by Bailey B
I must have mumbled something because Danika flips onto her back and asks, “What do you mean it broke?”
There’s only one thing I could be talking about, even if I didn’t know I was talking. I point down to my dick and raise my eyebrows. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat pumping a shot of nervousness into my veins. We can’t have a kid. Not until we’re married and I know Dr. Shaffer is safe behind bars. “I mean it broke!”
“When?” Danika sits up on her elbows. Her eyes bounce from the broken rubber to my face too many times. If I wasn’t so confident with myself, I might get a complex. “How?”
“I don’t know, Danika. It's not like I attached a camera to my dick and can tell you.” She glares, apparently not finding my comment funny. Truthfully, it sounded better in my head than it did out loud. “Couldn’t you feel it?”
“No, Logan,” she spits, climbing out of bed. She grabs a towel from the bathroom and tosses it at me. “I couldn’t feel it.”
Danika stands beside the bed and begins jumping up and down, holding her massive tits in place with her hands. I try not to laugh but can’t help the grin that takes over my face. “What are you doing?”
“I’m helping gravity pull all the little yous out of me!”
I take Danika by the wrist and pull her into a hug. “Not sure that’s how that works, baby.” I nuzzle into her chest and she wraps her arms around me. Her heart’s racing. I can only imagine the havoc in her brain right now. “I’m sorry for freaking out.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She sighs.
I look up into her worried eyes. “Hey. Everything will be fine. We’ll stop and grab the morning after pill on the way home. Things like this happen all the time.”
50
Danika
The past few weeks since coming home from our week-long vacation have flown by. We had two days of school and then we were off for Thanksgiving break. Mrs. Harris, under the direction of her ex-husband, took Logan, Cooper, and Piper out of state for the week.
Thank God for texting and Facetime. Although, while I had all the privacy I needed, Logan was almost always surrounded by someone. So there was no hot sexting, or dirty video chatting but we made up for lost time when he got home.
When school resumed again, we had ten days of mundane work. Mrs. Harris made Logan take a shift at the Red Onion three nights a week. Apparently, she thought he needed to expand his extracurriculars outside of the bedroom since the football season came to an abrupt end. That sucks too, but it gives us somewhere else to hang out besides our houses.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks, running his fingers through my hair. It’s Wednesday, Cooper and Piper’s day to work, which means I get Logan all to myself tonight. It feels like an eternity has passed since we’ve been able to curl up on the couch like this. I really really miss Miami.
“Yeah. Why?” I roll onto my back and look up into his ebon eyes. Logan has his glasses on today, something he’s started doing more since coming home. To the rest of the world Logan is a sexy jock with a temper, but here he’s my soft, cuddly nerd. I love it.
He shrugs, twisting my locks into a failed attempt at a braid. “Tomorrow is your first Christmas without your mom.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.” I turn back towards the TV, blinking the tears that have begun to form back and tuck my arm under my head. I’ve done well to force tomorrow from my thoughts, but now that Logan has brought it up, I can’t hide from them. “I don’t know what we’re going to do for breakfast this year.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mom used to get up before us, before Dad even, and bake french toast. Every year up until she got sick, I’d wake to the smell of vanilla and a warm cup of hot cocoa. In the hospital, she would beg, bribe, and plead with the staff to help keep our tradition alive. Even if french toast wasn’t on the breakfast menu, someone would always bring it in for her.”
I smile, remembering last year. Dad brought a twin size blow-up mattress for me, while he slept in the awful reclining chair Christmas Eve. It didn’t matter we lived minutes down the road. We knew our time was running out, and that every minute counted.
I woke at the last check in before shift change, when the nurse came to take mom’s vitals. Mom smiled sadly at me, her hollow cheeks even more skeletal like in the dim lights. Even in her weak state, covered in wires, and wearing a faded hospital gown, Mom was beautiful. She didn’t wear a wig, instead opting to rock the straggly hair that had begun to grow back. At first, we thought the hair growth was a sign the treatment was working. We were wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I shushed Mom, letting her comfort me when in our twisted reality I was actually comforting her. I crawled into bed with her, careful not to pull on her wires and laid there until the sun came up. Dad had just begun to stir when there was a knock on her door.
