by Haley Pierce
He nodded, seeming to consider it.
Six years. And a lot of it being the same, day in and day out. I only traveled once during those six years, and only for a single week to Mexico. Six years older and not too much to say for it—not outside my career, at any rate. I shunted the thought aside and crammed more waffles into my mouth.
“Hold on,” Derek said abruptly. He leaned forward with his napkin and dabbed at the corner of my mouth. He flashed one of his charming smiles and all those residual thoughts of wasted time dissolved.
“Are you joking again?”
“No.” He showed me the blotch of whipped cream stuck to the napkin. “This time you really did make a mess.”
I smirked at his tease. “Well, maybe your cooking is so good that I just didn’t even notice.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “That’s a good sign.”
“Yeah,” I said, realizing that right now I was doing something different—living a little on the edge, maybe. I was with Derek, and he had just made me breakfast. “It is.”
I tried really hard not to linger too long after breakfast. It wasn’t easy. I helped him load the dishwasher and we were having a hard time keeping our hands off each other. The little domestic duty turned into a full on make-out session in his kitchen, which I had to regrettably cut short because I had to make a dash to work. He seemed disappointed for a moment, but kissed me on the cheek and said he’d call me.
He saw me out of his apartment, his hand lightly on my back, and I rushed back to my place on autopilot, my mind torn between calculating how long I had to get ready for work and replaying my time with Derek. I needed to change clothes, wash my face, and reapply my makeup. But all I could think about was Derek feeding me dessert at the restaurant and how easily he turned his living room into a romantic setting with the addition of jazz and wine. I thought about the way his tongue pressed against mine, the way he tasted and the way he smelled. I was so distracted by these thoughts that the cab driver had to verbally announce his arrival at my building.
When I got inside my apartment, I flopped down on my bed, grinning. Surely I could afford to just lay here in bliss for another minute or two longer.
Chapter 8
A purse hitting me in the shoulder jarred me out of my reverie. I turned, but the woman it belonged to didn’t seem to notice—or care—that she had just whacked someone with her purse. I huffed to myself and looked at my phone. No new messages. But the time told me Derek should be landing soon—if he hadn’t already. That fact made me smile.
I was glad I would be seeing him again. Maybe he also remembered the good times we had together. Maybe he also thought about our first dance at the club, and our first real date. Would it be asking for too much if I hoped that he also thought about how that night had changed him? It changed me and not because of the baby that I now carried inside of me, because the timing didn’t match up with that night. We were careful then.
At the time, I might have denied my feelings for him—purposely distancing myself because I knew that what we were having was akin to a fling, if not a fling entirely. But it wasn’t long before I became aware that my feelings for him ran a little deeper. And only a short while after he left, I realized I had fallen in love with him. Discovering I was pregnant only seemed to reinforce that.
When I first found out, I was devastated, confused, questioning the universe as to why it had happened. I always pictured myself married and making a conscious choice to be a mom. I wasn’t married, or even in a stable relationship. The father wasn’t even on the same continent. He was... well he was wherever he was. It was just me, my apartment and my job. But one night, as I scooped ice cream into my mouth while replaying our fleeting romance in my head, I thought that maybe this child was a gift. Had we not been loving each other when we made it? My heart told me we were, and then whispered that this child was mine to keep. And, more importantly, it was a life that I was responsible for. It was not my choice to get pregnant, but it was my choice now whether I wanted to be a mom or not, and it dawned on me that that was exactly what I wanted to do.
With Megan and Jess’ help, I priced out the cost of raising a child while single and realized that, although tough, I was financially stable enough to manage. It wasn’t like single parentage was all that uncommon these days. My friends had helped me research support groups and other resources, and deep down, I was becoming more and more confident that this was the right choice for me. Maybe it would have Derek’s eyes and his charming smile or my naturally light hair and his dark eyes, or a nice mix of the two of us; a totally new being that was made up of parts of us and still totally unique at the same time. I realized then that I didn’t know that I had enough time to really study and remember Derek’s face. I knew parts of him and I could remember how he felt, but would I see the shape of his eyes if they were reflected in the face of our child? Would I actually be able to see the shape of its nose and know, without a doubt, that the shape of it came from his or her daddy? There were no guarantees he’d be coming back, and I had no idea if he’d want to be around even if he did.
I had emailed Derek shortly after I decided to keep the baby. I kept the message short and cordial, without any mention of my pregnancy. I just needed to make sure that we had some means of communication first. It took some time for him to get back to me, but his reply was similarly simple and friendly with no real mention of where he was or what was going on. The fact that he didn’t just completely ignore me must have meant something. I asked him if he had seen my bracelet— one that once belonged to my great grandmother. I realized I had misplaced it a few weeks after he left and wondered if somehow it had fallen out at his place. But he told me he hadn’t seen it. It was probably lurking somewhere in my apartment then, or lost.
