by Lisa De Jong
You always think you know someone until they prove you wrong. I have no idea how he’d react to this. The Drake I thought I knew would have helped me through; the one I saw in the hospital … I don’t even want to think about that.
I pick my cell phone up off the bed and call the one person I feel won’t judge me right now.
“Thank God. You finally decided to call me back.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.” I can’t hold back the sniffle that follows.
“Are you crying?” Kate asks, her voice louder than usual.
“No, I mean, I was. I feel a little better now.”
“What is going on? Did you talk to Drake?”
I cover my eyes with my forearm, wishing night would just come so I can go to sleep. “No, I haven’t seen or spoken to him at all.”
“What is it then? Come on, Emery, you can tell me.”
Silence falls between us as I try to form the words. I realize I’ve never said it out loud. This will be the first.
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, the tears welling in my eyes again.
“Wait. What?”
“I’m pregnant, Kate. I’m pregnant with Drake Fucking Chambers’s baby, and he wants absolutely nothing to do with me.” Days’ worth of frustration comes out. I can’t help it.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
“Eight weeks. Eight weeks pregnant.”
“Jesus, what are you going to do? Have you told your dad?” She sounds more frantic now, mirroring what I feel.
I sigh. “I haven’t thought about it much yet. I mean … I’m going to have the baby. There’s no choice to make there.” I pause, turning my body to look at the picture of my daddy and I that I keep on my bedside table. “I haven’t told my dad yet. I don’t know what he’ll say.”
Kate’s voice is soft when she responds. “You’ll be okay. You have friends and family who love you. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“I hope so, because I can’t do this one my own.”
“Are you going to tell Drake?”
Just thinking about telling him makes me sick. I can’t imagine that conversation going well. He’d probably just say I did it on purpose … to keep him. I’m not going down that road.
“No. I can’t.”
“He deserves to know. I grew up never really knowing who my dad was, and it sucked Emery. Don’t let your baby go through that, too.”
“I don’t even know if I’ll keep it,” I say honestly. What can I give a baby? I don’t have a college degree or a job.
“You need to think about this. Really, really think about it.”
“I think I just need some time to let it all sink in. I feel like I’m on the outside looking in … like this isn’t really happening to me,” I cry, using my sleeve to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“Emery, you are one of the smartest, strongest girls I’ve ever met. If anyone can deal with this, it’s you.”
“I hope you’re right.” I hear the front door slam shut and look out my window, spotting Dad’s old truck in front of the house. “I should probably get going. My dad’s home.”
“Okay, I’ll call you in a few days to see how you’re doing. Get some rest, and talk to your dad.”
“I’ll tell him soon. I need some time to think about this before I get everyone else’s opinion.”
“So, I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yes. And thank you for listening to me.”
“I will always be here if you need me.”
“Bye, Kate.”
“Bye, Em.”
Em. That’s what he always called me, I think as I nestle my head into my pillow. He could get me to do just about anything with that voice.
The waterworks are coming again. I hope this is only a temporary rise in hormones because this sucks. I’m not this girl.
Deciding to take some of Kate’s advice, I pick up my phone from the end table and press my finger over Drake’s name.
My knees bounce nervously as I wait. One ring. Two ring. Three. I take a deep breath, preparing myself to leave a voicemail, but it’s answered before the fourth.
“Hello.” It sounds like a young girl.
“Oh, I must’ve dialed the wrong number,” I say, brushing my hand over my forehead. All this stress, and I have to start all over.
“If you’re calling for Drake Chambers, you have the right number. I’m just answering because he’s sleeping. Do you want me to give him a message?” It must be his sister. At least I hope it is.
“Yeah, can you tell him to call Emery? It’s kind of important,” I reply, tightly closing my eyes.
“Don’t worry. I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks,” I say, ending the call.
This might be a big mistake because he could let me down all over again, but I’m hanging on to the possibility that it will all be okay.
A short time later, I hear my dad’s footsteps coming down the hallway. He’s going to check on me before he goes to bed. He always does. I roll over so my back is facing the door and take advantage of the darkness, pretending to sleep. Like clockwork, he opens the door and walks a few feet inside. I wait until the old door creaks again, then, for the first time since I found out I was going to be a mom, I place my hand over my stomach.
The tears fall hard and fast late into the night.
I really don’t want to face this alone.
“DRAKE, WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR DINNER?”
“I don’t care. Surprise me.”
“Do you care about anything anymore?” Tessa asks, putting her hands on her hips.
I’ve been sitting in the same spot on the couch all day, only getting up a couple times to use the bathroom. This is my whole fucking existence right now with a few weekly trips to therapy mixed in.
“Tess, it’s food. I really don’t care.”
“Jesus, Drake, you don’t have to be such an asshole all the time!” she yells, stomping off to the kitchen.
“Watch your mouth!” I shout after her. If I could move a little faster in this stupid wheelchair, I’d be in her face right now.
