The Secret Baby

by Harper, Leddy

  Being the best friend she was, she held up one finger and then left the room. I figured I’d give her to the count of fifteen before going after her, but I knew in my heart I wouldn’t have to. And when she came back, I realized what she’d gone to get—tongs.

  I turned my back to her, not wanting to accidentally see the results. For whatever reason, I felt confident that I would take the news better if it came from Tatum. So I stood there and waited for her to either save the day or deliver my death sentence.

  At the sound of another splash, I glanced over my shoulder. The test was once again in the bowl, but this time, Tatum decided to close the lid, where she invited herself to take a seat as though the ordeal had exhausted her. The only reason I didn’t give her a hard time was the look on her face—part excitement, part sadness, a twinge of confusion, and a hint of intrigue.

  Her expression gave me nothing but more uncertainty.

  “Will you just put me out of my misery already before I throw you off the damn toilet and dive in there myself?”

  Tatum stood, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Kels. You’ll get your period.” And then she walked out.

  An odd emotion ran over me—relief mostly, but there was a slight pang of sadness. I wouldn’t get to experience this part of life with my best friend. And it took discovering that I didn’t have what I didn’t want to realize that maybe, just maybe, a small piece of me might have wanted it.

  I slowly made my way out of the room and found Tatum washing her hands in the kitchen sink. Feeling lost in a fog of warring thoughts, I fell into a seat at the table, the one I’d vacated before finding out my fate.

  “You don’t look happy.” A spark glistened in her dark eyes as she dried her hands.

  “I am. It’s the best outcome, really. I never wanted kids, and the idea of getting knocked up by a stripper named Dr. Phil-Me-Up doesn’t appeal to me. But I guess it’s just one of those things that you don’t realize you might want until you think you might already have it.”

  “Wait. Are you saying the stripper you hired for my bachelorette party is the father of your child—if you were pregnant, I mean? I thought you said he wore a condom.”

  “He did. Well, as far as I know. But it couldn’t have been anyone else; he’s the only guy I’ve slept with in months.”

  “So what you’re telling me is . . . you aren’t opposed to having a baby, just as long as it’s not with someone who dances in a G-string to Jock Jams?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I just meant that—baby daddy aside—I wouldn’t have jumped off a bridge had the test been positive. I might’ve sat on the ledge, leaned a little too far forward, contemplated the distance between the railing and the water below . . . but not jumped.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be an amazing mom. I mean . . . your kid’s first word would more than likely be something vulgar. He or she would think Hamburger Helper is gourmet, and there’s a chance you’d be in a parent-teacher meeting at least once a week defending your child’s overly dry sense of humor. But you’d be one hell of a mom.”

  “Thanks, Tater.” Oddly enough, her sentiment meant the world to me . . . even if it would never be proven. “Now I just hope my period waits a little longer to come so I don’t have to deal with it at the wedding this weekend.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine. If I had to guess, you’ll get it in about ten or so months—depending on whether you choose to breastfeed or not.”

  My heart sank, my stomach clenched, and the world started to tilt. I had to have heard her wrong, because she’d specifically told me that the test was negative. I would’ve assumed she was just messing with me, but Tatum was the world’s worst liar. And now I wasn’t sure what to believe. “I’m sorry, but . . . what? You told me I wasn’t pregnant.”

  “No . . . I said you’ll get your period. Which you will, but not until you finish growing that tiny human currently residing in your womb.”

  “You’re a monster. Who does that to someone?”

  She sauntered to the chair next to me, a smile on her face. It was times like these I wished she didn’t know me so well, because no matter what names I called her, she wouldn’t believe for one second that I meant any of it.

  “I just gave you what you never knew you wanted. You said so yourself. You’re welcome. Think of it as my gift to you.” Her arm must’ve been sore from patting her own back. “And what’s even better . . . we get to do this together. Just imagine—our kids will be best friends, too.”

  “You’re missing one giant issue. The baby’s father doesn’t change in any of this.” Breathing became impossible, and the room started to spin like I’d gotten trapped in one of those Gravitron rides at a carnival. “Oh my God . . . I’m pregnant with a stripper’s baby. If it’s a girl, I’ll have to name her Star or Bambi. She’ll be in therapy from the time she takes her first breath.”

  “Calm down. You’re freaking out for no reason. Maybe this Phil-Your-Holes character only strips to pay for college.”

  “He’s older than we are—at least in his thirties. I doubt he’s in school, not to mention, he’s dumber than a box of rocks. For fuck’s sake, what if stupidity is hereditary? My kid is totally going to be a window licker, won’t it?”

  She patted my hand the way my mom used to when trying to pacify me. “I doubt that. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Worst-case scenario, it’ll be average. But even then, I don’t think that’ll happen. I can’t see any child raised by you turning out to be anything less than amazing.”

  “I’m gonna have to tell him, aren’t I?”

  “That’s probably the right thing to do. Plus, giving him the opportunity to be involved keeps you from having to do this by yourself. If he doesn’t want anything to do with it, at least you have me. And I’m sure your family would help out, too.”

  Somehow, I hadn’t even thought about my family until she’d mentioned them. “They can’t find out yet. Not until I’m ready to tell them. Got it?”

