Crush

by Nicole Williams

  “Two weeks ago.”

  His hands fell from his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  That was the million-dollar question.

  “For a lot of reasons,” I answered. “A lot of reasons that don’t matter anymore.”

  He stared down at the test in his hand. “They matter to me.”

  Okay, I could do this. “I was scared.”

  “Of what?” he asked, not able to take his eyes from those two pink lines.

  “Everything,” I answered, because it was true.

  “Of me?” His voice and the expression on his face broke me. I’d hurt him. The one thing I never wanted to do but could never seem to escape from doing. It was my damn Achilles’ heel: hurting Jude.

  “Yes.” I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat.

  He flinched. “Afraid that I was going to turn out to be some piece-of-shit father like mine was?”

  This time I flinched. That thought had never once entered my mind. I’d had a lot of anxious thoughts, enough worries to fill a person’s entire lifetime, but that had not been one of them.

  “No, Jude,” I said, wanting to sit up and go to him, but I wasn’t sure my legs would work at this point in the conversation. “That never crossed my mind.”

  “Then why were you hiding the fact you were pregnant from me for two weeks? Two goddamned weeks!”

  He looked lost. And the kind of lost where he wasn’t hoping to be found.

  “Because of this,” I said, motioning at him, feeling my temper boiling to the surface. “Because I was scared of what your reaction would be.”

  He cracked his neck and looked away from me. “Yeah, well, you were right to be.”

  “Obviously,” I replied, wondering if I could rewind to two minutes ago and tell Jude myself that I was pregnant before he found the test stick.

  “Is it mine?”

  Now it was my turn for a blow of his to take a while to settle in. Sure I’d heard him wrong, I said, “What?”

  “Is. It. Mine?”

  Nope, I hadn’t heard him wrong.

  “Jude,” Holly hissed from the kitchen, marching toward him like she was going to punch him in the stomach.

  “What?” he said, his eyes crazy. “If she hides the fact that she’s pregnant, who’s to know what else she’s hiding from me?”

  Those words, that insinuation, cut me like nothing had before. Jude implying I could have been, or had been, unfaithful to him . . . this was the kind of cut that would never heal.

  “Get out,” I whispered, staring into my lap. “Just get the hell out.”

  When he didn’t move, I shot up from my seat and pointed at the door while I glared at him with fire shooting from my eyes. “Get the hell out!”

  I saw his eyes flash before he turned away, but I couldn’t tell if it’d been a flash of anger or hurt. But I was too hurt myself to find out.

  Jude stormed down the hall and slammed the door so damn hard, I thought it was going to fall from its hinges.

  Before I collapsed back onto the couch, I heard a string of curses, then what sounded like a fist going through a sheet of drywall.

  TWENTY

  School, dance, marriage, career . . . Jude. My entire life felt like it was hanging in the balance. There wasn’t one thing I was certain about anymore. Well, save for one: I was certain I still loved Jude. I wanted to be with him, marry him, live and die with him. When life throws you a curveball like it had thrown me, you realize exactly what is important and what isn’t.

  Jude, and now our baby, were at the top of that list.

  After Jude had stormed out last Saturday, I hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Four and a half days I’d gone without knowing what he was thinking or where his head was or if we were going to make up, or if he even still wanted to marry me. If I hadn’t developed an ulcer yet, I was close.

  When I’d shouted at Anton, “I quit!” last Saturday, I’d meant it. He’d sent a bouquet of flowers and a note to apologize, but I was one forced-upon kiss past forgiving and forgetting right now. One day, maybe, but not a few days later. Anton had crossed a line and proved that he couldn’t take no for an answer. It was obvious we couldn’t just be friends, so I made an executive decision and cut off all contact. Even Indie had my back. When she found out he’d kissed me, she went ballistic.

  After I skipped class again, Holly and Thomas basically dragged me to the studio Tuesday morning. That didn’t last long, though, because as soon as I slipped into my dance leotard I could see the slightest of bumps stretching the fabric above my belly. This brought me close to a meltdown. It wasn’t just the baby bump; it was everything that had piled up in the days before.

  A box of tissues later, Thomas walked me over to my academic adviser and informed her of my “fragile” condition while I went through another box of tissues. By the end of the day, we’d been able to work out a modified schedule that would allow me to continue the semester without having to adhere to a rigorous dance course load. I’d never checked before, because I didn’t want to do anything but dance, but it turned out there were quite a few theory courses I could take that would count toward my degree.

  Since the baby was due sometime in February, I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to do about my last semester, but that was okay. I couldn’t think that far ahead. I still hadn’t wrapped my mind around having a child growing inside me, or that, once I pushed it out, I might be raising it alone.

  Holly and I had discussed the double As, as she called them: abortion and adoption. I wasn’t going to judge what was right for someone else, but abortion just wasn’t an option for me. I couldn’t do it, simple as that. We’d talked back and forth about adoption, until I realized that this, too, just wasn’t an option for me. I hadn’t planned for it, I hadn’t seen it, didn’t even know what I was having, but it was my baby. And Jude’s baby. I couldn’t give it to someone else. I knew it was upending my life, in a present and future tense, but that wasn’t the baby’s fault. So I was going to have it and raise it. Hopefully with Jude, but alone if that was my only option.

