by Aja Cole
If it meant that they would have a stable life, that they would be happy…wouldn’t I do it? Wouldn’t I pick the option that’s going to give my child the life they deserve? Could I make that choice? Am I unselfish enough to do that?
What if they allowed an open adoption with visits? Does that even happen often? I saw it on a reality show once, but I don’t know how often that really goes on. What about my parents?
Oh god, what about my parents? They’ll be so disappointed if their grandchild is with another family.
That brings on a new wave of tears and I moan, hunched over the wheel, emotions swirling through me that I never thought that I’d be dealing with.
I always thought that if I found out I was pregnant, it would be a happy moment.
I’d be ecstatic because I’d have been trying and I’d have someone by my side, someone on the journey with me.
It’s just me.
If someone’s been clear about where they stand on kids, and I choose to go through with the pregnancy, then I shouldn’t make him feel pressure about what to do.
We thought we were being safe. I thought it was safe.
Is it on me? Should I have been more sure about what the hell was going on in my body? We should’ve used condoms anyway to double up. Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I just got a new job.
It was just starting to feel like I’m finding my footing again.
I snap my head up when there’s a knock on my window, wiping bleary eyes to roll it down when I recognize Yvette, the nurse from inside.
“I’m glad I caught you, you left your phone.” She holds up the striped case, handing it to me.
“Oh, thank you. I didn’t even realize.” I sniff, trying to school my face.
“Is there anyone I can call for you? Do you feel up to driving?” She asks softly, pity on her face.
I hate it. Is that the look that I’m going to get for the rest of this pregnancy? After? If I’m a single mom?
I turn away under the guise of shoving my phone in my purse. “I’m fine, I just need a few moments. Thank you.”
“Okay, then we’ll see you for your first prenatal visit in three weeks. Unless you decide…”
I wipe my nose, shaking my head. “No. I won’t be terminating the pregnancy.”
“Okay. Well, get some rest and be gentle with yourself.” She nods at me, then heads back to the offices and I close my eyes, dropping my head back against the seat-rest.
How do I do this?
Am I sure that I want to?
“Hey, where is th—”
“Don’t come in!” I shriek, snatching an oversized towel from the rack and clutching it against my body, just in case Corie doesn’t listen.
The door handle stops turning and I deflate, relieved.
“I think you grabbed my can opener, is it still in the box?”
“Yeah, it should be in one of the smaller ones on the counter.”
“Okay, cool.”
She moves away from the door and I drop the towel, picking up the whipped butter mix again. I read that keeping my skin hydrated from inside and outside might help with stretch-marks and at least help with the itchiness from my skin stretching when they come in, so I order a tub of it every few weeks from this indie company that lets you pick the add-ins and the scent. When that’s done, I slide on a comfortable bra and panties.
So far, things seem to be going really well, but my belly also hasn’t stretched much yet. My uterus is tilted, according to Evelyn, and that and a semi-long torso helped me hide the pregnancy that I haven’t mustered up the nerve to tell anyone else about.
About 21 weeks along and my bump is just starting to be visible. I told the girls at the studio that I needed to rehab an injury, but I’d see them when everything was back in shape.
I haven’t felt it move. I haven’t even really felt pregnant, except for my breasts getting a little bigger, more tender. The sinus problems are done, I haven’t been nauseous or anything like that. I do get some acid reflux, but nothing that keeps me awake or bothers me too much.
Turning to the side in the mirror, I cup my hands over the small bump that could easily just be the result of eating dinner. Snapping a quick picture with my phone, I add it to the locked picture files where I’ve been documenting my body week to week.
Pressing the record button, I set it up on the small phone stand on the counter, stepping back.
“Well, almost week 21. No new changes, except that it’s finally starting to look like you’re in here.” I touch my belly, turning to catch it on video. “If I wasn’t taking vitamins everyday and shopping for baby stuff, this still wouldn’t feel real. Honestly…I’m excited for when I can feel you and see you better inside my belly. You were unexpected, but…you’ll be loved. You are loved already, and…” My voice hitches, “Mommy can’t wait to meet you, little girl of mine.”
After I stop the video, I throw on an oversized, lightweight sweatshirt, thankful that my new bathroom is between my new closet and bedroom.
I just moved in last week, and as far as anyone knows, I got a two bedroom because I want to make the smaller one an office.
It has a locked closet that I’ve been adding baby clothes and essentials to. The door locks as well, so if I haven’t told anyone when I start putting the nursery together, I’ll be able to keep it to myself as well.
Part of me feels bad that I’m keeping it to myself and not sharing it with my family…but part of me doesn’t.
It feels…intensely private and personal, growing a little being inside my body.
I want this time for just us. Especially because…I know there’ll be questions and concerns and everything else that’s just not what I want to focus on right now.
As for Jackson…we haven’t spoken since the day I told him about the job and then never called him back. He’s clearly respecting what I wanted. Well…he was for awhile, then I blocked his number to curb my own temptation, so I wouldn’t know if he’s tried to reach me again.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, not telling him.
