Tangled up in Hate

by Charlotte Byrd

  I am so weak, Martin is practically holding me up.

  I keep apologizing for leaning on him so much and he keeps telling me to shut up.

  When I buckle my seat belt, I pull the plastic bag that I brought from home out of my purse. This is my just-in-case barf bag, just in case I start to feel sick in the car.

  The clinic is small and clean and, most importantly, empty. Somehow, we manage to arrive on the one day that no one else in this city is ill. They take me right back to see the nurse. First, she asks me to pee into a cup and then to change into a paper gown and wait.

  My body is ice cold by the time the doctor comes in. She is young and friendly and her hair is tied up in a loose ponytail.

  She introduces herself as Dr. MacDowell and asks me how I’m feeling. I go over the highlights and then take a deep breath, waiting for a brief moment of nausea to pass over me without rushing to the trashcan.

  Dr. MacDowell looks over my file and smiles.

  “What do you think it is?” I ask.

  “Harley, it seems that you are pregnant.”

  A quiet high pitch sound forms somewhere in the back of my head and increases in volume and intensity with each passing moment. I stare at her, unable to process what she just said.

  A short strand of hair peeks out from behind her ear.

  The pen that she keeps in the breast pocket of her uniform shifts slightly to the right.

  A speck of dirt falls off her boot and onto the floor.

  “Harley?” She touches my hand, bringing me back to reality. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “No, this is impossible. We were really careful.”

  “We will need to double check with a blood test, of course, but the urine test did come back positive for pregnancy.”

  I shake my head again. “I don’t think you heard me. I can’t be pregnant. We were always really careful.”

  “Protection is not one hundred percent effective. Most of them are only ninety-nine percent effective.”

  My head starts to spin again. That familiar nauseous feeling comes over me, only this time I can’t hold it back. Dr. MacDowell brings the wastebasket up to my face just in time.

  “You seem to be experiencing a pretty bad case of nausea due to all the hormones that are surging through your body. I’m going to write you a prescription for Diclegis.”

  “What is that?” I mumble as I wipe my mouth with a tissue that she hands me.

  “It’s a specially formulated medication of an antihistamine and vitamin B6. What makes it really safe and particularly effective is that it releases slowly, so it should balance those hormones that are making you throw up throughout the day and night.”

  I nod.

  “I actually have a few samples, so here, please take one now.” She hands me two samples of about ten pills each. Then she pulls out her prescription pad and writes out the prescription.

  “I would like the nurse to take your blood before you leave today. Then if once we confirm that you are indeed pregnant, you can go to the pharmacy and fill that.”

  “Thank you,” I manage to say, still lost in a complete daze.

  As I wait for the nurse to arrive, I look down at my stomach. Pregnant? How can I be pregnant?

  22

  Harley

  When I try to figure out what to do…

  It’s hard to say whether I feel significantly better after taking the Diclegis, because I still feel exhausted and not entirely myself.

  But at least, I am no longer throwing up.

  As I lie down on the bed after Julie and Martin get me home, I stare at the ceiling and think about what just happened.

  This morning I was just a woman, dealing with a breakup.

  Trying helplessly and without much success to move on with my life.

  And now?

  Now, I am pregnant.

  They haven’t confirmed it for sure yet with a blood test, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not.

  With the sample medication running through my system, my nausea wears off just a bit and is no longer that acute.

  If this were simply a stomach flu, then the medication wouldn’t work.

  No, I’m pregnant.

  What does this mean?

  What can I do now?

  Can I really have this baby?

  I have no real job, no money, a dream of supporting myself entirely as a writer. And then there’s that one really important aspect of this whole problem: the father of this baby broke up with me and wants nothing to do with me.

  Julie sits on the edge of her bed, staring at me.

  I told both of them what the doctor told me and made them promise not to tell a soul until I figure out what I’m going to do.

  “Are you okay?” Julie asks.

  I shake my head and look away from her.

  I feel so ashamed.

  I know that I didn’t do anything wrong.

  We used protection every time, but the fact that I am not to blame doesn’t change anything.

  “How could this happen?” I ask.

  “Sometimes, things just don’t work. Those little buggers get through.”

  She moves over to my bed, draping her arm around me.

  “I’m going to support you no matter what you decide.”

  “I can’t have this baby, Julie,” I whisper. “I can barely support myself. What the hell am I going to do with a baby? I don’t know anything about taking care of children.”

  “I know, honey. I don’t know either.”

  “And what about Jackson? He broke up with me. I don’t want to be connected to him for the rest of my life. And I can’t just give up my life to take care of a child.”

  “I know,” she whispers.

  “I’m too young to be a mom. I have plans. This is going to derail everything.”

