I would do, but during those five weeks, I was just glad to be able to get out of bed, attend my program seminars, handle my field placements and keep from projectile vomiting on anyone along the way.