by Holly Rayner
And so, now, it was Saturday—a day off, and a day of reckoning. She dug through the vegetables at the bottom of her bag to find the pregnancy test, which was stuffed between a mango and a bag of frozen broccoli, and she passed her eyes over the directions. Even in her college exploits, she hadn’t had a single pregnancy scare. Not once.
She stripped the packaging from the stick and removed the cap. She felt she should do it in complete silence, as if she were praying, so she turned off the radio and walked toward the bathroom, eyes on her feet. She tried to play a mind game with herself to make this an unreality. For example: maybe if she really, really wanted to have James’ baby, she wouldn’t be pregnant. She willed herself to want it, to need it; she willed herself to imagine holding that beautiful, bouncing baby in her arms. He or she would have James’ dark, worldly eyes. James would kiss her moments after the birth and tell her he loved her.
Yes. If she wanted it this much, then she surely wouldn’t be pregnant. Because wanting anything else in her life hadn’t gotten her much of anything. She’d always had to fight for it.
She closed her eyes, placing the cap on the bathroom counter, and knelt over the plastic stick. She took the test quickly then slid the cap over the reader once more. “Two minutes. Wait two minutes,” she reminded herself out loud, dropping the stick on the counter and marching into the hallway. She felt itchy, nervous, like she could run ten miles without stopping. Her stomach flipped inside of her, alerting her she hadn’t eaten in hours. “I know, I know. It’ll be over soon,” she whispered.
Exactly two minutes after peeing on the stick, Mia stood, righting her posture. It was time for her to look.
The bathroom was gleaming with fluorescent light. Outside, early May showers and gray skies were darkening the rest of the apartment. She reminded herself she really, really wanted this baby—and that, because of this, she probably wasn’t pregnant. This was just like that time she’d really yearned to get into Harvard, had dreamed about it. When the letter had come, explaining she hadn’t been accepted, she’d expected rejection, almost. Never want, she’d thought then. Never need.
But the stick was blaring two strong, solid red lines, even from a distance. Mia felt choked. She lifted the stick to see more clearly, and she nearly fell to the floor. Pregnant. She, Mia Daniels, hopeful top-tier journalist, was pregnant with the owner of Chance Media’s baby.
She shuffled to the kitchen, then, dropping the pregnancy stick along the way. She felt scattered. She reached for a glass, her hand shaking, and filled it with water. She drank greedily, her heart nearly palpitating in her chest. Drops of water dribbled down her chin. “What have I done?” she mumbled to herself.
***
Mia spent the rest of the day alternating between her position over the toilet, vomiting into the bowl, and pancaking on the couch, staring blankly at the news channel. She remembered how James used to deliver the news, back in his earlier days, and she’d watched him from her college bedroom. She’d swooned when he spoke, dashing her finger toward him. “See, Vanessa?” she’d told her roommate. “This guy. He’s really something. You can really tell he knows how to create the arc of a story. You know?”
She found herself googling James, trying to get a sense for his current location in the world. She found his Twitter account rather easily, but was soon disappointed to find that he hadn’t tweeted since the previous week, when he’d been in Austin, Texas, opening a new station. His photo grinned back at her with an earned sense of confidence; his teeth spoke of how much money was in his account—she could just smell it from the social media feed.
But, she reminded herself, she hadn’t been able to sense it on him when they’d been together, there on the floor. Just two people, celebrating Christmas at the beginning of April. Money hadn’t been an issue.
“You’ll never guess what this chick made me do once,” he was surely telling his friends, all over the world. “She made me play charades and celebrate Christmas. In the middle of April. And then, we kissed under the mistletoe. Weird, right?”
Mia brought her head beneath the blanket, feeling sure she was at the very bottom of the trough of her life. How would she wrangle out of this one? How could she just pretend that her affair with James hadn’t happened, when she was carrying his child?
She placed her fingers over her stomach, which she’d thought was just bloated from being upset so often, and drummed her thumbs and forefingers on the skin. Would she tell him? Could she tell him?
She couldn’t keep it a secret forever, she knew. Her thin frame wouldn’t allow it. But she also knew that James probably wouldn’t be at the office on Monday. At the very least, she could turn this information over and over in her head, assessing how best to break the “news” to the lead of all the anchors: James himself.
NINE
By the following Monday morning, Mia still hadn’t told a soul about her pregnancy. She imagined that if she kept it to herself for long enough, it wouldn’t be true.
She righted herself on her heels as she exited her jeep into the sunny, early-May morning, and she slipped her fingers over the slightly stretched fabric of her blouse. She gasped at the sensation; in all her years at the news station, she hadn’t had a single clothing item that didn’t fit her to the tee. Theresa had often teased her about her predictable perfection.
Mia took quick look around the executive parking lot, where she knew James would be parked, if he were in town. To her relief, the only vehicle she saw was Jeff’s sad minivan. “I’ll get an upgrade as soon as James gives me a raise,” Jeff had grumbled at the Christmas party, sipping on that wine that, four months later, had been Mia’s undoing.