I climbed out of mom’s lap, figuring it was this morning’s nurse when the door opened. I’ll never forget her—Tammy, the tattooed, twenty-six-year-old who carried in two massive bags from IHop. Tammy set them on the foot of Mom’s bed. “I’m freaking starving this morning. I hope you don’t mind, I brought breakfast.”
It wasn’t vegan, but it didn’t matter. That was the last Christmas we’d have together. There were presents, but nothing that mattered. Everything store bought was mundane compared to the memory that the nurse gave us. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Not only is tomorrow the first Christmas without Mom, but it’s the first one I’ll wake up to alone because Dad has the graveyard shift tonight.
I wake on the couch with a smile tugging at my lips. I open my eyes and see it’s only six-forty-five. Dad is still at the hospital for another fifteen minutes which means I’m alone. I realize the glorious smell of vanilla wafting through the house is nothing more than a memory tinged dream and I’m in some semi-lucid form of consciousness.
I force my feet to move, knowing that everything about this moment is fake. But I’ll bask in it, allow myself to see mom again because I haven’t dreamed of her since she died and I miss her. I miss her more than words can convey.
I stop in my tracks and cover my mouth with my hand, choking back a laugh and a cry at the same time. Logan’s standing in my kitchen, a Mrs. Claus apron tied around his neck. Cooking. French. Toast. He looks over his shoulder, sensing I'm here, and grins. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Hey,” I say, breathlessly.
“Sit.” He motions to the table with his spatula. I take a seat in front of a bowl of fruit and a pre-poured glass of orange juice. “I really, really hope you like them. I was up all night testing out different recipes. I think I finally found one that works using coconut milk.”
I look up at him wide eyed. “Wait. These are—”
“Vegan.” He sets a plate in front of me and kisses my forehead. “I’m a dick and didn’t buy you anything for Christmas. So, I thought I’d make you breakfast.”
“This is better than anything from a store, Logan. Thank you.” I take a bite and moan. They are heavenly. Fluffy and full of flavor. Not quite mom’s, but still delicious. “Oh my God, Logan,” I mumble with my mouth full.
The front door swings open before I can brag how amazing my french toast is. Dad has a take-out bag in one hand and carnations in the other. He looks exhausted, but he remembered breakfast too. I guess I know what we’re having for lunch today.
Dad stops in the doorway and stares at us. “Merry Christmas,” he says cautiously. “Tell me he didn’t stay the night again.”
“No, sir.” Logan holds a plate out, waiting for dad’s hands to be free. “Just broke in at the crack of dawn.”
“Remind me to fix that window in your bedroom, kiddo.” Dad sets his bag and the flowers on the counter then takes the plate from Logan. He joins me at the table, eyes going wide with the first bite.
I grin, so unbelievably proud and in love with Logan in this moment. “Yeah, dad, they’re just like Mom’s.”
51
>
Danika
McDonald’s meatless egg McMuffin sandwich. That sandwich was the moment I knew I had a problem. I stare down at the yellow paper and my stomach twists.
“You okay?” Logan eyes me suspiciously. He takes a bite of his McGriddle. Just watching him eat makes my insides feel like they’re on a roller coaster.
“Yeah,” I nod, pushing my food away. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Shit,” he mumbles against his straw. “Do you still want to go to the beach, or skip it?”
I take a sip of my Frappuccino. The coffee tangles with whatever is going on in my stomach but stays put. “I think I’ll be okay. It’s probably all the grease they use messing me up.”
Logan points to the tray, silently asking if I’m done. I nod and he tosses the trash in the bin. For December, it’s ungodly hot, but this is normal. Unlike the rest of the country, that is buried knee deep in snow right now, winter only vacations in Florida. It hangs out, just long enough to get everyone sick then it gets stupid hot again.
