Mean Boy: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  Poppy hasn't even spoken to Max since that night. She doesn't hate him. Not even a little bit. But she knows it will hurt too much to see him and think of that one night together, or how good he made her feel.

  Throwing her work shirt on, she makes her face and tugs at the collar. It's tight and restricts her breasts, which are already sore. “I'm probably going to start my period,” she mumbles as she massages her chest. She reaches down to grab a pad to throw in her purse. This morning she realized she was spotting, and nearly ruined her favorite panties.

  Poppy is about to head out the door before she realizes she has to pee... again. “What the hell,” she says with a groan, stomping back into her apartment.

  Poppy works at a small Mexican diner called Comida Caliente. Jenne Brown is her manager and one of her closest friends.

  “Thanks for coming in on such short notice,” Jenne says. She pulls her short hair back and clips it into place. “Brenda called out sick again. How are you feeling? You look a little pale.”

  “I'm always pale,” Poppy answers.

  “I mean, you don't even have your usual rosy cheeks.”

  Pulling out her compact mirror, Poppy checks her face. Jenne isn't wrong. “I don't feel too bad, aside from a backache.”

  “Alright well, as long as it's nothing contagious you can head out.” Jenne hands Poppy the board that has the names of the waitstaff over their sections. Poppy is serving the bar. “If you start feeling sick, come let me know.”

  Poppy is feeling a little gross; she decides not to tell Jenne. She wants to go out clubbing tonight and needs the money from tips to make up for lost time buying shots. “Will do,” she says, waving to Jenne before heading out to serve her tables.

  Her shift flies by quickly, even though she's dizzy and has to pee every five seconds. In the end she comes away with over one hundred dollars in tips, plenty to get her party on.

  In the back room, she bumps into Jenne again. “You sure you're feeling okay?”

  “Yeah, I'll be alright!” Poppy answers, smiling bright.

  “You going out tonight?”

  “Always!”

  Jenne laughs. “Maybe I'll see you there. School has me so stressed, I need a break.”

  Poppy nods. “Text me if you come by!”

  Poppy leaves the break room and heads right to the bathroom. When she sits down, she feels a familiar wretched rumbling in her stomach and an awful clenching in her throat. As quickly as possible, she reaches next to the toilet and grabs the trash can. The strawberries she was craving earlier that day comes spilling out of her.

  A strange feeling overcomes her, a niggling thought at the back of her mind. Is there a reason she's feeling like crap?

  Paradise's floor is already full, even though it's still early. A pack of Poppy's friends have her surrounded, begging for details on the man who broke her heart enough to keep her away. She still feels sick but she dances to exorcise the demons of her depression.

  Still, her stomach turns and flips, and she can't drink any alcohol. A few of her friends give her a weird look every time she orders a water or soda instead of martinis, but no one says a word. They're all wondering the same thought that came to Poppy in the bathroom. Maybe it's not a broken heart that has her down. Maybe it's something else entirely.

  3

  Charlotte paces back and forth in the doctor's waiting room. It's been days since she threw up at school. Her symptoms haven't gotten better.

  “Ms. Spencer? Doctor Jennings will see you now.” The woman behind the desk points toward the door to her right, at a man with a kind face who stands there smiling. Doctor Jennings is the same doctor she's had since she was a child. He cared for her through broken ankles and her first case of mono. He's good friends with her father, but that's no surprise. Almost everyone in the city is good friends with her father.

  “Charlotte, it's good to see you! Tell your dad I want to play some golf next Saturday. He beat me last time, so I have to show him who's boss!” His big nose crinkles as he laughs, his white mustache so long that it covers the top of his lips.

  Charlotte is too nauseous to laugh with him, but she tries as she hops up onto the examining table.

  “Alright, you must be feeling ill,” Doctor Jennings says. “Why don't you tell me what's up?”

  “Well, I just feel like I could barf at any moment. Sometimes I do, but most of the time I just have the feeling and it won't go away. I'm always tired, too.”

  “Tiredness is normal for someone studying law.”