She walked up to the makeup room, yanking her notes for her next segment from her briefcase. She’d be speaking about a Portland children’s home that morning—something incredibly near and dear to her, although she didn’t tend to seek these stories and hadn’t let on that she had a vested interest in the subject. She didn’t like to speak about her childhood experiences to many; she’d learned long ago that it made people uncomfortable, so she mostly left it simmering in the back of her brain. Sometimes, it slipped out after a few too many glasses of wine, and it was always met with earnest, nervous stares of faked understanding.
Unusually, Theresa wasn’t manning her station. Mia sunk into the makeup chair, assessing herself in the mirror. Dark saucers swept beneath her eyes. Her lips were chapped from constant vomiting. Weren’t pregnant women meant to glow, like angels? She sighed into her hand, feeling like a great blob. At least James wasn’t around to see her like this, she thought. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.
She heard rapid steps down the hall, a sturdy stride. Charles peeped around the corner, lending that stunning, news anchor smile.
“Well, if it isn’t the devil himself,” Mia teased. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine, fine,” Charles said vacantly. His jaw was tense, his voice tilting on nervousness. “Do you mind if I share something with you?”
Mia shrugged. “Of course.”
Charles slipped the door closed behind him and brought his fingers together. He shook slightly. “I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous to talk about it.”
“Talk about what, Charles? You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know. I know. Whew. It’s just. It’s big. You know how suddenly you wake up and you feel five years older than you did the day before?”
Mia chuckled inwardly. If only he knew what she was going through! “Sure. I definitely get it.”
“Well. We just found out. Melanie and I, we’re going to be parents.” His words fell into a whisper as he said it. And he glowed—much like Mia had assumed she would be, carrying a baby within her. Melanie was pregnant. And Charles could share this information with the world, without fear.
Mia put on a show of enthusiasm, despite her heart sinking to her belly. “Oh, my goodness!” She stood from her chair and wrapped her arms around her friend. “Oh, this is marvelous
news, Charles. Congratulations to you both. It’s so beautiful that you’re able to do this together. You have each other, every step of the way. A perfect team.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” Charles didn’t notice her cryptic words—that Mia was thinking only of how alone she was with her baby growing minutely every day. “It’s still early days, but we’re incredibly excited.”
Mia frowned, remembering she needed to make doctor’s appointments; she needed to learn how to keep her body and her baby healthy. Her heart thumped in her throat, and she felt she couldn’t breathe.
“You know, I think you will be amazing parents,” she said, her voice forced. “Are you going to tell the rest of the crew?”
“I wanted to tell my co-anchor first,” Charles said, his eyes flashing. He punched her lightly on the arm. “I’ll probably take a bit of paternity leave, just to help Melanie with everything. So this will directly affect you, too.”
Mia swished her hand, like batting a fly. “Psh. I don’t need you, Charles, remember? I’m there for the hard-hitting journalism; you’re just there for the looks.”
Charles placed his hand over his stomach, letting out a guttural laugh. “If only they understood how darn good you are at your job. Maybe that’ll be it, though. When I’m gone, they’ll be able to see it. This will be your moment to shine.”
Mia gave him a false, plastic smile. She knew that this baby would force her further from her dreams, would further affirm more than anything that she was a “woman” in a man’s world.
She shuddered, barely moving her lips as Charles bid her a quick goodbye and sauntered back into the hallway, ready to track down Jeff to give him the news. Mia felt like she was walking the plank—as Charles dove into his future, he made no splash, but she’d be jumping directly into crocodile mouths.
Theresa rushed into the makeup room five minutes late, which was unlike her. Her face was blotched, angular. She huffed, tossing her purse on the countertop. She let out a throaty sigh. “Jesus, Mia. Do you know what’s wrong with husbands?”
“I don’t think I ever will,” Mia joked, trying to lighten the tension.
“Good. Because they’re lazy and only good for one thing. And they usually stink when they’re doing that, too.”
Mia let out a chuckle. Theresa was probably the only person in the world who could cheer her up like this. “What did he do this time?” Mia breathed. Her eyes flicked to her notes for her news segment about the children’s home, which she would be delivering alone.
Theresa burst into a tirade about the messiness of her kitchen, about the throw pillows on the floor (“not actually meant for throwing”), and—worst of all—Jack having promised Theresa’s appearance at a dinner with her mother-in-law. “She’s a wretched woman who, like my husband, only wants one thing. In her case, it’s grandchildren.”
Mia emitted fake laughter, knowing Theresa just needed a soundboard. It was precisely what she wanted for herself, too, but she couldn’t find the correct words to deliver her message. And so she sat, allowed the powder to fall to her nose, and went through the robotic motions of being a friend.
