by Hughes, Maya
I could be pregnant. And not just a little pregnant. How far along might I be? Our night together was in June. So—holy shit, that would be more than four months. While most people worked hard for a summer bod, I’d always put on a little weight during summer between funnel cake, diner food, and way too much time in the car. I’d felt rundown as we wrapped up the summer season at the Surf Shack, but had chalked that up to finally allowing myself to slow down long enough to let the exhaustion hit me.
Drawstring pants and elastic waistbands in my scrubs meant I never paid attention to a few pounds one way or the other. I flipped through my mental calendar. I could be in my second trimester.
The gentle slope of my stomach didn’t seem so much like diner food and vending machine snacks anymore. A new reality could be seconds from confirmation.
I’d always planned on having kids. When I had envisioned my future, there had always been kids, but then Preston was gone and that vision was snuffed out, replaced by the existence I’d been living for the past few years. The same days had stretched out into an unknown infinity.
Whatever the result, Colm and my relationship would be forever changed. A pregnancy scare wasn’t something that blew over without those little thoughts popping up in the back of your head.
I got up and pulled out one of Colm’s t-shirts and a pair of shorts with a drawstring.
After I put on the clothes, I looked at myself in the mirror. My normal morning routine was interrupted by needing to keep my pee on the inside until Colm came back, and any distraction seemed like it might help. Standing was a mistake. I sat back down on the edge of the bed and crossed my legs, bouncing with my hands locked on my knees.
The ten minutes could’ve been an hour for how long it seemed. There was a part of me that imagined him running to the store and then just carrying on past it. Maybe running straight to the airport and hopping on a plane to a place without the complications of Imogen.
Was this his way of bailing? ‘Here’s a house as a consolation prize. I’m picking up and moving far, far away from you. Please forward my mail.’ Just as I was sure I could see a yellow tinge at the bottom of my vision, the front door banged open. Colm burst into the room with two full plastic bags straining against his forearms.
“Did you go grocery shopping?”
“These are all tests.” Sweat poured down his face and he panted, swallowing and setting down the bags.
I gaped at the boxes pushing through the plastic and grabbed a handful, cradling them to my chest. Rushing into the bathroom, I dumped them onto the floor. Smiley faces. Plus signs. Two lines. There were so many different types. I picked one and tore into the box with my legs crossed.
Colm stood nearby hovering, looking like he might puke at any moment.
“Get out.” I tottered over to the toilet and read the instructions.
He stood in the doorway, leaning in like that constituted out.
“Go before I pee myself and we have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”
That got him gone. I scanned the counter and spotted his toothbrush cup. Desperate times.
Three minutes later I was the proud owner of twelve peed on pregnancy tests lined up neatly on the side of the white counter.
My leg bounced up and down, but not from a nearly-bursting bladder this time. How long had it been? Was it time yet for the little pieces of plastic to work their magic? Being in that room alone sent my anxiety skyrocketing. I needed to take a step back and escape.
I flung the door open and walked into the bedroom.
Colm shot up from the bed, looking frazzled and harried like he’d walked through a hurricane. “So…?”
“We have to wait three minutes. I don’t know how long it’s been. And I used the cup for your toothbrush for the test, so you might want to throw that out.”
He nodded, his throat working a mile a minute. Looking down at the bed beside him, he jolted at his phone like it had appeared out of thin air. He plucked it from the bed and tapped the screen, waving it with the three-minute clock counting down.
Three minutes.
“There’s another set of tests if you need them.” He pointed at the neatly arranged boxes on the nightstand.
“I used twelve, I’m thinking that will give us enough of a sample size to know the truth.” What was wrong with my arms and why did it feel like I’d never crossed them before? Was it left over right or right over left against my chest?
Another nod and darting gaze to the countdown clock.
Two minutes.
“I don’t want you to…I mean I don’t expect…” A curse whispered through my lips.
Colm stared at the phone like he was waiting for his life to implode. All his talk about finally figuring out what he wanted to do and no longer feeling like he had to take care of Liv, and now this. All those proclamations about doing whatever the hell he wanted and no longer being responsible for anyone other than himself.
And now the baby clock was ticking on the other side of the bathroom door.
One minute.
“It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, it will be okay.” He didn’t look at me when he said it, like he was talking himself off the ledge of a possibly monumental cliff.
We stood in silence, not knowing what to say. I crossed my arms around my waist.
The chimes sounded and he opened the bathroom door. His deep breath was the only sound other than his muted footsteps.
He made it to the sink first and picked up the first one. “Is a happy face a good or a bad thing?”
I licked my dry lips. “I guess that depends on your point of view.” At the other end of the counter, I looked through the tests. Plus sign. Two lines. Other than one with only the slightest hint of a second line, our new reality had been dumped on us like that bucket of ice water.
“Wow.” Colm sat on the closed toilet seat I’d abandoned minutes ago. He dropped his head into his hands.
My stomach knots were back—or was that something else? Was it morning sickness? When did you get morning sickness? This explained how I’d crave Avery’s baked goodies and then not even want to eat them. My fingers trembled.
