Sold to the Hottest Bidder

by Layla Valentine

  I’ve made a last-minute appointment at a nearby clinic instead of at the family doctor. I can’t risk any of this getting back to my parents. Since Willow is at rehearsal for a play she’s the lead in in a few weeks, it’s up to me to go alone.

  The way my hands shake as I sign in at the front desk is completely unexpected. I have to sit down and pinch them between my thighs to make it stop. When the nurse calls my name, I’m still nothing more than a bundle of nerves.

  Is this how it’s going to be? Appointment after appointment that I go to alone?

  The fact that I might actually be having a baby still hasn’t registered with me. All I can think about is telling Jay and my parents, and seeing the shock on all of their faces.

  The nurse takes me to a room where my blood pressure and weight are taken. I try to steady my breathing. I don’t know what I’m so nervous about. The outcome is going to be pretty simple. Either I really am pregnant, or I’m not. If I am, I’ve already decided to keep the baby. Even if I have to raise him or her alone.

  When it’s time for the ultrasound, something appears on the screen right away.

  “There we are!” the nurse coos, pointing to what looks like a tiny bean on the black-and-white screen. “You’re only around four weeks along. It’s actually quite unusual to find out this early, but your body wanted you to know, it seems.”

  I stare in shock at the screen. This is really happening. I’m having a baby. Tears spring into my eyes unexpectedly.

  “I know,” the nurse murmurs, smiling. “It’s an emotional moment. Would you like a minute?”

  I sniff and nod. “Thanks, that’s kind of you.”

  She shuts off the monitor and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I sit up and grab a handful of tissues to wipe off the jelly on my stomach. Seeing the little figure on the screen made me happy, like the nurse thought, but that’s only a small part of it.

  I’m also terrified. Confused. Lonely.

  This isn’t how I thought I would see the very first picture of my first child—in a cold room, all by myself. Shouldn’t there be someone here with me? The baby’s father? Someone who, hopefully, is also the love of my life?

  I wipe the last bit of jelly off of my skin, crumple up the tissues, and throw them at the trashcan. The wad bounces off the side and hits the floor.

  Blinking away the last of my tears, I take my phone from my purse. No more waiting. Not another week. Not another minute. Now that I know for sure that I’m pregnant, it’s time to tell Jay.

  I rehearse what I’m going to say as I scroll through my phone and pull up his number.

  Look, I have some crazy news. I know it would be better to tell you in person, but it’s pretty urgent. I’m pregnant, and it’s yours. I’ve already decided to keep it. If you want to be involved, that’s great. If not…

  If not, what? Could I really let Jay off the hook so easily?

  Then again, why would I want to hang on to a guy who doesn’t want to be involved in his kid’s life? Wouldn’t it be better just to let him go and take care of everything—including the money part—myself?

  I don’t like the thought of Jay walking away and never talking to me again, or never seeing our child. That’s not the guy I got to know in those magical days in Macau. I hope that I’m right about the person I saw in him, and that he’s not going to disappear just when things start to get rough.

  I can’t even breathe through the first ring. On the four ring, I finally inhale.

  On the fifth, I exhale. The call goes to voicemail.

  Leaving a message doesn’t sit right with me, so I just hang up. I’ll try again later. For now, I’ve gained myself another few minutes of carrying this secret.

  There’s a knock on the door and the nurse comes back in. “How are we doing in here?”

  I plaster a smile to my face. “Just great.”

  Willow meets me at the coffee shop on the corner; her rehearsal had finished around the same time as my doctor’s appointment.

  “Oh. My. God,” she breathes as we stand in line and she looks at the print-out of the ultrasound. “It’s so cute! I mean, hmm…she.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “She,” I repeat softly to myself. My baby is going to be a girl…or a boy. Either way, thinking about it like this, that little being in my stomach, makes the whole thing become a bit more concrete.

  “Have you thought of any names yet?” Willow asks.

  “No. I haven’t been thinking of anything except how crazy all of this is.”

  “Yeah, it is pretty crazy. But isn’t it amazing, too?” She’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

  It is amazing. It is exciting. I wish I could let go and just enjoy the purely positive emotions, but I can’t when there’s also real fear.

  We reach the counter and Willow orders two black coffees.

  “No,” I interrupt. “Peppermint tea for me.”

  We take our drinks and head outside. The heat feels unusually oppressive today, and I have to shield my eyes with my hand just to make it down the block.

  “Is being pregnant always this awful?” I rhetorically ask the universe.

  “Just think how cute you’ll look in a few months,” Willow answers. This, coming from the girl who nearly fainted while waiting for the results of a pregnancy test that wasn’t even hers.

  We arrive at Riverside Park and settle onto a bench. A fresh breeze drifts across the Hudson and plays with my hair.

  “I have to try calling Jay again,” I announce, dialing his number.

  Like before, his phone goes to voicemail. A sick feeling floods my stomach, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with first trimester symptoms.

  “Leave a message,” Willow suggests.

  “No. I can’t do that.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting you tell him you’re pregnant in the voicemail. I just mean, tell him you have some urgent news to share.”

