Breathe Again

by Sydney Logan

  I don’t.

  Grabbing the second fork, I take a bite of Tony’s delicious homemade apple pie.

  “You look exhausted, Carrie.”

  “I feel exhausted, but I’m sleeping ten hours a day so I have no idea what’s wrong with me.”

  My shift’s over, but I can’t muster the energy to walk home. Instead, I decide to

  hide in a booth and try to study, but the words on the page are just a big blur.

  “Maybe you’re getting the flu.”

  “I can’t get sick right now. I have finals.”

  I take another bite, and suddenly, my stomach lurches.

  “Carrie? What’s—”

  Covering my mouth, I jump out of the seat and race to the bathroom.

  “Definitely sick,” Amy says softly.

  Despite my protests, she’d insisted on driving me home. I made it as far as the couch. The cold washcloth on my forehead feels like heaven.

  “I guess. That’s the third time I’ve thrown up this week.”

  Amy grows quiet.

  I open one eye. “What?”

  “Umm . . . I was just doing some mental math. You had your period, right?”

  What a weird question.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Am I sure? I’m twenty-one years old. Pretty sure I know what a period looks like.”

  “Right. Of course.” Amy leaps off the couch and reaches for her coat. “I’m going to run down to the drug store. Grab you some aspirin and . . . stuff. Will you be okay until I get back?”

  I close my eyes and nod. “Take my door key. It’s in my bag. Hopefully I’ll be asleep when you get back.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll be right back.”

  I hear the soft click of the lock just before drifting off to sleep.

  The next morning, I open my eyes to find my best friend hovering over me.

  “Umm, good morning?”

  Amy smirks. “Feeling better?”

  “Well, my heart’s kind of racing. Probably because I just woke up and someone scared the absolute shit out of me.”

  “Sorry. But are you feeling better?”

  “I don’t know. Let me try to stand.” I struggle to my feet. Once I’m upright, I’m thrilled to find that my stomach isn’t doing somersaults.

  I smile. “Yep. Better.”

  “Fantastic. Go pee on this.”

  She thrusts a box into my hands, grabs my arm, and all but drags me to the bathroom.

  The doctor’s words hang in the air.

  Eight weeks along.

  How can three little words be so frightening and so exciting, all at the same time?

  When the doctor excuses himself to write my vitamin prescription, an uncharacteristically soft-voiced Amy places her hand on mine.

  “Carrie? Are you okay?”

  I nod numbly. The doctor says I’m fine. Great, even. Healthy as a horse. My pulse rate is a little high, but considering the circumstances, he says that’s to be expected.

  Considering the circumstances.

  The doctor didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already read online. Apparently, 25-30% of pregnant women experience some type of spotting or bleeding in the early weeks of pregnancy. And sometimes, that bleeding is mistaken as a period, when really . . . it’s not.

  To say I’m freaked out is an understatement.

  After peeing on four sticks and getting the same result, I’d laid on my bed and stared wide-eyed at my computer screen, reading story after story of other women who’d received the shock of their lives when they found out they were pregnant, despite the fact they’d had what they thought was their monthly cycle. Like me, they had no idea that was even possible.

  Mom must have skipped that particular detail during our various sex talks.

  “Josh is going to flip his shit,” Amy whispers under her breath.

  Funny. That’s the one fear I don’t have at all.

  Josh will be thrilled.

  I hope.

  My confidence begins to waver as the day drags on, so by the time he shows up with take-out, I’m a complete basket case.

  “How was your day?” he asks, taking a bite of his burger.

  “My day was . . . interesting.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep.” I absent-mindedly dip a crinkle fry into the ketchup, but I’m too nervous to actually eat it.

  “Carrie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Something on your mind?”

  Diapers. Bottles. The pros and cons of breast feeding in public.

  “You could say that, yeah.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Yes, but it can wait until you’re finished.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  I shake my head, and he drops his napkin on his plate.

  “Okay, I’m finished. What’s going on?”

  Taking a deep breath, I offer him my hand and lead him to the couch. Grabbing my blanket, I wrap it around us as he holds me close.

  “You’re scaring me, Carrie.”

  If this scares him, how’s he going to react to the news that I’m pregnant? Are we ready for this? Is he ready for this? He’s just lost a child. Is he ready to have another one? With me?

  But then I remember it doesn’t matter if we’re ready. This is happening.

  “Josh, I’m pregnant.”

  His face turns ashen. My stomach drops.

  Oh no.

  “You’re . . . what?”

  “Pregnant. Eight weeks.”

  “With my baby?”

  I frown.

  “Sorry.” Josh rubs his hands over his face and starts to ramble. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . we haven’t known each other that long, and you might have . . . dated someone before I came along, and we only had sex the one time, so before I get too excited—”

  “The baby’s yours, Josh.”

  His blue eyes widen, and then his face morphs into the most beautiful smile.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When did you find out?”

  I tell him about all the sleeping and the throwing up, and how Amy stood by my side the entire time.