I tried not to think about what was forming in my womb when I wrote to him. I couldn’t bring myself to write the words that I needed to. For the first email, after we had our first contact, I spent hours writing long explanations, only to delete them after hovering over the send button forever. In all honesty, when I look back at it, I just couldn’t risk the loss of the hope I had that things would work out in the best way possible. I had my dreams of us being a family and our lives feeling as full as the best moments we had that week together. If I came out with it and was rejected, then it was all gone.
What would he do? What would I do if he told me to never write to him again? I wasn’t afraid that he would be that big of a jerk, but who knows what emotions a big thing like this would draw out of him. It’s not like he has much experience dealing with anything family related. I had no idea how he would react.
And telling him risked the memory of him. It risked the possibility that he would want to be a part of this. As long as he didn’t know, I could still hang onto imagining a perfect life with him. I know it was silly, but in that first email I couldn’t risk having to let go of those thoughts. They were what I needed to help me fall asleep some nights.
Then soon, each time he wrote back to me, it got harder and harder to admit that I didn’t tell him in the first email. Soon I found myself less than a month away from him coming home, and feeling like I was ready to burst any day. The best I could do was telling him that I needed to see him as soon as he landed.
Once he returned, I would see if he still felt anything for me at all. I didn’t expect him to rush into my arms with a wedding ring, thrilled at the sudden prospect of raising a child together. But the truth was, I didn’t know exactly what I hoped for. Perhaps just for some sort of acknowledgement that, whether intentional or not, we had created something together. Or, perhaps I hoped that a part of our relationship would rekindle and we could start over. Or a combination of those and every other positive outcome I could even imagine. There were many times that I stayed up late at night and played out scenarios in my head. But many of them were disjointed, ending abruptly when I couldn’t quite provide Derek’s honest words or picture an expression that was uniquely his. Those were re
ally the good scenarios though. The bad scenarios were easy to imagine.
I feared that my imaginations were forced. All of the happy, lovey-dovey ones were built on the assumption that there was a part of our relationship left to rekindle. Even though Derek agreed to meet me the day he got back, I had my doubts and painful memories from past relationships to accompany them.
I frowned and noticed that I had finished my tea.
I took off my coat, spread it over my seat to deter anyone from stealing my table, and went back to the register to see if I could get a refill of hot water.
“Oh, how far along are you?” a middle-aged woman asked when I lined up behind her. She beamed at me with excitement, which can only be found in people who have never had kids before, or are well past the baby stage with their own.
“Almost eight months,” I said, forcing a smile. It still felt weird when strangers asked such things, but I suppose that came with showing as much as I did. Even my doctor commented that I had an impressive baby bump. It was still weird having your body become a topic of conversation with strangers, like it was the weather or something.
“Congratulations,” she said. “Children are just the greatest blessing. Is this your first?” The line moved forward.
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
“My oldest is seven. And I have two more. I loved being pregnant.”
“It’s definitely an experience.”
“It’s tough when you’re single,” she said.
My heart jumped in my chest, shocked at such a sudden judgement. Was it that obvious?
“I wasn’t with anyone until my second,” she continued, and I relaxed. She was talking about herself and not me. “But it was rewarding, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I didn’t have to share my child with anyone. I got to keep her all to myself.” She winked at me, drawing a smile to my mouth.
“I like that,” I said.
I was about to confide in her about my singledom, but then it was her turn at the till. She ordered a latte that had its own list of specifics that I didn’t understand, but somehow it was understood and robotically repeated back like she had just ordered a Big Mac with fries. I realized that I could really go for some real food now and not the sad looking sandwiches behind the glass at the coffee shop. I was about to give in, but I stuck with my decaf tea when the barista asked for my order. It was almost time for Derek to be here, and the last thing I needed was for him to walk in and see a massively pregnant girl who he’d slept with a while ago, who obviously had something important to say to him, stuffing her face with a chicken salad sandwich.
The place was full, so I offered a seat at my table to the woman who ordered the latte, mentioning that I had someone joining me in the next half hour. She accepted with a smile, and was obviously eager to compare pregnancy experiences with a current mother-to-be.
“What did you order?” she asked, setting her purse on her lap.
“Just some more hot water for my tea,” I said. “Trying my best to avoid the caffeine.”
She laughed. “That was probably the hardest part of my pregnancies, which makes me one of the lucky ones I guess.”
“It’s tough, that’s for sure.” I didn’t want to add anything else, even though she couldn’t have been more right. Not being able to drink coffee, or a glass of wine when I really want one, wasn’t really what I could call the “worst part of my pregnancy”.
“Well, just so you know, whenever I talk to a pregnant woman, I always make sure to encourage them. So please don’t mind if I’m being this forward with you.
I don’t know what my expression was when I heard that, but whatever it was, it didn’t deter her from continuing on.
“When I was pregnant with my first, I had no one to help me and everyone and everything around me were telling me how hard it was going to be. I always thought that if people spent as much time encouraging mothers and making them feel confident and excited about the path they are about to take instead of warning them about all the horrors and the challenges, we’d have a lot more great mothers out there.