I don’t want him to feel obligated to be here or move or change his life because of something neither of us saw coming. I had the option to not continue the pregnancy, knowing that he doesn’t want a child, and I kept it because I do.
I want her.
And I won’t subject her even now to a father that doesn’t.
17
“You okay?” Chris passes me the water bottle I asked for when he went to concessions, and I nod, popping a ginger chew into my mouth.
“Yeah, it’s just a bug going around.”
“Well don’t puke on me, I’m going out for drinks after this.”
“We’re not invited?” Corie mocks offense, “There are no better wingwomen than your sisters.”
Surprisingly, Chris shakes his head, “Don’t need wingwomen, I’m taking a break from all that.”
“From like…being you?” I question, swiping some of Corie’s popcorn because it seems to be the only thing that I can eat right now since the pretzels I tried didn’t work out. Hockey isn’t my thing, but Chris said he had extra tickets and his friend is on the team so we tagged along. I don’t keep up with sports unless it has something to do with a client, never have.
Around twelve weeks left, and oversized clothing and big coats have kept my secret. It’s colder outside, so it’s not suspicious. If it were summer here, I’d be shit out of luck.
Baby-me has been making her presence known, in size and in kicks and by killing my appetite unless it’s something very specific, like apple jelly and cheddar sandwiches.
“Very funny. I don’t need to date, it’s just nice to be in good company.”
“Look at all of us, happily single.” Corie singsongs.
I force a smile, nodding. “Very happily. So, who’s your friend that plays?”
They both glance at me like I’ve missed something, and I look between them, not catch
ing the hint. “What? Have I met them?” I peer down at the ice, watching them volley for the puck that I can barely see because they’re moving so fast. “I don’t recognize anyone?”
“Mims, Jackson is our goalie.”
The rink swims in front of me and I gulp some water, sinking into my seat.
Our goalie.
Our home team.
In Atlanta.
Not California.
“Maybe you need to be in bed.” Chris puts a hand to my forehead, checking my temperature. “If you’d told me you weren’t feeling well, I wouldn’t have bothered you about coming.”
“I’m fine, I just…I’m going to stop by the bathroom. No worries, watch the game.” I slip my phone into my pocket.
“You sure? I can go with you.” Corie says, brushing hair out of her eyes. She went back to her natural hair color, and the short cut makes her grey eyes and cheekbones pop even more.
“I’m sure.” I pat her cheek and squeeze Chris’ shoulder as he lets me by.
In the bathroom, I smile at a young girl who holds the door open for me and thank her, heading inside and to one of the stalls.
Then I puke my guts out.
This time, from disbelief.
I need my mom.
That’s the only thing that keeps going through my head.
I want my mom.
I send Corie and Chris a text in our group chat letting them know that I’m going to drop by mom’s since it’s closer and lay down for a bit. They send hearts and hugs and tell me to let them know if I need anything, and they’ll enjoy the game for me.
Pulling into the driveway, my shoulders droop when I realize that they’re not even home.
Of course they aren’t, because they are so much more social than I am.
I send a text to my mom, and in a few minutes, she tells me that they went to a play but they’ll be back in a few hours.
Letting myself into the house, I drop my keys on the table and slip out of my sneakers, unwrapping my coat to hang it up. Stealing a pack of crackers from the pantry, I pad upstairs to my old bedroom, letting my sweatshirt drop to the floor and shimmying out of my jeans. In panties and a tank top, I slip under the comforter and clutch the biggest pillow to my face and body, letting out a weary sigh.
Why didn’t I ask more questions?
Why didn’t I realize that he lived here and not there?
Thinking back on our conversations, I remember that he never explicitly said that he lived in California, I just assumed it because he was there and he had a place and…why didn’t he correct me? When it was clear that I thought we’d never be in the same place?
Was he just all talk, too?
Did he not really want me as much as he said? I was only an option if I thought we couldn’t have anything else together because of the distance?
Do I tell him now? There’s no way that Chris won’t mention it when they find out, since we met.
But he still doesn’t want a child.
If my family knows, if Chris knows, he’ll make it a big deal and he’ll try to force him to do the right thing. Fuck.
Fuck!
I’ll have to say that it’s Vaughn’s kid. Or a random one night stand when I just needed a distraction.
That’s the only way that this doesn’t fuck up their friendship and his life. I don’t care about my life changing to add a child, because I saw it happening one day anyway.
Not like this, but it’s not something that can be changed now.
But I can figure it out after I get some rest.
What’s a few more hours of secrets?
“Ceceliaaa, wake up sweetheart.” My mom pushes back my hair that I didn’t bother to put a scarf on for my nap. I wear it straight more often when it’s cold since there’s less chance of me sweating it out by just stepping foot outside.
“Hey, mom,” I mutter, groggy. I shift my body around to face her without opening my eyes.
But I should’ve.
