by Mia Kayla
The pain in the back of my throat intensified, and I cowered into myself and pressed my hand over my face. I shook my head to respond to her question.
“Oh, honey.” She threw an arm over my shoulder and brought me close. “We’ll get through this. I promise. Whatever you decide, we’ll get through this.”
The tears gushed out. I wanted to scream for release. Scream for help. Call for a time-out. Do anything but face my new reality.
She kissed my forehead. “I’ve got you. We’ve got this together.”
I nodded because I needed her. Because I had to get through this. Because this wasn’t about me anymore. Because it would forever include a little someone else.
Being pregnant had been a struggle at first, but I’d pushed through it. Over the next months, Chloe had been there to pull up my hair and let me throw up into the toilet. She’d cooked me anything I wanted and let me slack on the housework when my muscles were too tired to even change into my PJs after work.
Soon, the crying had stopped because I needed to take responsibility and pull up my big-girl panties. I’d realized I needed to work to save for the baby, so I’d picked up extra hours. When I wasn’t working, I would be sleeping because eating was not in the baby’s itinerary.
Time had flown by in a blur, and before I had known it, Chloe and I had been holding an ultrasound of our little girl, admiring the outline of her features while watching another round of Sex and the City in our living room. She had cried when the strong heartbeat of my baby boomed through the speakers. I swore, the doctor thought we were a couple. In a way, we were. She was my rock.
My butt was in my favorite spot, right in front of the television, as I watched my favorite show. I nudged Chloe’s shoulder. “Go!”
She wasn’t going to stay home to watch another round of Sex and the City.
“What?” She shrugged, her face telling me she wasn’t moving.
“Your date, Chloe. You need to go. You can’t stop your life to sit here and take care of me.”
She’d been doing it for months, and her social life had taken the brunt of it.
Her eyes went back to the TV. “I choose to be here, Sam. I want to be here. I’m excited for the both of us.”
I nudged her again, more forcefully this time. I could always tell when Chloe’s head was turning over and over. I was sure she knew when I was working something out in my mind as well. We’d known each other long enough.
“Go! I’ll be fine. Me and Baby Boo will be right here when you get back.” I rubbed my baby bump, five-months prominent in my fitted shirt.
She sucked in her bottom lip, contemplating, until I stood and pulled her to stand.
I spanked her bottom. “Go! Seriously. If you don’t leave, I think you’ll bust from sexual frustration. It’s been months since you’ve gotten laid.”
“Earmuffs,” she whispered, pointing to the baby. “Fine! But I’m only one call away. One call.” She rubbed my belly before bending down to talk to the baby. “You call Auntie Chloe if you need me.” She kissed my stomach before patting me on the head like I was her pet. Then, she strolled to her room.
I shook my head, amused. She’d make a wonderful mother one day—if she only wanted kids, which she didn’t.
Where I wanted traditional with a quiet suburban home, Chloe was the opposite. She wanted the city life and an expensive condo on the highest floor of Chicago’s tallest skyscraper. I didn’t doubt her ability to achieve those dreams. Chloe worked hard to get to wherever she wanted to be. Year after year, I had seen her get promoted. It was only a matter of time before she was managing her own marketing execs.
A grumble from my stomach broke, as though the baby were talking to me. I rubbed my tiny munchkin. Little by little, the ache of raising this child alone had lessened because responsibility had stepped up and dimmed that ache. That ache had been replaced with affection and excitement of the baby to come.
“What do you want to eat?” I whispered, glad my nausea had decreased over the last few months. Slowly, my appetite had reappeared. “Did you say pizza, baby girl?” I smiled, already anticipating great food. “Have fun, Chloe,” I yelled behind me before walking toward the door. “We’re going for a walk and getting some pizza.”
I stepped out into the cold winter night with a hat, gloves, and a coat that no longer fit because my belly was popping out.