  “Not like this. I feel like I could sleep for 15 hours, wake up for an hour to eat, and then sleep for another 15 hours. Plus, food I used to really like smells and tastes gross, and I just can't seem to catch my breath.”

  Doctor Jenning raises his thick eyebrows and gives a short “Hm.” Then he turns and takes a cup from a cupboard above the sink. “Take this, I'm going to need a urine sample to check you out.”

  Off to the familiar bathroom, Charlotte feels a dull ache in her lower back and tries her best to ignore it. She does her business then takes the cup back out to the old man.

  “This will just be a few minutes. Go ahead and wait here.”

  He leaves Charlotte in the room. While he's gone, she pulls out her cell phone and starts to search for her symptoms.

  “Lower back pain... injuries, nerve problems... pregnancy.” She does another search. “Scent aversions... food poisoning, panic attack... pregnancy.” Her nausea comes back full force, her heart starting to race. She's about to start another search when Doctor Jennings bursts back into the room.

  “Charlotte,” he says, a big smile on his face. “Congratulations! You're pregnant!”

  The world goes black.

  Mrs. Spencer looks back at her daughter, her black hair cascading against the car door as she leans against it. Tears are streaming down her face, but the older woman doesn't yet know why.

  “What's wrong, my love?” Mrs. Spencer is Spanish and Italian by heritage, but she was born in America and raised in India, where she met her husband. The two raised Charlotte with the best of everything, and for their effort were given the perfect daughter. She never slept around, never did drugs or partied uncontrollably. Still, Mrs. Spencer worries that with Max out of the picture, Charlotte may never have children of her own.

  “Mama, I...” Charlotte starts, but then she thinks better of it. “I just don't feel well and I'm stressed over school.”

  “You know I don't believe that.” Mrs. Spencer pulls up into the wide driveway of their large house and turns to really look at her daughter. “I can tell when something's wrong. You have to tell me or I can't help.”

  Charlotte pauses for a long time before she says anything. Mrs. Spencer picked her up when Doctor Jennings called and said she fainted. Charlotte isn't a frail girl and has been sick so rarely that her mother raced out to bring her home, no questions asked.

  Charlotte gulps, and then takes a deep breath. She lets that breath go slowly, then takes another one. Her heart is speeding up rather than slowing down like she wanted it to, but she keeps trying.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Mom, I'm pregnant.” Charlotte covers her face, hunching over and waiting for slaps or screams. Instead there is silence and, when she looks up, a look of surprise.

  “And you're sure?” Mrs. Spencer's conflicting emotions display on her face with only a twitch in her left eye.

  She nods. “That's why I passed out.”

  Mrs. Spencer nods, placing her hands tightly on the steering wheel. “Do you know who the father is?”

  Wincing, Charlotte answers. “I do know.”

  “And? Who is it?”

  Another long pause. Charlotte doesn't want to answer this, she wishes the answer could be anything else. She's certain not knowing the father would be better than knowing who it is. “Mama, it's Max.”

  Mrs. Spencer leans back and sucks in a gasp. “I thought you broke up with him!”

  “I did, Mama,
but things were complicated!”

  Mrs. Spencer considers the situation. A baby isn't the end of the world. It certainly didn't stop Mrs. Spencer from having a fulfilling career. Max is wealthy, so Charlotte won't want for anything. “I support you in whatever you choose to do. It was a mistake, but if you take responsibility for it I will do everything I can to make sure you finish school, and get to live out your dreams.”

  Charlotte holds her breath until her face turns red, then releases it slowly. How can her mother be this calm and collected after hearing that her only child is pregnant? How can she be supportive after such a huge fuck up? “I don't know what I want to do. I don't want to terminate it. I do know that.”

  “Does Max know?”

  Charlotte frowns, crossing her arms. “I don't want him to know.”

  “You have to tell him!” Mrs. Spencer's voice rises to a shout as she leans over the center console and grabs Charlotte's shoulder. “He has a right to know!”

  “He doesn't have any right to anything. Not after cheating on me and then knocking me up.”