After my injury, I was in the hospital for over a week, then transferred to a rehab facility where I stayed for almost two months. I’ve been here ever since … it’s been two months of fucking misery.
Quinn comes in, sitting in the old, worn recliner. “Can you see if there are any movies on? I’m sick of watching these stupid reality shows about cars.”
“Well, Quinn, you get out of the house. This just happens to be the only entertainment I have.”
Her head snaps toward me, venom pouring out of her eyes. “You know what? I think if you really wanted to, you could walk. You just don’t want to. For some dumb reason, you’re happy hanging out in this stupid pity party you’ve been throwing for yourself.”
I bite my tongue to hold back things I should never say to my sister. Besides, she’s right.
When my tests came back at the hospital, they discovered my injuries might not be as permanent as they first seemed. I completely fucking shut down at that point.
I have to stay like this. If I don’t, everything I said to Emery will be for nothing. I could never live with myself if I let her go for no reason.
My life is in the motherfucking spin cycle right now, and I don’t know when or where it will stop.
But I do know I don’t deserve her.
“Drake, can I come in?” my mom asks softly, peering through my half-open door.
“Not like I can stop you.” I’ve been sitting in my dark room for hours, staring at the light from outside that reflects on my wall.
For the most part, my mom has kept her distance. I’ve gone off on her the same way I have my sisters. No one is immune.
She tries.
In fact, since I moved back home, she’s been in way better shape than I have. She mentioned the doctor had given her new drugs to treat her depression. I haven’t seen her out of her room this much since before my dad died. Sometimes, she e
ven cooks when she doesn’t have to work at night.
“Tess said you were in a bad mood so I thought I’d come check on you before I go to bed.”
“Tess just knows all the right buttons to push. I’m fine,” I reply, grabbing the small rubber football from my nightstand. Tossing it up in the air gives me something to do. Something to focus my energy on to keep my temper in check. “You can sit on my bed, you know. I don’t bite.”
She laughs nervously, barely sitting on the corner of my bed. “You know, Drake, I sucked at this mom stuff after your daddy died. I failed you and your sisters. You especially, but Drake, I can’t let you do this to yourself. I won’t let you turn into me.”
I shake my head as I continue to stare at the ball as it goes up into the air then falls perfectly into my hands.
“Now, you listen to me,” she says, raising her voice. “You deserve better than this. You are better than this. Don’t let this be the end for you … it’s just a setback.”
I don’t know where this woman came from all the sudden. Where was she when I needed her? “He said there was a fifty percent chance I’d never walk again.”
“Yeah, and what about the fifty percent chance that you can?” She scoots farther onto my bed.
“I don’t want to fail,” I say honestly.
“What are you doing right now, Drake?” she whispers, squeezing my foot. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to feel it, but now I can. It should be hope. It should make me feel something positive, but it’s ruining me.
“I did something I can never take back. Whether I walk again or not doesn’t matter.”
I want to tell her about Emery, but I can’t.
Not yet.
“The injury wasn’t your fault, and if you never play football again, your life will still go on. You’re a smart, good-looking guy, Drake. Concentrate on what you have.” She stops, covering her mouth with her shaky hand. Her voice isn’t as steady when she starts speaking again. “I should have focused on you kids when your daddy died, but I didn’t. I lost so much time. I cost you so much.”
“Just give me some time to figure all this out. I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
She pats my arm, slowly moving off my bed. “Let me know if you need help figuring it out. I’m here.”
I watch her walk out of my room, and when she’s gone, I stay still for over an hour, working my tense jaw back and forth while playing my mom’s words over in my head.
Maybe I am being stupid.
Maybe there is something left in this world for me.
But what?
I push myself up on my bed like I always do when I’m going to get into my wheelchair, but this time I grab my crutches. Just learning to stand on my feet again is so fucking difficult. I fall back four times before I successfully get myself up with my calves resting against my bedframe. My therapist makes me try this all the time, but I never succeed because I’ve never given it my all.
I slide my right foot against the hardwood floors, trying to take the tiniest of steps, but I end up falling back again. If I’m ever going to do this, it’s going to take a lot of damn work.
I attempt it over and over again with the exact same result.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, deciding it’s time to settle in for the night.
Maybe by tomorrow I’ll decide it’s not worth it again.
Today is my first physical therapy session since my mom gave me her version of a pep talk. I’ve been thinking about everything she said, and I do owe this to myself. Life may never be my idea of perfect again, but it doesn’t have to be this bad … it should be worth living at least.
As I wheel myself into the fitness room, my therapist smiles tightly. I’ve been anything but easy to work with, but that’s all about to change.
“Hey, Drake, how are you doing?” Keith, my therapist, asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
Up until now, I’ve always given him the same answer. How do you think I’m doing? I’m stuck in a fucking wheelchair. Today may shock him. “I was able to get up on crutches.”