  I shake my head. “That’s too close to actually delivering the news. I can’t do that. It’s either on the phone, or in person.” I gaze mournfully at the phone in my hand. “I just don’t understand where he is. I haven’t heard from him all week.”

  “Did you check his—”

  “He doesn’t do social media,” I interrupt.

  Willow sips her coffee. “What a hipster.”

  Anxiety pumps through me. “I need to get to Monte Carlo. I have to talk to him. If he wants to be a part of this…great. If he doesn’t…”

  “Then I’m here.” Willow squeezes my hand. “And so are your parents.”

  I give her a grateful smile, but can’t bring myself to tell her my parents are likely to be furious when they find out. Instead, I just change the topic.

  “I’m going to get my ticket right now.”

  As Willow finishes her coffee, I pull up the airline app on my phone and book my flight to Monte Carlo. Forget waiting for Jay to get in touch so we can confirm that we’re still meeting up. In approximately eight months’ time, I’ll be having his baby. The clock is ticking.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lauren

  I finish zipping my suitcase closed, then stand back and survey it. I’ve packed everything I need for up to two weeks away, but I honestly have no idea how long I’ll actually be gone. Maybe forever.

  Taking another step back, I take in my childhood bedroom. I was planning to move out of my parents’ apartment in a few months, but the reality of my pregnancy has me thinking of my future in a new way. Instead of a bedroom filled with tennis trophies and photos from high school prom, I’ll have a nursery with a crib and an animal-filled mobile. The question is, will it be just me and the baby in that room?

  Or will someone else be joining us as well?

  It’s been three days since the ultrasound, and though I’ve called Jay multiple times, I still haven’t managed to get him on the phone. My anxiety is at an all-ti
me high, and I’m not sure what I can do to bring it down.

  Through my cracked door, I hear the front door close. Grabbing the suitcase from where it sits on my comforter, I drop it to the floor and kick it under the bed. I still haven’t told my parents that I’m flying to Monte Carlo.

  Or about anything else.

  I make my way to the kitchen, my heart pounding in my throat. Mom is busy pulling vegetables out of the fridge and Dad is pouring himself an after-work drink.

  “I don’t know why Amy got the yellow bell peppers,” Mom says. “She knows Lauren doesn’t like them.”

  “Fire her,” Dad says casually.

  Mom clicks her tongue. “Stop. You know she’s the best help we’ve ever had.”

  He puts a cork stopper in the bottle of wine he’s opened. “Then why are you always complaining about her?”

  “I’m not always complaining about her, I just—”

  I clear my throat loudly. They both stop what they’re doing and look at me. Their combined gazes become a laser cutting into my soul.

  “Yes?” Mom asks.

  I gulp. I came out here to confess, to tell them about everything that’s been going on in my life—Jay, Monte Carlo, the baby—but standing in front of them now makes me lose my nerve.

  “I’m going on a trip,” I hear my shaky voice say.

  Mom quickly glances at Dad, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of me.

  “What about work?” Dad asks.

  “I got the time off.”

  “They let you off this soon?”

  “Yeah, they’re really flexible, and with summer and everything—”

  He grunts and takes a sip of his drink. “That doesn’t sound like a very good summer job. Does that place even get busy?”

  “Yes.”

  “That spot at the office is still yours, you know. Clarissa always needs help with the books.”

  My mouth is so parched I can hardly speak. “Thanks, but I have other plans.”

  It’s not like I haven’t told him this exact thing a hundred times before.

  Mom speaks up. “Where are you going, Lauren? You didn’t say anything about a trip.”

  “I’m going to Monte Carlo…tomorrow.”

  It’s the kind of silence you can hear a pin drop in. After the longest few seconds ever, Dad lets out a slow and harsh breath.

  “You’re taking a vacation right after you started a new job? What happened to saving money for the summer and getting your studio?”

  “And you’re traveling in the fall to tour grad schools,” Mom adds. “Right, sweetie?”

  My hands are shaking, just like they did in the doctor’s office. I clasp my fingers together and swallow the lump in my throat.

  “This is a pretty important trip, and I won’t be gone long.”

  “How long?”

  “Maybe a week,” my voice shudders. I have to admit the truth. “I don’t know yet.”

  Now, even Mom looks angry.

  “What’s this about, Lauren?” she demands, widely gesturing at the room. “Have we not done enough for you?”

  “No! That’s not it. I—”

  “Then what?” she barks, cutting me off before I can even finish my sentence.

  “What’s in Monte Carlo?” Dad asks, putting his drink down on the kitchen island and glaring at me with a knowing look. “A guy?”

  He’s good.

  “Yes,” I admit, “But not just any guy.”

  He shakes his head. “They’re all special at your age, Lauren. It’s the same for all of us. Let me guess—you met him in Macau?”

  I lift my chin and clench my jaw. “Yes.”

  Mom’s sigh is over-dramatic.

  “I have to see him,” I continue. “It’s important.”

  Dad rapidly fires questions my way. “Who is he? What does he do? Where does he live?”

  “His name is Jay. He’s a…professional gambler.”