Puffs of white air escaped my mouth when I breathed out, and I wrapped my arms around myself to keep warm. It was good to be outside and take in the fresh air. I decided, if I was going to have pizza, then it’d better be good, so I hailed a cab and told him to drive to Coozie’s.
Sitting in the red cushioned seat, in the front of the store, my senses were bombarded with the spices, cheeses, and meats. I released a silent sigh when thoughts of Josh filtered through my brain. They always did, but more so now that I was having pizza at the same place where we’d argued, debating on which city served better pizza—Chicago or New York.
I took off my hat and stripped off my coat and gloves. Being pregnant, my body temperature was up and down and all around. One minute, I was freezing, and the next moment, I was hot.
I ordered a stuffed pizza with pepperoni and sausage and waited for my to-go order. I had wanted to get out and take in the fresh air, but I also wanted to eat it on the comfort of my couch.
“Sam?”
A familiar voice had me rooted in my spot.
When I peered up, the baby kicked, surprising me. My mouth slackened. My throat fell dry. I blinked rapidly, unable to process what was happening.
Many times before, I had wished for him to appear. Wishing he were still mine and this baby were his. At other times, I swore, different strangers were him, but my eyes had just been fooling me.
But, this time, it was him.
It was Josh.
Only a few feet away.
A slew of emotions passed across his face. First was a sense of longing in his eyes, and then a small smile touched his lips as he approached.
Automatically, my hands flew to my stomach—to protect the baby or myself, I didn’t know.
And then his eyes dropped to where my hands had fallen. He jerked back, and his eyes went wide.
Like I had done with Hawke and all the drugs, I didn’t think. I reacted.
A tiny cry escaped me, and then I tore past him, my feet hitting the pavement outside, my belly bouncing in front of me, my coat and scarf and gloves still hanging off my arm. I heard him yelling for me to stop, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but run. I couldn’t let him see me like this. Let him know I’d been hiding this from him. Even though it might not be his.
But, Josh being Josh, he chased me down the street, through the snow, without a jacket.
With all the weight I was packing, there was no way I could outrun him.
He reached for my elbow, careful to steady me first, before he turned me to face him. His eyes searched my face before dropping to my stomach again, then returning to my face, and back and forth.
He blew out large puffs of air. With one trembling hand, he pressed his palm against my stomach. The touch was so intimate that an unexpected heat formed behind my eyes. I leaned into him, craving his touch though I didn’t deserve it.
He blinked, furrowing his eyebrows. Exhaling a shaky breath, he focused on my stomach with hope and longing and love. “Is it…is it mine?” His voice quivered with intense emotion. He held his breath and waited, as if my one answer held his world.
A single tear fell down my cheek in slow motion, and I told him the truth that revealed everything and crushed my hope for our future. “I don’t know.”
In that moment, his eyes watered, clouding his vision, and he winced, as though I’d sucker-punched him in the gut with my words.
With an ache so deep in my chest, I stepped away from him for good, and his hand dropped. Then, I turned to walk away.
This time, the only time ever, he didn’t follow me.
Chapter 12
Darkness surrounded my small apartment as I stepped inside and walked blankly to my bedroom where I slipped under the covers. The scent of leftover lasagna from the kitchen wafted toward my nose, making me feel queasy. I could eat the lasagna, but the baby wanted Coozie’s, the paid pizza I’d left at the restaurant.
What happened to the stories I’d heard? About glowing and flawless skin and a happiness that filled the air to have a living human growing inside you?
Lies. All lies, so we would procreate.
But, once again, I pushed those negative thoughts aside. They were no good for the baby, and she was my priority now.
It was just so hard to be positive all the time. Especially since I’d had to decline my acceptance into Le Cordon Bleu, and I was working nonstop to save for my baby, not to mention the stress surrounding the circumstances of my pregnancy.
The doorbell buzzed, and I jumped to a sitting position, faster than a person without enough food in their stomach should. I threw my knees over the bed and went to the buzzer. I pressed the receiver and heard his familiar voice. The voice that held so much anguish.