  “I’m so confused. I thought you said—”

  “My period? Yeah. I thought so, too. Apparently it’s not uncommon to have some early spotting.”

  “But everything’s okay?”

  “He said so. The doctor at the clinic was nice, but he suggested I find an OB-GYN, so I’ll do that.”

  Josh gazes sweetly at me. “We’re having a baby.”

  “We sure are.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.”

  “I’m . . . happy. Scared. I guess that’s normal, though, right? I didn’t expect to be a mom so soon, but fate had other ideas. I’ll probably have to cut back on my classes.”

  “And quit the diner.”

  I shake my head. “Josh, I have to work.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes. Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t wait tables.”

  “Carrie, you could slip.”

  “I could slip on something right here in my own kitchen.”

  “That’s another thing. About this apartment—”

  “Josh Bennett, if you think you’re going to start dictating where I work and where I live, you and I are going to have a problem, and problems aren’t good for my blood pressure. High blood pressure is bad for the baby.”

  Josh smirks. “Are you going to use that same argument for the next nine months? Because if so, you’ll win every time.”

  “I like winning. Now stop being ridiculous and kiss me.”

  He smiles and slides his hand along the nape of my neck, pulling me to him and kissing me hard. With a soft groan that radiates through me, Josh pulls me onto his lap.

  “I’ll be a good dad, Carrie,” he murmurs against my lips.


  “I have no doubt.”

  “And you’ll be a great mom. I know you will.”

  I press my forehead against his. “It’s funny how things work out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know we have a long way to go, but . . .when we met, we were both heartbroken and lonely. And now—”

  “We don’t have to be alone anymore,” he says, sliding his nose against mine. “I love you, Carrie. And not because I’m grieving or because you saved my life or because you’re having my baby. I love you because you’ve given me something to live for. You’ve given me a reason to wake up every morning. You’ve given me a reason to breathe again.”

  Blinking back tears, I kiss him softly.

  “I love you, too.”

  Josh smiles and gently brushes my hair away from my eyes. “That’s the first time you’ve told me.”

  “I know. Will you forgive me if I promise it won’t be the last?”

  “Deal,” he says, sliding his hands along my waist and pulling me closer. “Carrie, I told you that I was a terrible husband, but I was a great father. Maybe someday, you'll give me the chance to try to be good at both.”

  My heartbeat quickens.

  “Not now,” he says, “but maybe someday.”

  I smile against his lips.

  “Maybe someday.”

  Some say pregnancy is the time in a woman’s life when she feels the most beautiful. It apparently has something to do with the surging hormones and the constant reminder that a new life is growing inside you. On the other hand, some women don’t feel beautiful at all, thanks to the morning sickness that plagues them through the early months of their pregnancy. Despite that, the father of your child will find you irresistible.

  I have no idea if that’s true, but if Josh Bennett is any indication, the father thing is a fact because the man cannot stop touching me.

  Last night, for instance, I finally had the chance to meet Josh’s entire family. We had dinner at his parents’ house. Camille and Jordan Bennett are quite possibly the nicest people I’ve ever met. By the size of their mansion, I expected a gourmet meal prepared by chefs and served by waiters. Instead, Camille cooked fried chicken, Sonia made mashed potatoes, and we ate it on picnic tables out in the back yard. Totally low-key and comfortable, and I loved every second of it.

  Of course, I had trouble concentrating on the food, because Josh’s hand rested under the table and on my thigh.

  All night long.

  It’s just the first trimester, and those crazy pregnancy hormones aren’t supposed to kick in until later, but my body must have missed that memo. Because I want him.

  Badly.

  Josh wants me, too. And he makes no secret of it.

  Honestly, I’m not sure I can blame it all on the fact that I’m pregnant. It’s very possible that we both just have vivid recollections of our first time together, and it was months ago.

  Something needs to happen.

  Soon.

  Dr. Moore is rightfully concerned about the new baby and still cautions us about keeping our hands to ourselves, but everything I’ve read online actually encourages the mother and father to be as intimate as much as they can, since that connection can only help strengthen and solidify the bond you already share.

  Yes, I’m trying to justify jumping him.

  All the unresolved sexual tension is probably to blame for our recent arguments. Josh keeps suggesting I move out of my apartment and quit my job. While I agree that finding a bigger place is probably necessary, do I have to do it now? Can’t it wait a few months so that I can save some money? And to do that, I need to work. Besides, the spring semester is starting, and tuition is due.

  To shut him up, I agreed to check out a two-bedroom apartment a few blocks away from my building. As we walk together up the cobblestone pathway that leads to the landlord’s office, Josh continues to be a pain in my ass.

  “I don’t know why we’re here,” he says.

  “Are you serious? You set up the appointment.”

  “I know.” Josh sighs and knocks on the door. A tall man greets us, introducing himself as Andy. He hands Josh a key.

  “The apartment is upstairs?” he asks.

  Andy nods. “All the two bedrooms are on the second floor. Rent’s a thousand. I’ll need that, plus the security deposit, to sign the lease.”