“Colm—” I lifted my hand, but dropped it at my side, unsure if he even wanted my touch.
He lifted his head. His nostrils flared and his eyes were watery and red.
“I’m sorry. This doesn’t change anything for you. It will be okay.” I was a chronic helper. A pathological fixer. A complete and total mess. He deserved better.
His arms shot out and he wrapped them around me, pulling me close. His head rested above my stomach. “It will be okay.”
With Tinkerbell light touches, I ran my fingers over his head. His arms tightened around my waist.
Some of the tightness in my chest eased and I dragged my fingers through his hair.
“What are you thinking?”
“It’s all too chaotic to hold onto one thought long enough to even tell you.”
I wrapped my arms around his head. “This doesn’t have to change anything for you. You don’t—”
“Don’t ruin this moment by telling me that I don’t have to be part of our baby’s life.”
I stepped back, not knowing how you handle the sorry I accidentally got pregnant after our one night together where you were probably still drunk and emotionally messed up and now I’m at least four months pregnant talk. “This wasn’t something we planned. It’s not something I planned. I don’t want you to think you have to do anything.” He was Mr. Responsibility. He was the guy who didn’t walk away no matter how much it made sense for him to do it.
He dropped his head between his knees with his hands in his hair.
“Hell, yes, I’m freaking the hell out.” He looked up at me with a stricken look and my stomach dropped.
I hadn’t even asked the question aloud, but I couldn’t exactly blame him for his response. Did I want to be let in on the full conversation going on inside his head?
“You’re the only person I
’ve ever had unprotected sex with. It was a fluke and now you’re pregnant.”
The words were to me, but it was clear that he was talking to himself.
“I’ve never slept with anyone without protection either.”
He jolted like he’d just remembered I was there, and then his eyebrows dipped low. “Anyone.”
I wrapped my arms around my stomach and my cheeks heated. “Well, one person.” This was going all wrong, although I wasn’t sure how a ‘surprise, I’m pregnant’ announcement was supposed to go.
“Were you on something?”
“Yeah, I was. I am, but nothing is one hundred percent. I’m normally irregular and I’m on the pill, but driving back and forth, I haven’t been back of the box on time with everything. I didn’t think.” Late nights and early mornings. Falling asleep with my shoes on, I hadn’t been the best with keeping to my pill at the same time every day, sometimes I’d even forget for a couple days. It wasn’t like I’d needed it for pregnancy prevention until him.
“Fuck.”
He had that right, and we’d done it again.
I’d opened myself up to him again and this is where it had led. Instead of finding out on my own and sitting him down for a reasonable conversation where I could lay out my plan and get his input, I was standing in his bathroom with cool tiles under my feet, in his shirt, trying to unscramble my thoughts.
The glass was cracking under my feet and escape was the only option. I darted out of the room and scrambled for my clothes. It wasn’t until the front door closed behind me that I realized he’d never even tried to call me back.
Tears rolled down my cheeks in the back of the taxi and all the way back to my apartment. What the hell did I do now?
25
Colm
A baby. Imogen was pregnant. Pregnant with my baby. I was going to be a father.
Holy fuck!
I dragged my hands down my face. In some part of my brain, it registered that she wasn’t in the bathroom anymore.
Slowly my brain rebooted itself and stopped being a cloud of people running around screaming and putting out the fires springing up in every corner.
Imogen was gone. How long ago had it been? A few minutes? A couple hours? Was she at home? Was her apartment safe? Did she need anything? Did the baby need anything?
I’d let her go. She’d been trying to talk, but my mouth and lips were dry like I’d been force-fed saltines and cotton balls.
Was this really real? Twenty unopened boxes of pregnancy tests sat on my night stand. After more than ten positive tests, I was pretty sure we had our answer.
The fog in my brain cleared and I saw with laser sharp focus what had happened over the past four months.
My life was a mess. I was a mess, barely piecing things back together and now I was going to be a father. The pressure. The worry. The fear. It all came rushing in hard and fast. But in it was also a light, glowing ball beating like my heart.
Imogen was pregnant with my baby. I was going to be a father.
The connection I’d always felt to her now had a real life expression. A baby. Ten fingers and ten toes. Would they have her smile or mine? Would they inherit the white streak that had struck me and Liv?
Liv was going to be an aunt. Her niece or nephew would call her Aunt Olive, a nickname I’d given her that she hated. I couldn’t hold back my smile, but then reality interrupted my Future Colm daydream where everything turned out perfectly and no one had to deal with the bullshit life always lobbed your way.
Liv wasn’t talking to me. Or was I not talking to her?
Imogen had walked out of here without another word from me. Did she want me in her life? We’d slept together again, what did that mean? Did she want me to help raise the baby with her? To be with me like I’d wanted to be with her? Or was she still in love with Preston? Her love had been stolen from her five years ago; did that leave me the like of her life because of the baby? Would I always be second in her heart?
A strong knock broke me out of my premature nesting.
I threw the door open.
Ford stood on the doorstep with his hands shoved in his pockets.