The ice cream store that afternoon is where everything goes south. Logan buys me my favorite—a chocolate chip cookie dough nice-cream cone—and I only make it three licks before I feel disaster stirring. I shove my cone at Logan, who thankfully takes it without question as I cover my mouth. I run to the bathroom barely making it to the toilet before expelling everything in my stomach into the public toilet. Thankfully, it’s a clean bathroom.
I sit back on my heels and grab a few squares of toilet paper to wipe my mouth. What the hell?
At the sink I wash my hands, then splash some water on my face. I hate getting sick. I’ve been lucky and haven’t caught the funk floating through the hallways, until now. So many kids were out those last two weeks of school with one thing or another. I guess it was only a matter of time until it was my turn.
When I sit back at our table, Logan holds my ice cream out for me. I shake my head and he takes a lick of it. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say pushing my hair back from my face. I’m hot. Sweat pools at my hairline and my shirt sticks to my back. I think if I take a shower and lie down, I’ll be okay. “I don’t feel good. Can you take me home?”
“Sure.” He tosses what's left of his shake and my melting cone in the trash. “Want some company?”
I shake my head. I don’t want him catching whatever it is I’ve got. “I think I’m going to take a nap. I’ll text you when I get up though. Okay?”
Logan links his fingers with mine and kisses my palm. “Of course, baby.”
I glance over at Logan’s house, and make sure no one is looking then lock the door. My pulse pounds under my skin, making me tremble. I’ve dodged Logan the past two days, claiming to have a contagious stomach bug. Every time I thought I was getting better; I’d throw up again. Morning. Noon. Night. It’s all the time. I didn’t think anything of it, until Sarah cracked a joke about me being pregnant.
I don’t track my periods. They’ve always been regular, but I figured when it didn’t come last month the morning after pill threw it off track. It didn’t occur to me that I hadn’t had a period this month either until Sarah said something. “Did you bring it?”
Sarah holds up a Pharmacy bag. My contents are hidden inside. “Of course. Do you really think you’re—”
“Don’t say it!” I point my finger at her, cutting her off. “I don’t want to even put the possibility into the universe.”
Sarah smirks and shakes her head. “Sorry, chicka, but you did that the moment you called me. Why not just drive down to the pharmacy and grab a test yourself?”
“Because I told Logan I'm too sick to see him. He’ll call my bluff and try to come over.” I grab the bag and head upstairs. I don’t need Dad coming home in the middle of us waiting for the results. “I don’t want him worrying or trying to come see me. If I am pr…”
I can’t say it. The thought of being a teen mom sickens me. I had a plan. I was going to go to UF. I was going to study medicine and become a Physician’s Assistant. I was going to get married—hopefully to Logan— and wait until my late twenties, when I was financially stable to have a child. This…I exhale a shaking breath. This would ruin everything.
Sarah pulls me into a hug. She must sense my internal breakdown because I’m seriously freaking out. What if Logan doesn’t want the baby? Do I abort it? Could I go through with adoption? Both options seem impossibly hard right now. “Hey, hey. Don’t cry.”
I didn’t realize I was. I pull back, sniffling, and wipe my cheeks. “I guess I should get this over with. No sense in freaking out yet.”
“No sense in freaking out at all.” Sarah assures me. “Everything will be fine.”
In the privacy of my bathroom, I read the directions on the box. Three times. Just to make sure I don’t screw it up. They’re pretty straight forward. Pee on the stick. Wait three to five minutes. And either jump for joy or break down in tears.
My bladder, of course, chooses this moment to be shy. Figures, when I need to pee it doesn’t want to. Eventually, after enough pushing to move a tiny poop, I finally pee. I cap the stick. Set it on the counter. Pull my shorts up, then reach for my phone. I wanted to set a timer, but the stick already has decided my fate.
I look down at it, all color draining from my face and must make a noise because Sarah barges into the bathroom. “What? What's wrong?”
