by Portia Moore
“I’m not ignoring anything because there’s nothing to ignore. So what? I’ve thrown up once. It could be what I ate. I could have the flu. It doesn’t mean I’m pregnant.”
“No, but since you’ve been here, you’ve done nothing but eat, sleep, and cry. I don’t know what happened when I took you home. I haven’t asked you anything, but you aren’t the person I know. Tell me what’s going on,” she asks sincerely.
“He left me, Angie! Cal left me. That is why I’ve been crying,” I say, my voice rising. I bite my lip, begging my eyes to stop watering. “I sleep so I won’t have to think about him being gone. I miss him, and I want him back. As screwed up as our relationship was, I want him back. I love him.” I cover my face again.
Angela wraps her arm around me. “Lauren, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me, but I couldn’t stay in that house or go back to my aunt’s. I didn’t want to be alone either. I didn’t want to admit that it’s happening,” I tell her amidst my tears falling.
“I’m so sorry, Lauren. I didn’t know. It’s okay to miss him. There’s nothing wrong with that—you’ve been with him the last three years of your life. I’d be worried if you didn’t. I’m sorry. What did he say to you? He didn’t tell you why or where he was going?”
“It’s not important. He’s gone; that’s all.” I grip my forehead. “Just gone.” I try to compose myself, and I sit on the couch that has been my bed for the past week. “I don’t know, Angie,” I say honestly, wiping my face.
“Don’t know what?” she asks, carefully sitting beside me.
I run my hands through my hair out of frustration. “The last time I had a full period was two months ago. So I really don’t know if-if I’m pregnant. It’s possible. What I do know is that this would be the worst time, the absolute worst.” I whimper, covering my face. “A baby is not what I need right now. I can’t be pregnant.” I fold my arms around my stomach.
“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions. You may not be. After all, stress would cause your period to stop, and you’ve been sleeping because you’re emotionally drained.” She tries to comfort me, but the look on her face is anything but convinced. “The important thing is that you find out, then you can figure out what you’re going to do about it, okay?”
She lifts my head. I smile weakly. She goes to the fridge and hands me an iced tea.
“So I’ll run to the store and get a test. You stay here and chill. Don’t go to sleep. Watch TV, listen to some music, but I’m kicking your ass if you’re passed out when I get back,” she jokes.
I smile. I’m not pregnant. I’m not.
“It says to wait five minutes. It’ll be a plus sign if positive, a minus if negative.” She smiles, trying to cover up her own nervousness.
“I know, you’ve told me that twice,” I tell her nervously.
“Sorry.” She bites her lip anxiously.
“God, why is this taking so long? It seems like it’s been twenty. How much time left?” I ask, pacing the kitchen again.
“Three. Only two more to go,” she says after looking at her watch. “Maybe we should go for a walk. Just sitting here waiting is going to drive you crazy,” she suggests.
“No. I need to know that I’m not as soon as possible,” I tell her, playing with my fingertips.
There’s no way I can be pregnant. Not now. Not now!
“Okay. It’s been five.”
I feel my stomach drop. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t taken this test. I want to run out of the house and not look back. If I don’t know I’m not, it’s better than knowing the other possibility. I can’t deal with this right now.
“Lauren, are you okay? You’re turning pale,” Angela says with a worried expression.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to convince myself.
“Are you going to go get it?”
I look at the bathroom door; my heart beats faster. “I can’t. You look,” I tell her, sitting down.
“Are you sure?” she asks me again.
I nod.
“Okay.”
I close my eyes and hear her footsteps move farther away. When I hear them coming back, I squeeze my eyes tighter. She taps me lightly on the shoulder. I look up, trying to read her expression.
“Good news,” she says with a soft smile.
I breathe a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you, God.” I feel as if twenty pounds have been lifted off me. “This is just so much off my mind. You don’t know how scared I was. If I was pregnant, I can’t even think about what I would do. I don’t even know what I’m going to do now. Having a baby, that just would make things so much more complicated.”
I hug her. Suddenly I notice she’s not hugging me back. I lean back and see her face is blank.
“Maybe I should have said bad news,” she says, covering her forehead. “I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry!”
“What?” I ask, confused, and she hands the test to me. My stomach drops when I see the deep pink plus sign. “No. NO!” I throw the test on the floor, my tears returning. “I can’t have a baby right now! This can’t be happening!”
“Lauren, calm down,” she pleads.
“Calm down? I can’t be pregnant! I don’t even know where my husband is. This cannot happen! It has to be wrong,” I shout. “I can’t be a mom right now. It’s wrong, right? Most of the time they’re wrong.”