  She latched onto my shoulders. “Trust me, I get it. In case you forgot, they’re not even aware of my situation, so you don’t have to worry about me saying anything.”

  “That means Jason, too. You can’t tell him, either.”

  “I love you, Kels, but I’m not about to start off my marriage by lying to Jay.”

  “Oh, whatever. You lie to him all the time. The poor guy thinks the same bag of cheese puffs has been in the pantry for over a month, when we both know that’s not the case. You eat an entire bag a day, and before he gets home, you make sure the same amount is left before putting it away.”

  She gasped and opened her eyes wide, acting offended. It was obvious she wanted to lie and tell me I was wrong, but she wouldn’t convince me of it. Finally, she dropped her shoulders and huffed. “What’s your point? If he were to ask me about it, I’d tell him the truth.”

  “Fine. Then do that with this, too. You’re only allowed to confirm it if he specifically asks if I’m pregnant. And since you’re a pro at keeping him from questioning things, you shouldn’t have any problem hiding this until I’m ready to share it with people.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” That was laughable.

  “You’re either gonna have to wipe that goofy grin off your face and stop staring at my stomach, or I’ll have to avoid you until the cat’s out of the bag. And considering your wedding’s in four days, and I’m the maid of honor . . . I suggest you get a handle on the ridiculous expression you’re wearing right now. Otherwise, someone else will have to stand next to you at the altar, because it won’t be me.” I only meant half of that—I wouldn’t miss her wedding for the world. Unfortunately, she knew that, too.

  “For the love of fried rice, Kels. Can’t you give me a minute to be excited?” Tatum’s brows pinched together, yet her eyes turned soft. An emotional moment hovered on the horizon, which left my stomach in knots. “I was terrified when I found out I was pregnant.”
>
  That was news to me. “Why?”

  “Lots of reasons. Some were valid, such as feeling insecure that Jay would say it’s too soon, that it wasn’t part of the plan, and that he’s not ready for our lives to change this much. But then there were the irrational fears . . . like being the only one of my friends with a kid, or not having anyone to share it with who can relate. It’s a lonely feeling. So excuse me for being a little selfish and getting excited to have a partner in crime to go through this new and frightening experience with.”

  I contemplated her words for a moment, yet I couldn’t seem to make sense of them. “But you do have a partner in crime. His name’s Jason . . . your fiancé. Soon-to-be husband. My cousin. And unless you’re keeping something from me—again—he’s the father of your uncooked tater tot.”

  Tatum waved me off with a flick of the wrist and a fluttering roll of her eyes. “It’s not the same. I wasn’t insinuating that I would be alone or anything. But it’s nice having someone to share things with—someone who’ll understand exactly what I’m going through. Jay can’t possibly comprehend tender breasts, or how I can be ready for bed by nine even though I had an hour nap after lunch. And no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never get just how terrifying it is to think that a human being will come out of my vagina.”

  I choked, causing Tatum to gently slap my back until I could breathe again. But even then, I couldn’t do more than stare at her, blinking repeatedly as her words echoed in my head. “What have I ever done to you to make you say such awful things to me?”

  Her brow dipped with profound confusion. “What did I say?”

  “I’m going to have a person crawl out of my hoo-ha and ruin any chances of ever getting laid again.”

  It took Tatum a second to respond, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally speaking. “While I’ve never actually seen anyone give birth, I feel quite confident that they don’t crawl out. And again, I have no personal knowledge of this, but I’ve been told it goes back to normal size.”

  “You’re not helping. I haven’t even adjusted to the idea of a positive pregnancy test swimming in my toilet, let alone anything that comes after that. Yet you think it’s a fantastic idea to point out how my vag will be stretched to accommodate a head.”

  “Are you planning on giving birth to an adult?”

  “I wasn’t planning on giving birth to anything.”

  Tatum quietly and slowly pushed to her feet and backed away, her hands in front of her as if telling me to stay put and calm down. “I think you need some time to come to terms with this. And it’s probably safest if I leave you alone while you do so. Just know that I’m only a phone call away. If you need me, I’ll be here, but for now, maybe a little quiet time might be best. That way, you can cry, freak out, curse the empty condom wrapper, or possibly hunt down Dr. Phils-So-Good and cut off his balls without feeling like you have to hold anything back.”

  I’d never held anything back around her before, but she made a valid point. There was no need to use her as my verbal-diarrhea catcher when my real issue wasn’t even with her. Sure, she’d ended up being the bearer of bad news, although that was only because I’d made her drive all the way over here and then forced her to stick her hand in my toilet, all to give me the bad news in question.

  “Whatever you do,” she continued, her dark, contemplative eyes boring into mine, “make an appointment with an ob-gyn as soon as possible. Don’t make any plans or decisions, and don’t freak out or get excited until you see the doctor.”

  I nodded and offered as big of a smile as I could. “Thanks, Tater. I’d probably be curled into a ball, rocking myself in a corner right now, if you weren’t here. And I still wouldn’t know what that damn stick said.”

  “I can stay if you need me.”