Jeff appeared at the entrance of the makeup room, clutching his clipboard with tight fingers. “Mia. You’re on in three. Let’s get going.”
Mia thanked Theresa, giving her a final few words of encouragement, and then scampered out into the newsroom. She sat demurely at the center of the desk, scanning the production crew. But it was just the usual characters with bad beards and acne, their brains filled with Dungeons and Dragons and technical knowledge. No James in sight.
Jeff gave her an “Action!”, and Mia burst into the segment. Her mouth moved easily, and she articulated with prowess. As she worked, she let the knowledge of her situation fall away. She allowed herself to imagine the many different people watching her segment, each with different dreams, and different problems.
Mia expertly delivered one news segment after another. Jeff watched her with bored, dead fish eyes. He was so used to her success, she suspected he didn’t see it anymore. Her eyes flittered from his balding head to the man standing behind him, behind the rest of the production crew, and she suddenly felt her stomach churn. She pushed through the final words on the autocue, feeling the color drain from her face.
Sure enough: there, watching her deliver the report, was James. His eyes were focused, assessing her. It was as if he was really hearing her, truly understanding the message of her segment. At any other time, she’d have taken pleasure in that fact.
“CUT!” Jeff called out.
Mia bowed her head, trying to quell her queasy stomach. She asked the runner for some water, and it came swiftly. The cool liquid rushed over her teeth and swam down her throat, an assurance that she could feel something other than nausea.
Jeff was standing before her then. “That was pretty good, champ. We’re going to take an hour lunch break now then I want you back here, all dolled up and ready to go again. Okay? And no spinach for lunch, just in case. You remember the Great Tooth Incident of 2015.” He gave her a broad smile. Was this his way of relating to her?
“Sure, Jeff.”
“You look kind of pale. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied. She rose unsteadily from her seat, her eyes flitting toward the back of the production crew. James had disappeared once more, but he couldn’t have gone far. “See you in an hour,” she called.
She teetered in her heels for a moment before finding her balance again and marching toward James’ office. In her racing mind, she knew she needed to tell him about the pregnancy. She would go crazy if she didn’t.
TEN
Mia elbowed her way through the production crew, incredibly conscious of her bulbous, bloated belly. She hoped she hid it well beneath her blazer, but she knew it would be noticeable soon enough, and the production crew would be quick to point it out. She gave them preemptive, dirty stares.
Finally, she inhaled fresh air in the hallway, stretching her arms back. She saw James’ office door like a beacon of light, calling out to her. She hadn’t seen the office without its Christmas decorations, and her face grew warm thinking about the tinsel strewn all over the floor. God, she’d been crazy that night.
Mia tapped her fist against the mahogany door and waited. Each second seemed filled with promise. Finally, James called out, “Come in.”
She twirled the door handle and let herself into the stunning, sunlit room of her past.
The moment James saw her, his eyes brightened. He moved to a standing position, gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk. Around him, his office was plain, without a single hint of Christmas remaining. It looked naked.
“Mia. I’m so glad you stopped by. Please, sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee? Water?”
“I’m all right, thanks,” Mia said, her voice tentative. She sat down across from him and swept her left leg over her right, hoping the move would halt her rapid shaking.
“Mia, first of all, I want to thank you,” James began, leaning heavily on his left fist. “I know they give you some of the lesser-quality news segments, but you always deliver them with such zeal. You are one of the most professional people at this station, probably across all of my news stations, and I needed you to know that.”
Mia felt her eyebrows rise; she certainly hadn’t expected this sort of conversation. She felt her mouth roll out a brief, breathy thank you. “It really is a pleasure to come to work every day.”
Satisfied, James swept a finger over his brow, righting the hairs. “In fact, I was just thinking that you deserve a promotion for all the work you’ve done. I’ve just learned that Charles will be going on paternity leave in about six months, which means we’ll have an opening for some of his standalone segments. Perhaps you want to take on some of those?”
Mia felt like kicking the desk—this conversation wasn’t going the way it should. She felt like a stranger in front of him, not like someone who had removed her dress for him, who had allowed his hea
vy breath and kisses on her neck. Not like someone who had been surrounded by his scent, who had collapsed with him on this very floor in a fit of passion.
And now, on top of everything else, he was offering her a promotion—she hadn’t wanted to sleep her way to the top, yet that was exactly what it felt like.
Mia realized she hadn’t spoken in far too long. James eyed her curiously, tilting his head, before glancing at his wrist. “Ah—” he said. “It’s time, already! I’ve just come in from Chicago to meet with Jeff about some of the plans for the upcoming months. As you know, he gets nervous if I’m late for meetings.” He gave her a quick wink. “Do you mind if we postpone this discussion about your future for later?”
She opened her mouth and closed it, like a fish. Before she could process what was happening, James was standing up, taking long strides toward the door. Her brain was in panic mode, like the moments right after a car crash. The impact made her do silly, but perhaps necessary things.