His eyes widen, and he can’t hide his grin. “That’s good. Do you want to try holding onto the bars and walking between them? It might help you gain back some leg strength.”
I’ve been dreading this moment, and the potential for failure, but I’m not going to let it hold me back. “Let’s do it.”
He helps me up and waits for me to gain my balance using mainly my arms. When he finally lets go, I slowly shuffle my feet, determined to get from one end to the other. When I struggle, I picture Emery standing at the other end waiting for me. It’s a dream I wish could be a reality, one that hurts even more because I lived it once. I would still be inside of it if I had just let her be there for me. Maybe this is where I belong … back in a nightmare.
My loneliness. My misery. My struggles … they’re all on me, and the cure is gone from my life forever.
It takes me almost the whole session, but I make it to the other end, letting memories of Emery guide me there.
MY WHOLE WORLD HAS TURNED upside down since the last time I saw Drake Chambers.
I waited around the house for days after I called Drake, and he never called back. After two days full of ice cream, sad movies, and a few boxes of Kleenex, I decided I had to move on … resigned to raise this baby on my own. Drake doesn’t want me, and maybe he never did, and there are consequences I now have to face.
There is a piece of both of us growing inside me, and while the idea scared the crap out of me at first, I’m getting used to it now.
The first time I felt our baby move in my stomach, something changed. This is real. My love for this child is real. I had to stop running so I can give this baby the home it deserves.
During my last appointment, my doctor had asked if I wanted to know the sex, and I said no. There aren’t many surprises in life, and when I’m in labor, feeling like I want to give up, the desire to know if I’m having a son or daughter will help me through.
I waited until a few days after my doctor’s appointment to tell my dad about the baby. It went exactly how I expected.
“You want me to make you some breakfast?” he asks, disappearing behind the fridge door.
Just thinking about eating anything makes my stomach roll, especially eggs. “No, I’m not hungry.”
He looks up over the door, brows pulled in. “Are you okay? You haven’t been eating much lately.”
I hesitate, trying to form the perfect lie in my head, but in the end, I know it’s inevitable. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper, holding the tears at bay.
The fridge door quickly slams shut. “What?” he asks, looking at me wide-eyed.
“I’m pregnant, Daddy.”
“What do you mean you’re pregnant? How?”
If it were anyone but me, I’d laugh at him right now, but this isn’t funny at all. All I can do is tap my fingernails on the table and wait.
“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch!” he yells, standing over the sink.
“You don’t even know him, Daddy.”
He spins around so fast, it almost doesn’t seem possible. “What do you mean I don’t know him? Isn’t it Clay’s?”
I shake my head, wishing I hadn’t picked this exact moment to tell him.
“Then whose is it, Emery?”
“You don’t know him. I met him at school.”
“Well, where is he right now?”
I shrug. I honestly don’t know, but the last time I heard, he was in a rehab facility for his legs.
“Does he plan on helping you?”
I shake my head, letting a tear slip down my cheek. “He doesn’t know. I tried to tell him but he never called me back.”
Dad runs his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Emery.”
“I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
He looks out over the sink again toward the endless meadow. I was his pride and joy. He bragged about how smart a girl I was every chance he got.
“What about school? You worked so hard for that scholarship.” He won’t look at me.
“I’m going to take some classes at the community college this semester, and then I’ll see what happens after the baby comes. I’m not giving up.” Just saying that kills me.
He nods, bracing his hands against the edge of the sink. He stays like that forever, without a look in my direction or a word spoken. It’s some of the worst minutes of quiet I’ve ever endured.
“I’m going out in the field. Call my cell if you need me,” he says, slamming the door behind him.
I spend most of the day crying. I’ve never felt more alone.
“Emery, I’m going out in the field. Are you going to be okay?”
My dad’s been treating me like I’m a little girl again, cooking me dinner and making sure I have everything I need before he leaves, even if it’s only for a short time. It feels good.
“I’m fine. Besides, Clay’s coming over, and we’re going into town to catch a movie.”
My dad’s eyes narrow. He does that a lot when he wants to say something but doesn’t necessarily think it’s his place. “Clay?”
“Yeah, you know Clay. And before you get any ideas, we’re friends,” I say in an attempt to put an end to this conversation. My dad’s always liked Clay, and I think it’s because they’re similar in so many ways. Clay decided to leave school behind to work on the family farm just like my dad. Clay’s kind, predictable, and when he commits to something, he sees it through … just like my dad. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I realized a long time ago, Clay wasn’t the guy for me.
“I see,” my dad says with a smile. I should squash his dream like a pesky little bug right now, but he won’t listen. He never does.
But with Kate so far away, Dad and Clay are all I have left.
“Do you want me to bring lunch out to the tractor today?” I ask, peeling the skin from my orange. I used to hate most fruits, but these days, I can’t get enough.
