Marcus & Mia

by Hannah Meade

  Emily roughly runs her hands through her hair, grabbing it by the fistfuls. She paces back and forth in my room, trying to take in the damn bombshell I just dropped. Hell, I don't know how I'm not breaking down right now. I am still in shock; my eyes glued to my stomach. It is hard to imagine that a living creature is being created inside of me right this very minute.

  Then I start to think when the hell this happened. Obviously, I know Marcus is the father. Unless something happened one night that I don't remember...No. It's definitely Marcus.

  The same Marcus I haven't spoken to in six months.

  "Are you going to tell your mom?"

  At those words, my mind snaps back to the present. "My mom? The same woman who basically disowned me when I got pregnant the first time? Hm. I don't know, Em." I roll my eyes at her ignorance.

  She sighs. "Mia, I understand what you're saying, I do." Do you?! My mind screams. "However, she is still your mother. And she's made an effort to mend things with you lately. Doesn't that count for something?"

  It only takes me a millisecond to think about my answer. "No. I'm not telling my mother, Emily. Get that idea out of your mind right now."

  The only people I can even think of telling is...well Emily. I'm surely not going to tell Ryan. That will just scare him off. Although, he will find out eventually...

  And I know I should tell Marcus. I mean, it's his kid after all. But we haven't spoken in six whole months. What am I supposed to do? Text him a quick message saying that he's now a father? I don't think so.

  "What about Marcus?"

  I glance over at Emily, hating that she brought him up. We broke up. He moved away. And I've moved on. I would rather not talk about him. "Emily..."

  She puts a hand up to stop me. "Look. I know that it's been a while and you would like to think you have moved on." I don't miss the way she says "moved on" with air quotes. "But he's the father of your child. He deserves to know. Even if you two are over. You need to tell him."

  I sigh, throwing my hands up in the air. "Can I get my damn life together first, Em?! Jesus Christ. I haven't been pregnant for ten minutes and you are already yelling at me for not telling the whole world! Give me a couple of days to think about this. The last time this happened was four years ago. And just like then, I'm scared as hell."

  Even now, four years later, I'm not ready for a kid. I had to give away my last child because I just couldn't parent her then. How the hell am I supposed to do that now?! I'm paying off my student loans, along with every other adult payment you can think of. It's not any easier four years later.

  I collapse on my bed, trying to control my breathing. Just thinking about what I'm going to have to do, and figure out what to do, is enough to give me a fucking heart attack.

  Emily has the decency to give me a sympathetic hug, as she rubs comforting circles on my back. "It's going to be okay, Mia. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stress you out. I know this is a huge thing to deal with. You don't have to figure out anything right now. Maybe you should take a couple of days off of school and just relax."

  I nod into her shoulder, taking deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

  I lean back, smiling softly at Emily. "Yeah. Maybe." Just a couple of days. That's what I need. Then, I can think with a straight mind. I can sort everything out and decide what I am going to do. And there is a shit ton of things I need to think about.

  Can I even keep this child? If I do, how will Marcus and I go about custody? Will he want full custody? Will I even want that? Will I have to hire a babysitter while I'm working?

  My head hurts just from thinking about what I need to consider.

  Emily grins at me.

  I frown. "Why are you grinning at me?"

  "No reason." She stands up then, walking out my bedroom door. She stops once she gets out the door, and looks back at me. "I'll be back in a while."

  I watch her walk out, honestly confused as to where she is going. Right now, though, I don't care. All I care about is sleeping. I do not want to think about being pregnant any longer.