  So even though my life felt like it was one giant question mark, I attacked those few little things I could put a period after. I read a couple of books about the whole pregnancy and birthing process; one had pictures, detailed pictures, of the actual birth, which still haunted me. I made sure I got enough sleep, which was easy enough, considering my body felt tired twenty-four-seven. I took my prenatal vitamins, I walked and did my stretches, and I drank so much water I was making bathroom visits every half hour. I was moving forward.

  The whole concept of having a baby growing inside me had set in. Finally. And I was going to do everything in my power to make sure it was healthy. There were moments in the night when I’d wake up and a flicker of excitement would flash through me. Then I’d find the spot beside me empty and I’d check my phone and find no missed calls or texts, and that spark of happiness would fizzle.

  No matter what happened, no matter what Jude did or didn’t do, I knew one thing: I was going to be the best damn mom I could be. I doubted a lot of things, but this was one thing I knew for sure. And I wouldn’t be alone. I had Holly, who had plenty of firsthand experience to help me. I had India and Thomas to encourage me along the way, pat my back when I needed to cry, or tell me to suck it up when I needed to. Even though I hadn’t told them about the baby yet, I had Dad and Mom, too, and I knew they’d be there for me. They’d be as shocked as I’d been at first, but they’d come around just like I had, and help me find my way on this scary road.

  I focused on the pieces of my life I could control and tried not to fixate on the ones I couldn’t. I lived life one hour at a time, because if I looked even one day into the future, I felt the stirrings of a panic attack.

  This afternoon was the day of my first ultrasound. I could find out the gender of the baby if I wanted to know. I felt like I’d just woken up yesterday, learning I was pregnant, and today I’d know if I’d be buying blue or pink o
nesies. Like so much of my life, it was all too surreal.

  Up until last night, I hadn’t attempted to call Jude since he’d stormed out. I couldn’t remember how many times my finger hovered over the call button before I chickened out, but the fear of my call going to voice mail, or of never hearing back from him again, was too much to contemplate. But letting him know about the ultrasound was the right decision. I at least had to give him the option to show up, because even if he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, I hoped he wouldn’t feel the same about the baby. I should have told him the minute I found out I was pregnant; I got that. I got why he was so upset. But he should have called me the minute after he realized what an ass he’d been that day. I was still waiting for him to “get” that. The longer I waited, the angrier I got. But most of all, the sadder I got.

  After an hour of going back and forth, I settled for a brief text. I let him know the address of where the ultrasound was taking place, and the time, and, against my better judgment, ended it with an I’M SORRY. I LOVE YOU, and hit send before I could agonize over the message for another hour.

  I never got a reply, but even as I checked my phone when I sat filling out paperwork in the waiting room five minutes before my appointment, I hadn’t stopped hoping. Both Holly and India had offered to come for moral support, but I’d made up half a dozen excuses about why I wanted to be alone today.

  I’d been filling out so much paperwork my hand was starting to go numb when I got to the last section: “Paternal Support.” The first question was easy, although Jude’s biting words rang in my ears as I checked the yes box: “Do you know who the baby’s father is?” The second and third weren’t so easy. “Is the father planning on playing an active role in the baby’s life?” and “Is the father supportive?” As soon as I was about to mark yes for both, I convinced myself the answer was no. After finding myself stuck on the same two questions when the ultrasound tech called my name, I created my own box of “I don’t know” for both.

  “Hi, Lucy,” the young tech greeted me. She didn’t look too much older than me. “I’m Amy. Right this way.”

  I followed her down the antiseptic-smelling hall, feeling like I was in a dream. Or a movie. My life no longer felt like my own, but like I was a passive spectator observing it, unable to control it.

  “How are you doing?” she asked as she opened a door. The room inside was dark.

  I was ready to answer with my standard as-of-late reply of fine when I stopped myself.

  “I’m scared shitless,” I said, flashing her an apologetic smile.

  Amy laughed. “At least you’re honest,” she said, motioning me toward the vinyl-covered bed. “I think that might qualify as the best answer I’ve heard all week.” She sat down on a rolling chair beside the bed and began tapping on a computer. “Go ahead and get comfortable and we’ll get started.”

  I inhaled and tried to make myself comfortable as I reclined. Nothing was really comfortable about it, though. The room was too cold, the pillow was stiff, the paper covering the bed crackled loudly as I moved against it, and there was something so final about finding out if I was having a boy or a girl. I also knew I couldn’t get comfortable because Jude wasn’t here with me.

  “Go ahead and roll up your shirt,” she said, grabbing a tube from her cart. “And you’ll be happy to know that some genius invented a warmer for this belly lube gunk, so you won’t hit the ceiling when I squirt some on your tummy.”

  I almost smiled as I pulled my shirt up. “Belly lube gunk? Is that the technical term for it?”

  Amy shook the tube and squeezed a good-size blob just above my belly button. “As technical as I’ll ever get,” she said, grabbing the ultrasound reader and lowering it to my stomach. “I’m going to take a quick look at your baby’s lungs, heart, and spine, and then we can determine the gender if you like.”