“Sam, open up. It’s me.”
I closed my eyes and debated if I should let him in.
“I saw your light on,” he said, determination heavy in his tone. “I know you’re there. We need to talk,” he pressed.
Finally, I buzzed him in and opened the door. He was standing there, in all his handsome, boyish glory, in jeans and an Illini T-shirt with his Cubs hat on and the puffy North Face bomber jacket that he had left at the restaurant before running after me.
And, in that moment, I knew I still loved him. I wanted to cry all over again for the pain I had caused, for the torment in his eyes, for my stupidity, for our lost future.
“Hi,” he said, slowly stepping inside.
“Hi.” Guilt ate at my core.
I was a mess inside, but I used all my energy to keep it together.
“How are you feeling?” Concern leaked from his voice.
But I didn’t want his concern. I wanted his anger. Because I deserved his anger, not his concern.
It’d be better if he hated me. His kindness only made me feel worse about myself.
“I don’t know why I’m here.” His eyes dropped again to my stomach, and I couldn’t read his face. “It’s like my brain wanted me to go home, but…my heart had other plans.” Honesty seeped out of him, which was so typical of his character. No front. No pretending he wasn’t affected.
I needed him to know that I’d be okay. That he shouldn’t pity me. I’d walked into this situation, and I was determined to walk out with my head held high.
“It’s fine,” I said, my voice fake but firm. “I’m going to be fine, and the baby is going to be fine. I’m going to do this by myself. Raise her by myself.”
“Her?” He swallowed and released a breath, his face still unreadable.
I wanted to see his eyes because his eyes were the passageway to his thoughts. At one time, I could read everything he was thinking without him speaking a word.
“I’ll be okay.” My voice was resigned, defeated. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”
His face snapped up, and he let out a frustrated growl. “See, that’s the problem. I have a right to know.”
I looked off to the side and focused on the abstract art hanging against my white wall. I’d bought the painting at a local art fair. The array of colors had drawn me in, all blending together. You didn’t know where one color ended and where the next began. The artist called it Chaos. Story of my life.
“Sam…”
He was closer now. I could feel his heat, just a foot away.
I turned toward him, and he closed the gap between us. His hands dropped to my stomach, and I froze, surprised at the contact. His eyebrows pulled together over his chocolate-brown eyes. He stared intently at my stomach where the unborn baby lay.
“Is…is she mine?” he asked again.
I bit my cheek hard to feel pain because my next words would be even more painful. I didn’t understand why he was asking again, why he wanted to hurt all over again. He had heard me perfectly fine in front of Coozie’s. The look of pain on his face would forever be embedded in my brain.
“I don’t know,” I repeated.
He pursed his lips and didn’t step away this time as a tear escaped my eye. I didn’t bother to swipe it. That would only draw attention to the fact that I was crying.
“Did you ever love me?” His eyes were still on my stomach, and he exhaled deeply, as though his life depended on that one question. “The truth now. I know you loved him, but I want to know…I want to know if you ever loved me.”
God…where should I begin? I wanted to tell him I’d never been so madly in love before, how the days had blended together, and time had seemed to lapse with him. I wanted to tell him I’d made a mistake. Even though he’d broken up with me that night, in my mind, we weren’t truly done. If I could take back that one night with Hawke, I would.
When I didn’t answer, he cleared his throat. “God knows that I loved…still love you.” Josh’s voice shook as he spoke, his fingers trembling against my swollen stomach. “I just want to know if it was real, y’know?” His stare became distant. “Because I felt it. The way we were together. I just want to know I didn’t imagine a lifetime with you just because I wanted to. That you felt it, too. That I didn’t imagine it all.” He clenched his jaw. “I thought we had what my parents had.”
A tightness formed in the middle of my chest, making it difficult to breathe, difficult to stand, difficult to form words.
He lifted my chin to meet my eyes, his eyes glazed over. “Did you ever love me, Sam?”