  I press my lips tightly together. I’m not going to answer his last question, since nothing says ‘undependable’ quite like being extravagantly homeless.

  “Jesus, Lauren,” Dad mutters. “This is a new low.”

  His words sting worse than a slap to the face. I’ve tried so hard the last few weeks to keep things decent between my parents and me. Now, when I absolutely have to take this trip, they decide to kick me when I’m down. Sure, they don’t know about what I’m going through right now, but remembering that doesn’t make the pain lessen.

  Dad goes on. “So, you’re really going to do this. You’re going to throw your life away to follow some gambler across Europe.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing!” Now, there’s no holding back. My hands clench into fists at my sides, and my vision blurs.

  “You almost had me believing you. You really did. All this talk about getting a studio and working hard to save money. But it was all just a fucking sham, wasn’t it?”

  “No. It wasn’t.”

  “How do I know that?”

  I blink away tears. I’m pregnant. The words hover in the back of my mouth, but I’m not going to say them. I’m not going to reveal such an intimate secret when I know I’ll just get shouted at more.

  “This is important, Dad. Please just believe me. I’m leaving tomorrow morning, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, my mother shakes her head.

  Dad looks at me with what I can only describe as pity. “Why don’t you trust us?”

  “I do trust you.”

  “Then tell us why you’re going to Monte Carlo. What’s there that’s so important?”

  “I have to see Jay.”

  “What for?”

  “Because, I…I…”

  “That’s it, Lauren. I’ve had it. Give me your phone.”

  My mouth falls open. “What?”

  Before I can make a move, my dad is picking up my phone from the kitchen counter. I didn’t even know it was there. I must have set it down when I came out for some juice earlier.

  He swipes the screen on my phone.

  “What are you doing?” I cry.

  “Finding out the truth.”

  He types away at the screen, but the phone has had a numbered password on it since the day I got it.

  “What’s your password?”

  “I’m not telling you!”

  “What’s your password?” he repeats.

  I look to my mother for help, but she only shakes her head and frowns at me.

  “Dad!”

  He’ll never manage to unlock my phone, but still, I can’t control the anger coursing through me. I lunge for the phone, and he holds it out of the way. I go for it again and suddenly the phone is flying through the air…

  And out the kitchen window.

  My dad threw my phone out the window. I can’t believe it.

  I rush the window and gaze down at the street below. We’re a few stories above the ground, and I can see my shattered cellphone on the concrete below.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” I yell, turning to look at him.

  Dad is red-faced, and not looking like he’s close to apologizing at all. He opens his mouth to respond, but Mom steps between us, her palm on his chest.

  “Everyone just calm down. Let’s not do anything else we’ll regret.”

  Behind her, Dad’s shoulders shake with anger. I want to scream and cry, to tear the curtains down.

  That phone had Jay’s number on it—a number I never bothered to memorize. How am I going to get in touch with him now?

  “Lauren,” Dad murmurs. “Look—”

  “No,” I snap. Hot tears spill from my eyes, but I don’t bother to wipe them away.

  “I acted rashly.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Just—”

  “I don’t care!”

  I stalk towards the doorway, and Mom reaches her hand out to me. “We’ll get you a new phone, honey.”

  “I don’t want a new phone.”
At the door, I spin around to face them. “I don’t want anything from you. All I needed was for you to accept me, to just trust me…but you can’t even do that, can you?”

  I’m crying now, my words coming out in choked sobs. With every breath, I become angrier.

  “I needed you to be supportive,” I gasp. “I actually needed you, but now I know I can never count on you again.”

  I half-run to my room, ignoring my father who repeatedly calls my name.

  At my bed, I drop to my knees and yank my suitcase free. Thank God, I had the foresight to pack it early. I have to get out of this apartment. If I don’t, I’ll burst into flames.

  There’s too much pain, too much anger. It feels like I’m losing everyone in my life. Is this what it feels like to die of a broken heart?

  With my chest aching, I frantically wipe tears from my cheeks and wheel the suitcase into the hall. My parents wait at the end of it, standing between me and the front door.

  “We need to talk about this,” Dad says calmly. “Lauren, I’m sorry.”

  I can’t even look at him. “Forget about it. I’m leaving. I’d rather sleep in the airport than spend another night here.”

  Dad makes a move as if he’s going to block my way, but he seems to think better of it. I push my way past them and storm across the foyer.

  “Lauren,” my mother tries one more time.

  But I’ve taken my purse from the hook. I’ve opened the door. I’m gone.

  In the elevator, I mop at my face with my T-shirt. My eye makeup is probably running and my face is definitely all red and splotchy, but I have to get it together. If I go into the street looking like a crazy person, I won’t be able to catch a cab.

  I half expect them to follow me downstairs, but they don’t. I retrieve the remnants of my phone from the street—where it’s already been run over multiple times—and hail a taxi. With one last look back the building I grew up in, I slump into the backseat and tell the driver to take me to LaGuardia.

  I attempt to turn my phone on, but it’s no use. It’s broken beyond repair, the screen containing a hundred cracks and the back indented. Even the SIM card is destroyed, the tiny essential, piece hardware split in half.