  I close my eyes, dreaming of a life I wish I had.

  ~~~

  I open my eyes, smiling at the sight I see. Two, icy blue eyes stare back at me. I laugh. Figures he would be awake already. He's awake at the butt crack of dawn, every single morning. Whereas I, am a lover of sleeping in. I might even love that more than him.

  "Morning, babe." He leans forward and kisses me on the lips. I savor his taste, kissing him right back.

  Before now, I would have refused to let anyone near my morning breath. Now, I don't even care. He doesn't even care. Kissing me, he says, is the best part of his day; morning breath or not.

  I always blush when he tells me that.

  "Morning. Are you ready to help me make breakfast?"

  He nods and we gradually climb out of our king-sized bed. Automatically, we pull the sheets up and smooth everything out. I tuck the sheets underneath the bed, and he pulls the blankets back on the bed. We always get hot at night, so the blankets always end up on the floor.

  We finish and walk out the bedroom door, only to be greeted by Maggie, our two-year-old Welsh

  corgi puppy. I bend down to reach her 12-inch height and grin as she sticks her pink tongue out and licks my whole face.

  As she moves on to Connor, my husband, I continue my trek into the kitchen. As I walk through our living room, I touch the silver snowflake on our tree that turns on the lights. Bright, white lights burst in my vision, making a huge smile appear on my face. Every morning, I get more and more excited for Christmas. Only a week left, and I'm counting down the days until I'm off of work.

  The school I work at, as a writing teacher, gets out this Friday, in two whole days. To be honest, I've been counting down since our first snowfall in October. Connor, on the other hand, has been off of work since last week. His job, as a college English professor, allows him to get off of work when the college goes on break.

  My favorite thing about this situation though, even if I do have a week more of work than him, is that he gets up every morning with me. Sometimes earlier. I tell him to just sleep in and enjoy his winter break, but he refuses every time. He knows how strenuous it is for me to get up at six o'clock every morning, and he doesn't want me to suffer alone.

  How lucky am I?

  After I turn on all of the Christmas lights, I make my way into the kitchen, where Connor has already started making our traditional breakfast: waffles and eggs. With orange juice, of course.

  I stop in the doorway and simply admire my husband; hunched over the counter and reading the instructions for our waffle maker. I can never teach him how to work that damn thing; I just always do it myself. I smile as I see him try to portion out the correct amount of waffle mix to make the perfect waffle.

  Eventually, I stop his suffering and go wrap my arms around his bare stomach. He relaxes into my hold, turning around to face me. He pulls me to him and closes the distance between us, giving me the satisfaction of his kisses once again.

  I smile and pull back, gesturing around him. "Need some help?"

  He shakes his head and puffs out his chest, causing a laugh to bubble up inside me. It is cute how manly he wants to seem. "I got this, hunny. You just sit back, relax, and watch the master."

  I wiggle out of his grasp, grab a notepad and pen, and sit down on one our tall bar chairs at the end of our jutted out white marble island. "I'll be sure to take notes, Master."

  He nods very sternly at me and goes back to figuring out the waffle maker. I laugh inwardly at how serious he looks, and how he doesn't even crack a smile.

  I love him so much.

  Seeing as this will take a while, I pull my phone out of my fuzzy pajama pants. I smile as I notice Connor has sent me his usual 'Good Morning' text. I glance up, hoping to catch his glance. Unfortunately, he os all too consumed in figuring out the waffle maker to even think about anything else. He is even ignoring the constant whining of Maggie right by his feet. I think
it's cute how hard he's trying to figure this out.

  In the end, I know I'm going to have to do it for him. But, why not let him suffer for a few minutes more?

  I look back down at my phone and scroll through my numerous other notifications from Facebook, Pinterest, and Instagram.

  I roll my eyes as I look at the Pin my mother has sent to me. It is yet another funny kitten video. My mother, aka a Pinterest addict, is always sending me shit like that. Some days I find it nice, especially when I am feeling down. Other days, however, it is kind of annoying. Whether she finds an animal video, or a recipe she wants me to see, I always receive millions of pins from her each day.

  "Okay, I fucking give up!"

  My fingers pause on my screen as I look up at my husband, who is running his fingers through his short brown hair frustratingly.

  I put my phone down and walk over to him. I reach out my hand and pat him lovingly on the shoulder. "Oh, Connor. I'm sure you'll get it one day."

  As he stomps over to my chair and pouts, I set to work in my natural habitat, or that's what I like to call it anyway. I don't usually like to brag about myself, but I am a pro in the kitchen. Connor has admitted this more than once.