Because I didn’t realize that in my sleeping, the comforter had shifted and it’s clear when I’m laying like this that my stomach isn’t as flat as it used to be.
“My god.” She breathes.
That makes me pop my eyes open, in time to see her reaching out a hand towards my belly, then pause just before she touches it like she’s afraid it’ll disappear in front of her eyes.
“Surprise?” I say weakly, moving up on the bed and leaning against the pillows that are still propped against the headboard. “I was coming to tell you tonight.”
A mouth that mirrors my own drops open and then closes comically. My unshakeable mom is clearly at a loss for words.
“Well this is…I mean, you’re…” She gestures at my stomach, but can’t get the rest of the words out.
“Around 6 months and some change.” I clarify, because I think that’s what she’s getting at.
“Oh my…” She puts a hand to her chest, brown eyes still wide.
“It’s a girl, and…it’s just me.” I whisper, touching my fingers to my stomach.
There’s silence while my mom processes what that means, and I brace for what she might say, still looking down at my bump.
Her hand covers mine before she speaks. “Us. It’s just all of us.” She corrects softly, and my lips quiver before I squeeze my eyes tight because I’m tired of being a fountain.
I cried enough times after I found out, in the closet, in the shower, in my car because I didn’t want anyone to overhear me or for Corie to find me and demand to know what was wrong.
Climbing into bed with me and wrapping her arms around my frame, my mama guides my head to her chest and holds me like I’m much younger than I am. “You’ve always been stubborn, Cecelia Drake…but what you never are and never have been, is alone.”
Later, when my mom goes to change out of her dress, I pull on sweatpants and go downstairs, wanting to tell Daddy myself. My mom won’t be able to hold it in if she sees him first, so I have to tell him while she’s occupied.
“Daddy, you busy?” I lean against the back of the couch after I find him, watching him type up an email on his laptop, wire glasses perched on his nose.
“What’s up, baby girl?”
I don’t know if there’s a proper way to spill these beans, so I’m just going to go for efficiency.
“Your baby girl is having a baby girl.” I say, rounding the couch to stand where he can see me. He types a few more letters before he freezes, whipping off his glasses to gape at me.
“Did you ju—”
He stops when he notices my stomach, which is a lot more evident with a form-fitting tank top on.
“My god.” He breathes, and it being the exact same thing mom said makes me start laughing, with my dad looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Sorry, that’s just the same thing Mom said so it was funny that you said it too.”
“Are you happy?” He asks immediately, thick brows furrowing and I nod.
“Yeah, Daddy. I’m happy about her.”
The front doorbell rings and I walk towards it automatically.
“That’s probably a late package. I’ve been waiting on my new phone case to get here.”
I can see the delivery truck through the window on the curb, so I open the door, “Hi, thank y—,”
My mouth snaps shut when there’s no delivery driver holding the package.
There’s a package, but it’s the one person I didn’t expect to see holding onto it.
“Vaughn? What the hell are you doing here?”
18
Remembering what I look like, I quickly slam the door in his face.
“We need to talk.” He demands through the wood, “Nomi, I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
“You’re trespassing.” I call back, resolute. “If you want to talk, don’t invade my privacy and show up to my parents house. Send a message through the lawyers like you’ve been doing.”
“I’m tired of talking through them. You’re still
my wife, the least you can do is talk to me.”
“In a few more days, that will no longer be true.”
“But it’s still true right now.”
“Send me a text, maybe I’ll answer it.” With that, I walk away from the door and to the kitchen, hoping my mom has some lemonade in the fridge. My dad goes upstairs to talk to mom, aka talk about me with her, but I’m glad for the alone time.
Not twenty minutes later, there’s another knock on the door and I stomp to it, throwing it open because I just know that it’s Vaughn being a colossal asshole with zero respect for me and what I need right now.
“Get the f—”
“Didn’t know you were here.” Jackson steps back, digging his hands into his dark sweats and tipping his face down. He has a black cap on so I can’t see his wary expression until he lifts his face again.
I’m so stunned to see him, so many different feelings are running through me that I neglect to do what I did with Vaughn, and it costs me.
“I was just meeting Chris here, he’s dropping Corie off.” He explains gruffly, then his eyes drop and his jaw tightens even more. “Nomi…you’re pregnant?” Hazel eyes flash up to mine, confusion and betrayal warring in them and on his face.
All the air is sucked out of my lungs and I can’t even make my mouth form words, fear freezes me so abruptly. I touch my stomach instinctively, and it must show on my face because he steps off the porch, pulling a hand over his face.
“Holy shit. You scared of me now? What, did I treat you like shit and forget about it? Enough for you to not tell me you’re pregnant with my kid?”
“You…I know you don’t want children. You told me yourself and Chris told me and…I didn’t know you lived here. Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I didn’t realize you thought that until you were at the airport. I figured we could talk about it at some point, then you blocked my number.” He growls, pacing.
All my thoughts of telling my family that it’s Vaughn’s child go out the window.