Being alone with my thoughts was a dangerous thing right now. The magnitude of a baby made what was going on between me and him seem a hell of a lot smaller.
Holding the door open, I stepped aside, giving him room to come in.
His eyes widened.
“Are you coming in or not?”
He came in with his hands shoved in his pockets.
Tension crackled in the air. The first time we’d willingly been in a room together in a long time.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s holding it together. She’s trying to pretend this distance between you two isn’t getting to her, but I know she’s hurting. How are you doing?” He held my gaze, not letting me drop it.
“Fuck.”
“Do you still have the bag?” He nodded toward the door leading to my gym.
I huffed. “Yeah.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” He held out his arm, waiting to see what I’d do next.
“Why the hell not?” I led him downstairs.
The room was cold, with humidity creeping in through the basement walls even though I’d had it triple water sealed.
Ford lugged the punching bag out of the closet and tossed the gloves to me.
I grabbed the hand wraps, winding them around my hands, in and out between my fingers before securing the end around my wrist. It had been a long time since I’d broken these out. I slipped my hands into the gloves.
Ford hooked the chain at the top of the punching bag to the hook in the ceiling. It was like we’d jumped into a time portal. All the complications life had thrown our way dimmed. I tightened the velcro around my wrist with my teeth and slammed the gloves together.
My hits were tentative. The cold thwap of the gloves was swallowed up against the solid black bag.
“You’ve got more in you than that.”
I put a little more power behind my next hook.
Ford held onto the bag, it didn’t move an inch.
“Pretend it’s my face.”
A flood of energy barreled through me, powering up my swing. I connected with the bag and Ford stumbled back. If I’d said I didn’t get some extra satisfaction out of that, I’d be lying.
“This can’t just be about Liv or hockey. What’s going on?” He widened his stance, planting his feet.
Saying it out loud felt like it made it more real. I was going to be a dad. In five months, there’d be a little Colmogen combo out in the world. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
“Imogen’s pregnant.”
“Did she have some vial of Preston’s sperm cryogenically frozen or something?”
I froze mid-punch and glared at him around the bag.
His eyes widened. “Oh shit, it’s yours. You and Imogen have been—what? Why didn’t anyone say anything?”
“No one knows. We’ve been discreet.”
“Wow. I take it this wasn’t planned.”
“No.”
“How long have you known?”
“What time is it?”
He turned his wrist. “Three.”
“Five hours.”
“That explains why you invited me in. You’re still in shock.”
I grunted, taking out my frustrations on the bag in front of me.
“What’s the plan?”
“Who said there was a plan?”
He leaned farther out from behind the bag. “There’s always a plan with you. It’s part of the reason everyone’s been so freaked out about you after—well you know. Usually you’ve got the next five years of your life all sorted out, with alternate plans and alternate alternate plans to get to your goal. But you’ve been aimless.”
“Being blindsided will do that to you. Maybe I just realized there was no point in having plans when life never cooperated. What difference does it make?”
“This
thing with Imogen. How serious is it?”
I threw a left jab. “No idea. Every time I try to get close, she pushes me away.”
“So you don’t want this baby?”
“No—yes—I don’t know. Have you seen me lately? I’m not exactly father of the year material.” That was an understatement—Ford had no idea how messed up I really was.
“I know a certain sister who’d have something to say about that.”
“Like adding me to the shittiest parental-fill-in hall of fame? I’ll pass.”
“She’d never say anything like that about how you raised her. As for how things are going now, maybe she’d have a few choice words, but growing up, she knows, maybe now more than before, how much you sacrificed for her. She’s an adult now, though, and she could use a brother more than a father.”
“Exactly.”
“Stop trying to twist everything into the worst possible scenario.”
“And why the hell shouldn’t I? What about my life would make me not always default to the worst possible outcome? Maybe my parents are just late for my hockey game? No, they’re fighting for their lives on the side of an icy road. Maybe my girlfriend is sensing something is up with me because I’m freaked out about proposing and that’s why she’s being weird? Nope, she’s fucked my best friend and tried to hide it from me. Maybe my sister is nervous about not being able to hack it in med school and that’s why she’s distant and won’t talk to me? Wrong again, she’s banging my best friend and giving up on medical school entirely. Oh and that twenty-four hour period where she wasn’t answering her phone, was she just avoiding me? No, her god damn apartment burned down and she’s nowhere to be found.
“But with Imogen, I’m supposed to believe things will turn out okay? I’m supposed to believe this woman I’ve had a thing for for nearly half a decade is going to be happy she got pregnant by me when I can barely get her to stay the night? I’m supposed to believe that I’m not the runner-up once again for the heart of a woman I can’t stop thinking about. Only this time, my competition is dead. How do I compete with a ghost canonized and revered by everyone who’s ever met him? Why the hell would I think I’d be able to matter one bit as much to her as he did? And now we’re stacking a kid on top of that. I’ll be lucky if I get to see them for alternate weekends. Who’d even want their kid around someone like me? I sure as hell wouldn’t.” I grimaced, trying to hide from my mountain of screw ups bombarding me in a mental slideshow.