  I raise an eyebrow at the way Connor had to actually take our waffle maker apart to work it. I'm not sure why it looks like a smashed in black blob, but I guess that's why he has me. To fix everything. Or everything in the kitchen anyway.

  I tighten the screws and flip the lid back up, and Wah-la. It's fixed. I sneak a glance at Connor, who isn't even looking at me. I clear my throat loudly. "Excuse me! I think you need to be taking notes from the actual master."

  He doesn't look at me, only flips me off.

  I smirk at his childness and set to work making breakfast. I breathe in the sweet aroma of our fresh blueberries and raspberries, which are going in our waffles. Connor has made the mix already, so I simply plop the fruit in and pour a spoonful of batter into the waffle maker. Easy as pie.

  I get out another copper pan and turn it on for the eggs.

  I turn around to face the refrigerator, but Connor's already beat me to it. He grabs four white eggs from the carton and hands them to me with a smile on his face.

  "Thank you. At least you're useful for something." I quickly turn back around, not waiting for his sarcastic response.

  I feel a warm arm around my waist suddenly, and I know exactly what is about to happen. "No! Stop..."

  Too late. He immediately starts grabbing the sides of my stomach with his fingers and pinches, causing a scream to bubble up inside my throat. I crouch back against him, trying to wiggle out of his grasp.

  Although it's hard to focus as he continues to tickle me, against my loud refrains. "Connor...Please...stop," I say in between breaths.

  He ignores me, and keeps squeezing my sides. Eventually, I fall on my ass. As soon as I feel the cold area where he let go, I scramble out of the kitchen. I sit up on my knees, and crawl in between his legs.

  I make it as far as the kitchen door when I am lifted up in the air. I yelp, trying to push his hands off of me. Unfortunately, I haven't gone to the gym in a couple of weeks. All the strength I had built up in the last year is mostly gone. I regret it mostly now, when I need that extra strength.

  He laughs in my ear, his hot breath tickling my cold skin. "You aren't getting away that quickly."

  I huff, tired of this game. This woman is hungry, and I probably had burnt that waffle by now. "Put me down, hunny. I need to finish breakfast."

  I feel myself being lowered to the ground, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I turn around to face him, and give him my best annoyed face.

  He chuckles at my attempt to be mad at him. He know I can never stay mad. I physically can't do it. "You're so sexy when you're mad." He grins his pearly-white smile at me and all my anger suddenly vanishes.

  I involuntarily start moving closer to him, lifting up slightly on my tip-toes to reach his height. I close my eyes and wait for the familiar feeling of his warm lips. He waits a beat, and then presses his mouth to mine.

  He slightly pushes me back until my hip bumps against the counter. His arms comes down to rest on my waist, then he lifts me up on the counter. I feel the toaster press against my back, but I don't care.

  I reach my hands up and grab a fistful of Connor's hair, pulling him closer to me. If that is possible.

  I feel him smile against my lips, melding my lips into a smile of their own.

  He pulls back slightly, locking eyes with me. "You should probably get the burning waffle."

  My eyes dart to the waffle maker on another counter, with little wisps of grey smoke wafting up from it. I gasp, pushing Connor back and jumping down off the counter. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

  Connor laughs beside me. "Who's the master now?"

  I turn and glare at him. "I still am. You distracted me." I point an accusing finger at him, reminding him who started this little kissing fit.

  I turn my attention back to the waffle maker, trying to salvage what is left of my poor blueberry waffle. I frown slightly at it as I pull it out, setting it on a plate. It looks so sad, having three-fourths of it burnt to a crisp.

  Connor comes up beside, picks up the waffle, and throws it in the trash.

  I glare at him, appalled at what he just did. "Asshole."

  He raises an eyebrow. "Babe, it was fucking burnt. No way was I going to eat that. Just make a new one."

  I huff. "That waffle had a whole life to live. I could've decorated him with frosting and still ate it. How dare you throw it in the trash."

  Connor actually looks amused, a small smile forming on his lips.

  I stop him before he can make an excuse. "Don't you dare try to cover yourself up. I refuse to take any shit from you about this." I swivel back around to face the counter and begin preparing another waffle, one that he hopefully will not throw away.

  I put the batter in the waffle maker and slowly close the lid, mentally counting the minutes until I need to lift it back up.

  I turn back towards Connor, who is still standing in the same spot. And smiling his goofy-ass smile at me. "What?"

  He grins, and starts moving closer to me. He stops when there is maybe an inch of space between us. His warm hands reach up and cup my cheeks. "God, I love you."

  I blush. He can never say those words enough...