I didn’t reply. I had never heard anyone say exactly what I needed to hear so plainly before. She put her hand on mine in a comforting way.
“Sure, being a mom is all those terrible things everyone likes to talk about, but it is all the good things you imagine it being as well. And, whatever shape your life takes, you can handle it.”
She was called to pick up her latte and we said our goodbyes, wishing each other the best. I doubt if she knew how much I needed to hear those words.
I looked down and rubbed my belly. Even if it was just the two of us, we could do it.
My phone beeped and my heart felt like it leapt out of my chest.
It was a message from Derek.
Just landed. Catching a cab now. Just need to pick something up. See you soon. ;)
A winky face? What on earth was Derek doing sending a winky face? I buried my face in my hands, half-frowning and half-laughing in disbelief. Maybe he just got a new phone and was getting into emojis. But what did he mean by it? It was either an attempt to be cute, or an attempt to be flirtatious. I thought my simple message of we need to meet as soon as you land would have communicated that I had something serious to tell him. But I guess if he knew it was serious what else could I have to tell him other than the fact that I was pregnant. He would’ve figured it out already.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was the playboy I first pegged him to be. I suppose it was possible that he misinterpreted my request to meet him as me just wanting sex, even though I really thought I had made myself clear that it was at a coffee shop. It wasn’t dinner, it wasn’t drinks, and it certainly wasn’t his place.
I wrung my hands, wondering if I should just call the meeting off entirely. I thought back to the last time we had been together, and it brought a bitter taste to my mouth. Was there even any potential here after what had happened?
I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and reminded myself that whatever the case, he had to at least know that the child was his. Whether he embraced that or not, well, I could deal with it.
Chapter 9
He didn’t call me later that day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. I fought the urge to call or text him myself. Megan said it was important to test if he was actually intending to call, or was he just saying that to sound sweet. Still, when I met her for coffee, she had to pry my phone from my hands more than once.
Would it hurt Derek to let me know that he wasn’t interested? Even a simple text message would suffice. He could at least make up some excuse, and then I wouldn’t have to keep thinking about when—or if—my phone would ring.
I was at my little office in my apartment, answering work emails and organizing some notes about my next design project. Fresh coffee steamed next to my monitor, but it was bitter even after adding sugar. It tasted like I was just drinking coffee dregs. I should have stopped at a Starbucks instead of the gas station around the block. It was an amateur mistake.
Just as I was contemplating dumping my Styrofoam cup full of brown water and walking the extra two blocks for a better version, my phone buzzed.
I swooped it up, but it was just Megan sending me my daily reminder to not text Derek. I sighed. Sometimes she was too much on the ball.
Less than a minute later, my phone buzzed again. I ignored it and rearranged some pens and paperclips on my desk. Now she was bordering overbearing. Self-control was not something I particularly lacked. I could resist calling a guy. I could.
My phone shook again and I hissed under my breath. Megan was great, but sometimes...
I picked up my phone, but my thumb froze, hovering over the notification. It was Derek.
My eyes shifted around my apartment. I tapped the messages open.
Hi Claire, how’s it going?
Want to hang out?
Not even an apology. I frowned and responded,
It’s going okay. I was worried you had lost
your phone for the past couple of days. :P
I added the tongue-sticking-out-face to lighten the mood. Hopefully he’d take it more as a tease than the accusation it somewhat was.
I stared at the text on the screen, hoping his response would be a good one. I took a sip of the dirt-flavored coffee and scrunched my face. There was no response and I took another sip, glaring at my phone.
My cup was only a quarter full by the time he finally replied.
I harrumphed as I opened his message.
Haha, no. Got tied up with last-minute preparations before I leave. Sorry. I wanted to wait until I could give you my full attention. My job isn’t that normal after all.
I relaxed into my seat and realized that my shoulders and—well, everything—had been tense. If he was being honest, it was a fair excuse. I couldn’t find fault in him for being considerate.
I typed back,
Hanging out sounds good to me, but I want proof.
I watched the dots appear and disappear a few times while he typed. Then the screen was still for a while. Next thing I knew a picture popped into view and it was a selfie of him. In the background was a helicopter and a number of other guys in similar camo, strapped with more gear than I thought was possible, jumping out. His helmet was off and his face looked unwashed and tired.
Was doing some last minute overnight exercises. Just got cellphone reception again.
You could’ve warned me.
I texted back, not wanting to sound nagging, but also not wanting him to think that it was ok to not let me know.
Said the exact same thing to my commander.
He quickly sent back.
...So?
I paused, wondering if I should suggest a time myself, then added,
I’m actually free tomorrow during the day, if that works for you.
A minute passed, and then he said,
Sounds good. No dinner?
I smirked and typed,
I have previous arrangements, sorry. Friend’s birthday.