I hold the stick out and she takes it. My legs give out and I fall to the ground. Sarah’s by my side in an instant, rubbing soft circles on my back. Whispering what I think are comforting words. I can’t hear them. All I hear is my mind reading the results aloud.
Pregnant.
52
Danika
Logan slinks up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist. He pulls me tight against his chest and I go rigid but he doesn’t notice. He’s too excited by our surprise reunion. I’ve only been gone a week—using the excuse my Nona needed an emergency helper after hip surgery (which she really had)— but by the way he’s holding me it must have been a long week.
Logan’s head dips, lips finding the crook of my neck. I smell whiskey on his breath, which is odd because while I’ve seen Logan drink, I know his secret. The whole party boy persona, it’s a ruse. He drinks, but not usually anything beyond a few sips. Only once has he smelt the way he does right now, and that was a bad night.
Teeth sink into my shoulder, and I shiver, fear sneaking through me as he squeezes my tighter. I take a step forward, untangling Logan’s arms from around me and turn. I reach up, touching Logan’s cheek and he leans into my hand. He gazes down at me, deep brown eyes pools of adoration and my resolve cracks. I’m running out of time, but I can’t do this. Not tonight. “I should go.”
“Baby.” Logan grasps my arm. He studies me, a crease forming between his brows. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” I bite my lip, willing my tears to stay hidden behind my lashes. I can’t break down. I’ve spent too many hours crying, hiding in my room, feeling sorry for myself. “I don’t feel well.”
“Are you getting sick again?” Logan doesn’t wait for my reply. He slides his hand down my arm until our fingers tangle together. “Let’s go. This time, I’m taking care of you.”
A shiver creeps down my spine. I hate lying to him, hiding from him, but I needed to figure out what I wanted to do about our situation. I should have waited until tomorrow to try and talk to Logan but it’s taken me this long to work up the courage. Now that the moment is here, I’m not ready. I shake my head. “No, stay with your friends.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my palm. “The only reason I came out tonight is because I thought you were still visiting your Nona. I missed you.”
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. I missed him too, more than words can convey. I guess we can hang out tonight. One more day won’t make a difference, won’t change my mind. Besides, I really did miss being in his arms. “Are you good to drive? Or should I?”
&nb
sp; Logan
The drive back to our houses is silent. The only sounds are my heart in my ears and our breaths in the car. Occasionally Dani sniffles, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Her stomach flu must have turned into a head cold. Or maybe she caught something on the plane back from Georgia. I lay my arm across the center console, palm up. She slips her fingers in mine, but everything feels wrong. They are heavy and cold. I squeeze her hand, hoping to feel the warmth she usually emits, but there’s nothing.
“So,” I say, my free hand gripping the steering wheel so hard it’ll probably have indents in it. I know Dani was worried about me drinking and driving, but I’m not drunk. Not even close. If she’d walked in five minutes earlier, I wouldn’t have needed that shot of whiskey. It just…helps. With her gone this week, I’ve struggled to distract myself.
The local paper released an article today about three families pressing charges against Dr. Shaffer. Mom flipped out when she read it. I’m starting to think they might have had an affair going on, which makes him abusing me even more fucked. Cooper eyed me curiously, silently connecting the dots. I bolted out of the house before he could ask any questions. Of all the days for Danika to come home, I’m glad it was today. “Is everything okay?”
Dani turns her head, averting her gaze out the window. “Not here.”
Three blocks and we’ll be home. Three blocks and I can finally hold her in my arms. I don’t sleep well when she’s not by my side. I toss and turn and wake up just as tired as when I laid down. Sick or not, I’m sleeping by her side tonight. “You know I love you. Right?”
She exhales a small, pained laugh. “I know.”
That’s not good. She always says I love you back. I have this feeling in my bones that tonight’s conversation isn’t going to end well. I rub my thumb over her palm, hoping that somehow, she can feel how much I need her in my life. After one week, I’m falling apart. What will happen to me if she leaves? “You are my forever, Danika. No matter what happens with us, I will never love someone the way I love you.”