  Mrs. Spencer considers this, her dark eyes lowering. Her daughter is not usually spiteful. “What are you going to tell your father?”

  Charlotte's lip twitches, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of her Daddy imploding over this news. “I don't know, Mama. Will you be there with me when I tell him?”

  “Of course I will,” she says, running her hand against Charlotte's soft cheek.

  The family dinner. It's a monthly tradition for the Spencers. No one is allowed to invite friends or coworkers, and everyone must be home and ready to enjoy pleasant conversation. Mrs. Spencer will cook something that her daughter and husband will both love, usually a fragrant pot roast cooked for hours and hours until it's just falling apart.

  As the maid lays out dinner for the family, Charlotte finds herself torn between being hungry and repulsed by the artichokes on the table next to the meat and potatoes. Her face goes a little green, but she tries to hide it.

  “So, honey, how was work?” Mrs. Spencer asks, chipper not in spite of her daughter being pregnant, but because of it. She is worried over how her husband will react, but once everything blows over, all that needs to be done is preparing for the baby.

  “Crappy. One of my actresses refuses to come over to America, another one refuses to go to India. I think it will be easier to convince Solange to go to India, though.” He takes a big bite of his meat and looks to his daughter. “What did you do in school today?”

  “I had to come home early.” Charlotte says before downing a glass of water. The maid refills it for her.

  “Oh? Did you get sick?”

  Charlotte takes a deep breath and nods. “I threw up, and then I passed out at the doctor's office.”

  Her father looks her in the eyes with that fire he always has when he thinks Charlotte might not be performing to his standard. “Is it something serious? Will you be able to go back tomorrow?”

  Mrs. Spencer takes her husbands hand. “Honey, be kind.”

  Now or never. Charlotte sets down her utensils and nods. “I can go to school tomorrow. Daddy, I have something to tell you.”

  “You can tell me after I ask your mother about her day. It sounds serious. It can wait until after dinner.” He turns to his wife. They discuss their day for the rest of dinner, her father not even looking at Charlotte.

  When she was 13 and got her first C, she tried to tell him during dinner and he acted the same way. Somehow he knows when she's got something bad to say, and he'll try to avoid hearing it the rest of the day. Deflated, Charlotte pecks at her food until her father clears his plate twice and kisses his wife on her cheek.

  “I have some calls to make,” he says, walking out of the room. Charlotte stands and runs after him.

  “Daddy-”

  “Charlotte, these are important calls. If I don't make them now I'll lose money. I have to talk to these agents...” He mumbles, walking into his office and shutting the door before locking it.

  Charlotte nearly screams and runs away, but settles for a loud sigh before turning around and finding her mother behind her.

  “Why does he always do that?” She asks, her whole body rigid with rage.

  Mrs. Spencer shrugs and places a hand on her hip. “He's scared of getting mad at you, I think. You're his pride and joy.”

  Charlotte plops down onto the bottom step of the stairs that lead up to her room. “He's going to hate me, Mama.”

  “Don't say that, dear. Your father will always love you, even if you murder me and bury me in the backyard. He might get mad, but he talks about your future children before bed often. He wants you to have kids, just maybe not this soon.”

  “So I'll be a disappointment.” That might be worse than him hating her. Charlotte's world, her future, is crashing all around her and there's nothing she can do. She can't run away from the fact that there is a child growing within her, any more than she can run away from her father's expectations.

  A knock on her door wakes Charlotte up. Before she can sit up, her father pokes the door open. “Can I come in, my daughter?”

  “Come in, Daddy.” Charlotte says, still groggy from her nap.

  “Your mother says I was avoiding you. I'm sorry for that. What did you want to talk about?”

  Charlotte checks the clock on her night stand. It's been three hours since he brushed her off at dinner. “Come sit down, Daddy.” He sits on the edge of her bed and takes her hand, a weak smile on his face. She doesn't know it, but his stomach is in knots much tighter than hers. “I have something I have to tell you, and I'm worried you're going to be disappointed in me.”