  There’s a distinct ringing in my ears. “One thousand . . . dollars?”

  “Yep. Deposit’s the same, and rent’s due the first of each month.”

  “That’s almost double what I’m paying now.”

  “Then you’d better stay there.”

  “That sounds perfect to me. Thanks for your time.”

  Josh smirks at me before handing the key back to the man. “Thanks, anyway.”

  Why is he smirking? Josh knows I can’t afford this place. Did he purposely bring me here just to make me feel like crap?

  “You’re a jerk,” I mutter as we walk back to the car.

  “What’d I do?”

  “Why did you even make an appointment? You knew I wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

  Josh starts the car and heads out onto the highway. “This building has the cheapest two-bedrooms in the city. I’ve checked.”

  “I’ll check. There have to be other places.”

  “Sure, if you want to live in a crack den. Plenty of two-bedrooms there. Of course, you might get shot.”

  “Stop it.”

  Josh tightens his fist around the steering wheel and sighs heavily.

  “I’m sorry, Carrie. You’re right. I knew you wouldn’t be able to afford it. That’s why I brought you here. I wanted you to understand that you can’t do this on your own. Two bedrooms are going to be more expensive. You have to let someone help you.”

  “Or I can stay right where I am.”

  “You could live with your mom.”

  “No.”

  “You could live with me.”

  I glare in his direction.

  “I have a house, Carrie. A big house with lots of rooms.”

  “Yes, and that’s your house.”

  “It can be your house, too. Just say the word and I’ll have a key made this afternoon. Or . . .”

  I roll my eyes. “Or?”

  “There is another place I wanted to show you. And it’s in your price range.”

  “Then let’s see it.”

  “Really?”

  “Anything to shut you up.”

  Josh grins and exits the highway. I don’t know this part of Nashville too well, but I recognize the street.

  “Don’t your parents live on this road?”

  “Yep, but that’s not where we’re going.”

  Instead he takes a left, pulling into a driveway. We’re greeted with an iron gate.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Josh doesn’t say a word. He simply rolls down his window and punches in a code. Seconds later the gate swings open, and we follow the circular driveway. He stops the car in front of a sidewalk that leads to the double doors of a two-story brick house with gorgeous shrubs and tall maple trees. I gaze in awe at the beautiful home. My parents’ house in Inglewood is a cracker box compared to this place.

  “This is so not in my price range.”

  “No, but it’s in mine. I’m buying this house, Carrie.”

  I blink rapidly. “For me?”

  He must realize that saying yes will cause a fight, because he quickly shakes his head.

  “I’m buying it for me.”

  “But . . . why?”

  Instead of answering, Josh climbs out of the car and walks over to my door. He opens it and offers me his hand.

  “Come in and I’ll tell you.”

  Josh gives me the tour. It’s gorgeous, of course, with more bedrooms than I can count.

  “Five bedrooms,” he says, reading my mind. “But this one is my favorite.”

  He opens the door. Pastel yellow paint and tall, built-in
bookshelves cover the walls. But it’s the beautiful bay window that captures my attention immediately.

  I walk over to admire the view. “Is that . . .”

  “Old Hickory Lake, yeah.”

  “It’s really beautiful, Josh. Is that why this is your favorite room? Because of the view?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s my favorite, because it was so easy to imagine you in it. I thought we could put a desk here. You could write your first novel. And your second. And your third . . .”

  I grin. “I thought this house was for you?”

  “It is. You and the baby would just be a very happy bonus.” Josh steps closer, reaching for me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “Carrie, I love that you’re independent and strong, and I don’t want to change that. But the fact remains that you’re going to need help, no matter where you live. If you won’t let me pay for school, at least consider moving in with me. Not now. But whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’ll consider it, but why a new place? What’s wrong with the one you have?”

  “I’m selling it. Too many memories. Some of them are wonderful, but most aren’t. Dr. Moore actually suggested it. He thinks I need a clean slate to truly begin to move on with my life.”

  That makes a lot of sense. Still, could I live here?

  “Josh, this is . . . really overwhelming. It’s a lot of house.”

  “It’s just walls, Carrie.”

  “Expensive walls.”

  He studies my face. “Is that what’s bothering you? The price tag?”

  “You grew up with money.”

  “And you didn’t. So what? Did you have a happy childhood?”

  I nod.

  “So did I. That’s why I think the price of the house doesn’t matter. It’s the people inside. The pictures on the mantle. The cookies in the oven. And it’s the same bedtime story read over and over again. Without all that, it’s just wood and brick. It’s just a shell until you fill it with the things you love. Then, it’s a home.”

  He glides his nose along my ear. “You’re my future, Carrie. And I want your touch on everything in my life. Starting with this house.”

  Sliding my fingers through his hair, I stifle a whimper as his lips blaze a trail across my neck. His sweet words and heated touch are doing crazy things to my hormonal body.

  “Can I pick the carpet?” I whisper, pressing myself against him. “You know how much I love carpet.”