Angela grabs my hands. “Yes, it could be wrong. These things aren’t one hundred percent, but you have to prepare yourself for the possibility that it might not be.”
I just cry harder. “I can’t raise a child alone. I’m not ready for a baby.” I shake my head defiantly.
“Lauren, listen to me, okay? You can do this. You don’t need Cal. If he comes back, I’ll be so happy for you, but if he doesn’t, screw him. You’re a strong, wonderful, kind, beautiful woman. If he doesn’t know that, he doesn’t deserve you. He certainly doesn’t for making you feel like this, and he won’t deserve the wonderful, beautiful baby you might be having. You are not going to do this alone. You’ll have me and Hillary and Raven. We’ll all be here for you.”
I look at her. She seems genuine, but she doesn’t understand. I walk over to the sink and splash water on my face. I stoically walk out of the bathroom and grab my purse, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” she asks worriedly.
“I need some air. I’m going for a walk,” I tell her as I open the door.
She starts to get up. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, I need some time alone.”
“Lauren…”
“I’ll be fine. I’m fine,” I tell her with a dry chuckle as I close the door behind me.
Chapter 12
November 7th, 2010
“Lauren, you’re taking forever, babe,” Cal complains, standing in the doorway dressed in a square-collar silver button-up paired with a hand-tailored black suit.
I slip on my black leather pumps and observe myself in the mirror, making sure the clingy silver dress that’s hugging my body hasn’t bunched up.
“You look fine.” He’s now behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, pressing his body against mine.
I shimmy out of his arms and grab my flat iron, determined to get the one cranky portion of my hair to cooperate.
“If we’re going to be late, let’s make it for a better reason.” His voice is in my ear and his hand has slid beneath my dress.
I whip around and push his hand away playfully. “No, Cal. Not tonight.” I back away.
I have got to learn to get ready faster, because it seems when I don’t and we’re heading toward being late, he decides to use it as an excuse to make us even later. He blocks my path, and I’m trapped between my vanity and his chest. He takes the flat iron and sets it down.
“We’re already late,” he says and, in one swift swoop, lifts me onto the vanity.
“But—”
My sentence is stopped
by his lips covering mine. Only we would be late for our own engagement party. I start to give in when I hear our house phone ring. The only person who calls the house phone is the building concierge.
I pull away from his kiss. “It’s just going to keep ringing.”
He groans and turns to grab the phone, answering it as he walks back to me. “Yeah?” His lips find my neck again. A second later, he stops and gives his full attention to the phone call. “What’s her name?”
I’m watching him, but he turns, so I don’t see his reaction when the person on the other end answers.
“I’ll be right there,” he says and hangs up.
“What happened?” I ask, maneuvering off the vanity and adjusting my dress.
“I think it’s a solicitor or something,” he says, adjusting his jacket coolly.
“A solicitor?” I follow him out of our bedroom and downstairs. “At five o’clock on a Saturday?” My tone is joking, but my expression should reveal the seriousness of the question.
He stops in his tracks and looks at me. “I’m going to see who it is. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” I inform him.
“No, finish getting ready. This won’t take me five minutes,” he says, casually resting his hands in his jacket pockets.
I stare at him, searching his expression for a hint of nervousness or twinge of guilt. He sighs in exasperation.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Well, you get this strange call that there’s some woman downstairs to meet you and you say it’s a solicitor.”
Cal never rushes to do anything, then he gets a call about a woman being downstairs to meet him and I’m just supposed to say, “Okay, honey”? He seems amused by my reaction. A smile spreads across his face, and he pulls me to him.
“You’re sexy when you’re jealous,” he says, his arms encircling my waist.
I move his hands off me, feeling slightly embarrassed. I’ve never been jealous over a man before, but I do tend to be with him. Wherever we go, he’s like a magnet for female attention. He’s never been disrespectful to me or encouraged it, but it gets annoying, really annoying.
“She isn’t here to see me. She’s here to see you,” he retorts, stepping toward me again, and I arch my brow in surprise.
“Me?”
“Yes, you, and if it has anything to do with shopping, I figured I’ll save time by having her come back later,” he teases.
I don’t shop that much to have personal shoppers tracking me down. I try to think who would come here to see me.
“Go finish getting ready, and you can meet me downstairs,” he says, and a moment later, he’s out the door.
I head back to my dressing room, adjust my dress, and run my hand through my hair. I grab my flat iron, but there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach—the kind you get when you feel like you’ve left something behind. I set my flat iron back down and grab my purse and jacket. I rush down the stairs, almost breaking my ankle in these pumps, and head out the door. I push the elevator button multiple times, and it seems like an eternity before it opens.