  He only nods.

  “I'm pregnant.”

  More silence, more nodding. That goes on for what seems like an eternity.

  “Dad, you have to say something!”

  Mr. Spencer turns his head, and that's when she sees he's holding back tears. His whole face is strained, trying so hard to contain his emotions. With a cracking voice he asks, “What do you plan on doing?”

  Charlotte squeezes his hand and thinks. “Mama says it won't be too hard to finish school, and it might be beneficial to hire a nanny. I'll only have to take off one semester, maybe two, and then I'd be back to work. I think having a baby would drive me to work harder than ever, too.” She stops. She feels so much emotion bubbling up and she just has to let some of it go. “Dad, please don't hate me!” She screams, pulling him into a hug.

  After a few moments, Mr. Spencer sighs. It's a deep sigh, not sad nor angry. It just is. “I could never hate you. I am proud of you for having the strength to tell me this.” He returns the hug, wrapping his arms over her shoulders. “I support your choice. You know what else? I think you will be a great mother.”

  Charlotte pulls back, watching the worry in her father's face play out in his thick eyebrows. “I won't let you down, Dad!”

  “I never thought you would.” He thinks for a second. “Who's the father?”

  “Dad-”

  That anger comes back to his face. He stands up. “Is it Max?”

  “Dad, please!”

  “I'll murder him, for touching my daughter!” He bellows, his face red with fury.

  “It isn't his fault, Dad! I'm the one who continued the relationship!”

  Mr. Spencer gives her a sharp look, hatred burning within him. “If he comes close to you, tell me. I'll make him suffer.”

  4

  “God damn it.” Poppy throws her blanket off of her and scratches her head. She sways, her sleepiness keeping her off balance. The clock says six in the morning, and Poppy's green eyes have dark circles beneath them.

  Ambling into her bathroom, she relieves the urgency and then heads to her front door. She slips into some old shoes and throws a big sweater over her body. No time to change out of your pajamas when you've been woken up to a full bladder every hour since you went to bed.

  Even though Poppy doesn't want to believe the thoughts in th
e back of her head, she doesn't want to go mad from insomnia either. The only option is to figure out what the problem is. Such is the predicament that sends the red haired beauty into the chilly streets to walk to the corner pharmacy.

  The bell chimes cheerfully as she steps between the sliding glass doors. For some reason, the store has the air on, so it's even colder than it was outside. The cashier is out in the aisles tidying up, glancing up only briefly from his list as she walks past him. His hair is greasy and the skin beneath his eyes is as dark as hers.

  Down aisle ten she finds what she's looking for: rows of pregnancy tests, each box a different color, but they all say similar things. Early detection, perfect accuracy, cheap price. Poppy picks up one box and reads the back, then tries another. She picks up a third, then a fourth; she doesn't put any of them down. She has six colorful boxes in her arms before she gets fed up and decides to just buy them all. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

  She stands at the counter for a few moments before the young man with the greasy hair and large glasses notices her. He hobbles over from his busy work to ring her up. “Will that be all?” He asks, his eyebrows high after scanning six pregnancy tests.

  Poppy would blush, but she's too tired to feel truly embarrassed. She'll save that for the morning. “Yeah, that's it.”

  She pays her bill and waits for her tests to be bagged, then she's out onto the street again. The sickening scent of hamburgers hangs heavily in the air from a barbecue the day before. Poppy nearly throws up then and there just from the smell alone. It's so bad that she's thankful to reach the regulated air of her apartment, and her nausea slowly subsides.

  Placing the bag on her kitchen counter, she takes a moment to look around her apartment. If these tests give her a positive answer, her whole life is going to change. Probably not for the better.

  She pulls a box out and opens it to read the instructions within. “Use only first morning's urine?” She asks, placing a hand on her hip. “Well, fuck.” That's no good. Leaving the rest of the boxes on the counter, she heads to the bedroom and pulls her pants off before crawling back into bed. “I'll just try to sleep a few more hours.” As the sun is coming up, she finally drifts off to sleep again.