  I shrugged, suddenly feeling like our roles had switched for the first time in our entire friendship. “Nah. Thanks, though. You’re right . . . I need to process it, wrap my mind around the enormity of what it all means and how different my life will be from here on out. But I promise, once I get the major things sorted out, and I no longer feel like I wanna jump off a bridge, I’ll give you a call. I love you, Tatum.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Once the door closed behind her, I headed into my room, where I flopped onto the bed and stared at the wall. My eyes drifted to the clock on my nightstand to check the time, but before I read the bright-blue digits, my sight fell onto the journal I’d found at my parents’ house a couple of weeks ago. A strong urge inside me compelled me to pick it up. And within minutes, I had a pen in my hand and was scribbling any and every thought that came to mind.

  I didn’t think about the words . . . I just purged myself of all emotion.

  Chapter 7

  Kelsey

  For some reason, doctors didn’t consider a positive pregnancy test an urgent matter. Thankfully, a clinic in town could get me in soon, though they made me wait two days—which really wasn’t anything special, since I was told I wouldn’t get more than a confirmation of pregnancy.

  Needless to say, it was the longest two days of my life.

  “What exactly is considered paying for sex?” I asked Tatum without taking the clipboard from my face. “There seems to be such a grey area around that.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s having sex in exchange for money. Not much grey there.”

  “So bartering isn’t the same?”

  She finally turned to look at me, even though I didn’t return the favor. “What are you talking about?”

  “You said ‘in exchange for money.’ If Joe Blow says he’ll give it to me real good if I buy him dinner first . . . is that paying for sex? Because technically, I’d be paying—just not him.”

  “I’m not sure about that . . . though I’m positive you can find a loophole in just about anything.” Tatum went back to the magazine in her hands.

  And I continued filling out pointless forms. They likely had a purpose; I just didn’t see it. “That’s good to know. I’d hate to be accused of paying for sex if I buy a plane ticket for Tom Hardy to come here and”—I leaned to the side and lowered my voice—“fuck me real Hardy.”

  “You have issues,” she whispered, laughter filling her soft words.

  “It’s part of my charm. And one of the reasons you love me.”

  “Just hurry up and fill those forms out.”

  I waved her off, though I complied and continued with the papers attached to the clipboard. “This would be a lot faster if they didn’t ask every question eighty-four times. I literally just answered how many times I’ve been pregnant. Then they ask how many babies I’ve delivered. I just told them I’ve never been pregnant before. Wouldn’t that answer the next seventeen questions about births?”

  Tatum’s index finger came into view, tapping the questions in front of me. “See this? Where it says if you answered yes? And you see this? Where you answered no?” And then her hand was gone; no other explanation followed.

  “No need to be a smart-ass. You’ve already filled these forms out, so it’s no surprise you already have the answers. Don’t be a cheater and make it look like you know what you’re doing just because you’ve been in my shoes before.”

  “I haven’t been in your shoes,” she said with laughter passing her lips. “Never in my life have I been pregnant with a stripper’s baby—a stripper I didn’t even have a real name for. Speaking of which . . . what do you plan to put on the birth certificate? Dr. Phil-Me-Up? And if so, what’s the last name? Oh, even better . . . what last name will your child have?”

  Her last question made me stop and think. I hadn’t made it that far in my mental freak-out. And now that she’d posed it, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Not the nurse who called my name or the cup they made me pee in. Not even the needle they stuck me with to draw blood. Everything was an utter blur—the doctor’s words nothing more than garble—until Tatum snapped me out of it on the way home.

  “How exciti
ng is this? Your due date is only a little over two weeks after mine. Our babies will be less than a month apart!” Her elation was too much for this moment, and if I’d had any strength to summon sarcasm, I would have.

  “I don’t understand how any of this works.”

  Tatum stared at the side of my head in silence for a moment. Then she said, “Well, when a man and a woman have sex—”

  “Oh my God, Tatum. Not about that. I’m confused how our due dates are so close if I’m not quite three weeks pregnant and you’re seven.”

  “You didn’t listen to a word he said, did you?”

  I came to a stop at the traffic light and glared at her. “He said a lot of words. It was hard to keep up. That’s what I brought you for. So get on with it and explain it to me before I make you get out and walk home.” I should really start coming up with more believable threats.

  “Since you know the exact date you had sex, and it couldn’t have possibly happened at any other time, they can pretty much pinpoint down to the day how far along you are—give or take a couple days. He’s going by the fetal age, which will always be two weeks less than gestational age.”

  “Yeah, you’re just confusing me more, Tater. I don’t think I’m cut out for this whole mom gig. I can’t even understand how old my baby is now . . . what’ll happen when it’s here? I’ll forget its birthday or put the wrong number candle on the cake.”

  Tatum huffed, but since I had to pay attention to the road, I couldn’t do more than give her the middle finger—which she smacked away from her face. “It’s quite simple, really. Gestational age starts at the first day of your last period, meaning you’re technically two weeks pregnant before you even conceive. Fetal age . . . well, I think you can figure that out.”

  “For the love of modern technology, can’t they just use one form of counting and leave it at that? I already have enough to be confused about as it is. I don’t need anyone making it worse.”