  “I want to know,” I said, as she distributed the blob around.

  Amy pressed a button on a remote and the TV in front of me clicked on. It was nothing but a bunch of darkish static, until all of a sudden a white little bean-shaped thing with arms and legs showed up on the screen.

  “There’s your little peanut,” she said, rolling the instrument to give a different view.

  I choked on a sob that came out of nowhere. It was primal—everything about my reaction to watching the baby inside me on a TV. Amy handed me a couple of tissues right before my first tears fell. She was an old pro.

  These tears had nothing to do with hormones or me being one giant hot mess for the better part of a month. These tears were the kind that came from deep within your soul. They were the tears when life was created or taken away, and I wasn’t sure if they’d ever let up.

  “This is one healthy little baby you’ve got cooking in here, Lucy,” Amy said after a while. “Everything looks great.”

  Another assault of tears.

  “You ready to find out if it’s a boy or girl?” she asked, shifting the view yet again. I nodded, because I was past words.

  The door creaked open, filling the room with a ray of sharp white light as a body slid inside.

  “Am I too late?” Jude asked, closing the door.

  “No,” Amy answered, “you’re just in time.”

  “Luce?” he said, coming toward me. “Am I too late?” he repeated with a whole lot of meaning between his words.

  It took a moment for my eyes to readjust, but when they did and I saw the expression on his face, my heart kind of broke and burst at the same instant. He’d made it. He hadn’t let me down. He was here for me when I needed him most, looking tortured and anxious and as scared shitless as I was.

  It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

  “No, Jude,” I said, extending my hand toward him. “You’re not too late.”

  He took my hand and knelt down beside me. “I’m so sorry, Luce,” he said, wrapping his other hand around mine. “I love you so damn much. And I love that baby in your belly so damn much.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. Seeming at a loss for words, he leaned his forehead into our entwined hands and closed his eyes. “I had so much else I wanted to say, but I’m sorry, and I love you . . . both pretty much sums it all up.”

  I was convinced that this past month my tear ducts had taken it upon themselves to revolt and catch up on eight years of trying not to cry. “I’m sorry, and I love you, too,” I said. He was right: Those two sentences really did say it all.

  “I take it you’re the father?” Amy said, fighting a smile as she watched us.

  Jude’s eyes opened. He lifted his shoulders. “Yeah. I’m the father.”

  “Well, then, Daddy,” Amy said, glancing at her computer screen. “You ready to know what you’re having?”

  Jude’s gaze shifted to the TV and his face went blank. Blank with awe. He’d been too caught up in our sorry-love makeup that he hadn’t noticed the baby on the screen. But he did now. And he couldn’t look away.

  He could barely blink.

  “Look at that,” Amy said, shaking her head. “Baby’s awake now. She must like her daddy’s voice.”

  My head whipped to the side. “She?”

  “You’re having a little girl,” Amy said, winking at me before glancing at Jude.

  He was still transfixed, totally enamored as he watched our baby girl’s arms and legs move. Then a tear bubbled in the corner of his eye, before it fell down his cheek.

  It was the first tear I’d seen Jude shed.

  “How are you?” I asked softly.

  “Speechless,” he breathed, studying the screen like it wasn’t real.

  “That’s the first tear I’ve seen you cry,” I said, skimming my thumb down the moist trail it had left down his face.

  “That’s the first tear I have ever cried,” he said, clearing his throat. “I can’t imagine a better time to let one fall than finding out I’m going to have a little girl with you, Luce.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I can’t either.”


  “Well, we’re all done here,” Amy said. “But I’ll print you out some photos to put on your fridge and show off to all your friends, that kind of thing. So, say bye-bye, Mommy and Daddy.”

  “Bye, baby,” I whispered, watching the screen. She was still moving around, almost dancing. She really was my daughter.

  “Bye, baby girl,” Jude said, before the screen went black.

  “You two can have a few moments in here,” Amy said, wiping my belly off with some tissues before standing up. “And here are your first baby pictures.” She handed me a strand of six photos taken from different angles. All of them brought a smile to my face.

  This was our baby. Our baby girl. Surreal was the word of the day.

  “Do you have some scissors in here?” Jude said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I want to put one in my wallet.”

  Amy smiled at him and pulled a pair from her cart. Cutting the top one free, she handed it to him. “I don’t need long to know when a baby’s going to be well loved and cared for,” she said, handing the picture to Jude before heading for the door. “I didn’t need more than a few seconds with the two of you to know your little girl is one lucky baby.” She smiled and started closing the door. “Take your time.”

  Jude carefully folded his photo before sliding it into his wallet, his expression peaceful.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you right away, Jude,” I said, swinging my legs around as I sat up. “I never wanted to—”

  “Luce, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” he said, staring at my stomach before meeting my eyes. “But I do. I behaved like an asshole. I was an asshole.”

  I held up my hand, because I wasn’t going to let him take all the blame like he always did. “Lord knows I love you for saying that, but I’ve plenty to apologize for. So please let me. Okay?”

  He took a seat next to me on the edge of the bed and nodded.