  “You don’t have to have it,” she says. “There are many options available.”

  I know.

  I know all about the options.

  Adoption.

  Abortion.

  There aren’t really that many options, just two.

  My thoughts return to my writing.

  How will I be able to continue if I have to take care of the baby all the time? Writing is the only thing that makes me feel sane.

  If I go more than a week without putting my pen to paper, or my fingers on the keyboard, I start to feel antsy. It’s a craving.

  Something that I just have to do. Other people are addicted to alcohol, drugs, sex. I’m addicted to writing.

  When I imagine having a baby, the thing that I worry about most is not just the time.

  Even though they are time-consuming and draining. It’s also the money. Without this loan from Jackson, what he still thinks is a gift, I couldn’t take the time to build up my self-publishing business.

  But what happens if it doesn’t work out?

  What happens if people don’t keep buying my books?

  What then?

  Then I’ll have to go back to my freelance writing. Or worse yet. I’ll have to get a proper entry level job.

  Most of those start out at around thirty-eight thousand, maybe forty?

  Is that enough to support a baby in one of the most expensive cities in the world?

  And who’s going to take care of this baby when I’m spending all of my time at work?

  And how much is that person going to cost?

  If I were a teenager, maybe I could be under the delusion that it will all work out somehow.

  Teenagers don’t think ahead too much.

  They don’t see the pitfalls in their future planning.

  But I do.

  I know how hard I had to work for the few dollars that I did make.

  And I know how hard I’ll have to work to support a little person who will eat up all of my time, love, and resources.

  And for what?

  “I know that you are running all of these negative scenarios in your head,” Julie says. “All of the things that are going
to cost you your life and career and everything that you worked for.”

  I nod.

  “I am not pressuring you one way or another. I just want to add a perspective.”

  I wait for her to continue.

  “What if it’s not going to be terrible? What if in the end you get this person who loves you and who you love? You’ll watch him or her grow up. They’ll make you laugh, and cry sometimes. But mostly, they will fill your heart with joy.”

  I shrug. I’ve heard of that, of course, from parents. But I can’t imagine myself feeling like that.

  “The thing is that I never really wanted kids,” I say. “I mean, I always thought that sometime in the future, maybe. You know? But it was never really a dream of mine.”

  “You never wanted to get married? Or have kids?” Julie asks. I take her by surprise. I guess I never really mentioned this before.

  I shake my head. “I loved Aspen so much and when I lost him…I just never wanted to experience that again. Plus, I don’t know much about babies or kids. I never spent much time with kids growing up. Just Aspen.”

  “You should, of course, do what you feel is right. But given how much you loved Aspen, I think you have a glimpse of what it would be like to love your own child.”

  I shake my head. No, there’s no way. There’s absolutely no way I could love anyone as much as I loved Aspen.

  “And what about Jackson?” Julie asks.

  23

  Harley

  When I can’t make a decision…

  I ignore her question and instead ask my own.

  “How the hell am I even going to afford to have this baby? I don’t have insurance.”

  Julie shakes her head. She and I both know that is a major consideration.

  “I read a few days ago that the average costs of a vaginal delivery across the nation is about sixteen thousand dollars,” she says quietly.

  “That means in New York, it’s probably close to thirty,” I add. We both inhale and exhale slowly.

  “If I go through with this, I’m going to be in debt forever. I’m never going to be able to afford anything.”

  Julie shrugs. “What about Jackson?” she asks after a moment.

  “What about him?”

  “He’s the father.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know what you are getting at.”

  “Jackson Ludlow is the father and he is also a very wealthy man.”

  “You want me to ask him for money?”

  “If you decide to have this baby, then he will have to support it. And I’m sure that he will be more than happy to provide for both you and the baby.”

  I shake my head and look down at the floor.

  “What? What’s wrong with that plan?”

  “He dumped me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. What makes you think he’ll even care?”

  “Whatever his reason was for breaking up with you, you know that he is not a bad man. I don’t think he will have any issues with supporting you and the baby. I mean, he did give you a hundred grand after he broke up with you.”

  “I’m going to return every last cent of that money,” I insist.

  “I know that you will. But it just shows that he didn’t want you to have any hard feelings.”

  I clench my jaw.

  I still feel ashamed for taking the money.

  I probably shouldn’t have, except that it was the only way that I could see making my business work.

  Another person, someone with a little bit more pride, probably would’ve walked away.

  But I had already seen an increase in book sales from the advertising and I didn’t want to make that go away.

  Over the years, I have made a lot of sacrifices for my family and now is the time that I no longer want to make them.

  I just want to do the one thing that I can imagine myself doing. Is that so wrong?