  ~~~

  "Mia! God dammit! Are you dreaming about Channing Tatum or what?!"

  My eyes snap open at the loud noise assaulting my ears. I glance around and notice Emily standing in my doorway, holding a random rectangular box.

  Emily rolls her eyes. "I've literally been yelling at you for ten minutes now. How have you not heard me?"

  I shrug, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I was having a damn good dream that's how. I reach into the folds of my memory and try to remember my dream. All I can recollect is that I was married and I was making breakfast. I can still smell the fresh scent of blueberry pancakes.

  Then I smell something even better than blueberry pancakes. I smell donuts. Krispy Kreme Donuts. My eyes zero in on the box Emily is holding and my face is pulled into a grin. "Emily. Did you bring my Krispy Kremes?"

  Despite her annoyance, Emily smiles. "Yes, I did. I'm surprised you didn't wake up just from the smell. I was having trouble keeping out of this damn box all the way here."

  I laugh, then gestured for Emily to come sit by me.

  As soon as the box is placed on my lap, I dig in. I bite into a donut, savoring the sweet, fluffy taste.

  "Yes, you're welcome, Mia. No need to thank me."

  I glance up at Emily, half a donut in my mouth. "Sorry."

  She waves it away and grabs a donut for herself. "Enjoy your donuts, Mia. I have to go to class, but I'll come by later and check on you. Okay?"

  I nod and watch as Emily saunters out of my room, donut in hand.

  I think about how lucky I am to have such a great best friend in my life. One who makes a special trip to Krispy Kreme jus
t for me.

  Why have I ever wanted more? I have Emily. I have my donuts. I have Ryan, sort of.

  My dream is exactly as it sounds. A dream. Being married and having a steady job, along with a house, is not in the cards for me right now. Yes, it is nice to think about my future. However, I need to focus on the present to get to the future.

  And I am going to do just that.

  I finish off my donut, and pick up my phone. I unlock it and dial the one number I know I have to call.

  "Hello?"

  I smile as that familiar voice rings through my ears. "Hey. It's Mia. Can we meet up somewhere?"

  Thirty-Two

  I walk into the café the next morning, with major butterflies in my stomach. When I agreed to meet, it was out of some stupid ass bravery of mine. I wasn't listening to my mind then. Now, I'm regretting every ounce of this decision.

  I spot her, sitting in a booth near the back. She has two empty cups by her, meaning she got here way early.

  It's 11:20 and we are supposed to meet at 11:30. I came here early to collect my thoughts and figure out what the hell I am going to say.

  So much for that.

  I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves. It doesn't work. I tell myself to suck it up and I begin to walk towards her.

  I think about what I want to say in my head; what I should say. Last time we had this conversation, it didn't go as smoothly as I had wanted. How do I know this time is going to be any different?

  She suddenly looks up, catching my eye. I tense up, but continue on my path. I shouldn't let her scare me so much.

  I stop at her booth, giving her a small smile. "Hey, mom."

  She grins back at me and stands up. "Hey, sweetie. I'm glad you called." Her arms wrap around me, enveloping me in a bone-crushing hug.

  I slide in the booth, looking over the menu. Now that I'm here, nothing sounds good to me. I can't even bring myself to crave the strawberry crepes I usually get here. My stomach is in a bunch of twisted knots, like a pretzel.

  I look over my menu at my mother, who seems so happy. Happy that I called. Happy that we are having lunch together; a little mother-daughter bonding time. I feel a pang of guilt as I realize I am about to kill that happiness.