I stared back at him, not wavering, and maybe I should’ve lied. The unselfish part of me would’ve, but he needed to know our relationship was real. “Yes. I loved you. So much.” That last part just slipped out before another tear escaped. But it was true. I couldn’t deny this love overwhelming me. My love for Josh would be forever. Every person before him was just a boy, insignificant to how I felt for him.
He released a long sigh, his tone tired. “Are you with him, Sam?”
“No, of course not.”
“Do you want to be with him?”
When I didn’t answer, he repeated himself, his voice gruff, “Do you?” He let out a frustrated sigh. “If you say you loved me like you did, why did you leave me that night? Why did you choose him?”
My gaze dropped to the living baby bump that was my future. I already knew my answer, and it wouldn’t help. It certainly wouldn’t change anything.
He threw both hands up. “Tell me.”
I stayed silent because there was nothing I could say. There wasn’t a good enough reason to tell him why I had left. Other than I’d thought I was doing the right thing.
“Tell me, Sam,” he demanded, his hands clenching. “Damn it!”
“Because he was hurting.” I wrung my hands together. Tears sprang to my eyes. “He was hurting so bad, crying so hard, and he begged me to see him. His mother had just died. He needed me, and”—I tore my eyes from his—“I thought I could save him.” That was the reality of that night, the reason I’d ultimately left. “And, yes, I did love him, but I wasn’t in love with him.” I didn’t go into the details of that night. Josh didn’t need to know about all the lies and women and drugs and my stupidity.
The pupils in his eyes darkened, and then his focus was intently on my face, as though he were observing me. Time seemed to slow down, and we were both out of words. He took one step forward into my personal space.
“Red or blue?” he whispered.
“What?” I asked, confused and on the edge of breaking down right in front of him.
“Icing on your cake. Red or blue?” His voice quieted.
I swallowed. “Blue.”
“Ice cream or cake?” he went on.
“Josh.” My voice quivered. My emotional state was shot.
“Ice cream or ca
ke,” he pressed, his jaw tense, his focus firm.
“Cake.”
“Do you love him?” he choked out.
“No!” I yelled, frustrated and angry. With him, with myself, with the whole damn world.
“Are you still in love with me?” His eyes glossed over.
“Yes.” I didn’t want to play any more games. He needed to know the truth.
With a curt nod and his eyes serious, he stepped back and dropped to one knee, pulling out a square velvet box from his pocket.
Hands up, body shaking, tears falling in full force, I said, “No. No. No.” My head shook from left to right. “You don’t get to fix this, Josh. I’m not letting you do this.”
And that was one of the reasons I had decided never to tell him. I had known he’d try to do the right thing when I’d wronged him in more ways than I could count.
“No,” I said. More tears. More sobs. Even more regrets.
He swallowed hard, reaching his hands out to touch me. “What if I told you I had this ring for a while now.” Slow breaths escaped him, as though he were trying to keep it together. “What if I told you I’ve been carrying it in my pocket this whole time because…” The heel of his palm rubbed at the center of his chest. “Simply because I wanted to keep a part of you with me even though we were done.”
“I’d say, I’m the one who screwed up, and you should take it back.”
His figure was a distorted image behind my tears. No, I didn’t deserve him. When you loved someone, you wanted the best for them, and I wasn’t it.
He stuffed the ring in his back pocket, stood and grabbed my hand. He intertwined our fingers and pulled me into him, resting his forehead against mine. I had waited months for this, months to feel his touch again, and I was too weak to pull away. A better woman would have pulled away.
My eyes fell shut as I breathed him in, and our breaths were intermingled in the small span of space between us.
One touch.
One breath.
One exhale.
It reminded me of the first day I’d met him at the department store.
“Sometimes, it’s so hard to love you, Sam.” He lightly tapped his head against mine, his voice filling with emotion. “But you know what’s harder?” When he cupped the side of my face, my eyes opened to meet his. “Trying to stop.”