  “I will pay him back,” I say again, not so much for her benefit but for my own.

  When Julie goes to work, I’m suddenly alone with my thoughts again.

  Martin is still here, but he’s sitting at the dining room table with his head buried in his phone.

  He is giving me space, even though this place has very little of it.

  I turn away from him to face the wall.

  Can I really keep this baby?

  I rub my stomach and try to imagine it getting bigger.

  This whole thing is a mistake a million times over. I know that. But now that it’s happened, I find it hard to press the rewind button.

  An abortion is definitely an option, as is an adoption, but neither of those two choices seem like the right option for me.

  I’m not sure why exactly except to say that I do have this feeling that sometimes the best things in life come as a surprise or a mistake.

  It was a mistake that led me to knock on Jackson’s door.

  I could’ve chosen any of those houses, but something took me to his house.

  It was like I was being physically pulled toward him.

  So, maybe this mistake will also end up being a blessing?

  I take a deep breath, and then another and another.

  The more oxygen that comes into my system, the clearer my head gets.

  Money is important, but it’s not everything. Besides, Julie is right. I do have options.

  This baby is Jackson’s baby and he is not a greedy man. I don’t know how he will react to the news, but I know that he will have no problems in helping me support it or paying for us entirely outright.

  Perhaps, I should be too proud to take it, but I am not too prideful to turn it down if it means that I can spend my time doing something for a living that gives my whole world meaning.

  As the nausea starts to disappear completely, my thinking clears up.

  The desperation that I felt only a few hours ago, suddenly doesn’t seem that drastic or extreme. In reality, I am very lucky.

  Besides Jackson’s money, there is something else that I have that many future single mothers don’t.

  I have the support of my parents.

  They will undoubtably be surprised by the news, but I also know that this will make them very happy.

  If I want to and if I let them, they will help me raise the baby as well.

  They won’t be able to move out to New York, of course, so if I want their help, I’ll have to return back home.

  I think about that for a moment.

  Is that it?

  Is that really the decision that I have to make now?

  If I were to have this baby and keep it, then should I return back to Montana so that my parents can help me?

  It only makes sense, I guess.

  Montana is a much cheaper place to live than Manhattan.

  Plus, with my parents taking the time to babysit, I will have more time to focus on my writing and growing my business.

  But this would also mean leaving the one place I ever saw as my home.

  24

  Jackson

  When I see her again…

  The Aurora that wraps her arms around me looks like she has aged two decades.

  Her skin is sallow, her lips are chapped, and her eyes are bewildered. I hardly recognize her.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” I keep asking over and over again, but she just shakes in my arms.

  So, I quit asking questions and just hold her.

  After a few moments, she pulls away.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. When I look at her face, there are tears streaming down her face. “I shouldn’t have ever let them take me.”

  “What are you talking about? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She buries her head in her knees and sobs. I don’t know what else to do but to just put my arm around her and hold her.

  “I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve stood up to them.”

  I shake my head. “You did the best you could, honey.”

  I haven’t called her honey in years, but the word just slips o
ut of my mouth.

  “They killed two of my bodyguards. Just shot them in the back of their heads,” I whisper. I feel her body recoil from me. I’m not telling her to scare her. I just want her to know how lucky she is. How lucky both of us are.

  “This was the best thing that could’ve happened,” I continue through her sobs. “I’m glad that there was something I could do to help you.”

  She looks up at me. Her eyes are wide with grief and sorrow. Her hair falls into her face and I push it out behind her ears. It’s tangled and uncooperative and hasn’t been washed in days.

  “But you lost…everything.”

  “Just forty-nine percent,” I joke. “Well, with your thirty percent, I’m down to nineteen percent, I guess.”

  Even though it’s simple arithmetic, I haven’t really done the exact calculation in my head until this moment.

  And it seems…staggering. In the blink of an eye, I’ve gone from being the sole owner to owning less than twenty percent.

  It’s so tragic that it almost makes me laugh.

  But then I look at Aurora again. She shakes her head and looks down at the floor in shame. I put my finger under her chin and lift it back up.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. I would’ve given them everything just to protect you.”

  She brushes a tear from her cheek and then reaches back to me.

  She presses her lips onto mine and opens hers.

  I freeze.

  Unlike the last time she kissed me, this one catches me by surprise. I take a moment before slowly sliding away from her.

  “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head and buries it in my shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” I mumble, uncertain as to what to do next.

  She has gone through a trauma and she’s vulnerable. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I also don’t want to do anything to lead her on.

  “Why did you do that?” she asks after a moment. “If you don’t love me anymore, why did you agree to their terms?”

  “They gave me no choice,” I say. “They said that they were going to kill you. And I couldn’t let them do that.”