I push the main floor button and wait for the doors to close. As it starts its mile-long drop, I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m nervous, but something isn’t sitting right with me. When the doors open, I try to exit quickly without running. I walk past the desk when Lamar, one of the concierges, greets me. I want to be rude and wave and walk past, but I always stop to say hello. In the distance, I see Cal speaking to a woman. Her back is to me, showcasing a mane of long red hair hanging down her back. She seems to be shifting from side to side.
“Lauren, your dress is fab,” Lamar says quietly so the other tenants don’t hear him.
“Thank you. Lamar, did you call upstairs for me?” My attention is on Cal and the woman.
“Yes. Mr. Scott answered and said he’d be down instead,” he replies, his attention turning to my shoes.
“Did she say who she was?” I ask, a little impatient that his attention is on my outfit instead of the matter at hand.
“She said she was reluctant to do so,” he says, arching a brow.
Mine matches it in understanding. I reach into my purse and hope that I have some money in it. I’m happy to find a twenty-dollar bill already folded, so I bite my lip and rest the money on the counter, covering it with my hand.
“Anything else?” I ask, looking Lamar square in the eye.
He looks around before taking it and leaning closer across the desk. “She seemed to be a bit on edge when Mr. Scott appeared instead of you, and they went outside. She didn’t look too pleased to see him though.”
“What did she look like?” I ask mechanically, unable to keep the words from escaping.
Lamar’s eyes light up as if I asked a question that made his day. “Well, she doesn’t seem like she’s from around here,” he says with a frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know how everyone dresses around here? She didn’t look homeless or anything, but she seemed out of place. More like she got lost on her way to the suburbs and wandered in.” He chuckles.
“How old do you think she is?” I ask curiously.
“She was an older woman. Maybe early fifties.” Then he pauses. “But there was something about her that seemed familiar, like I’ve seen been her before, but maybe not.” He shakes his head, dismissing the thought, and returns his attention to the computer as the manager approaches the desk.
“Is everything okay, Ms. Brooks?” Ms. Riley asks me with a wide smile.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I say before leaving the desk and hurrying toward the door.
By the time I reach it and step out, the redheaded woman is walking down the street and Cal is walking back toward me.
“What was that about? Who was she?” I ask Cal, buttoning my jacket.
“Nothing,” he says, opening the door for me to go back inside.
I hesitate a moment, and the woman turns back and looks toward us. She’s far in the distance, but her expression is sullen.
“Are you coming?” Cal asks impatiently.
In the second I look at him and back at the mysterious redheaded woman, she’s disappears into the sea of people.
“Nothing?” I say pointedly.
“I took care of it. She didn’t want anything important.” He sits on one of the plush chocolate-brown chairs in the lobby. I assume he’s waiting for our car to be brought around.
“Well, what happened? What did she want with me?” I ask, sitting beside him.
“She really wasn’t making any sense. She seemed hopped up on something. I told her to leave.” He sighs, pulling out his cell phone.
“Well, maybe you should have let me talk to her,” I say, nudging him so he can give me his full attention.
“I didn’t want some crazy woman to upset you about nonsense before our dinner tonight,” he says simply.
“Why would she upset me? How did she know me and that I’d be here? I don’t understand.”
“Look, she wasn’t making any sense. She probably pulled your name off an article about some event we’ve been to with Dexter. You have to be careful about just anyone trying to see you. When you’re associated with the Crestfields, people see dollar signs and will sell you any sob story thinking you can write them a check. Most people have some type of agenda, and I’m sure she did, but she won’t be back. You can’t just trust anybody now, okay?” he says, grasping my hand at the last part of his speech.
I nod and try to accept that explanation. It makes sense, but that nagging feeling doesn’t go away, and the woman’s face doesn’t disappear from my thoughts easily.
June 7th 2011
June 7th, 2011
I walk into the office, and the first thing I see is a woman trying to hold her baby and read a magazine at the same time. She smiles at me, and I try my best to return it before approaching the receptionist’s desk.
“Hello. Welcome to Dr. Green’s office. How
can I help you?” she says with a wide smile.
“I need a pregnancy exam.”
The young woman seems caught off guard by my candor and takes a few seconds to recover. She smiles. “We can do that. I’ll need your name and for you to fill out this form, then I can schedule you an appointment,” she says, handing me a packet of papers.
“No, you don’t understand. I need one now,” I tell her quickly.
Her eyebrow rises. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make an appointment.”
“This—this is an emergency,” I tell her quickly.
“An emergency?”
I’m not going to be able to maintain my composure. I plaster on a big smile and lean closer to her. “My husband walked out on me last week, and I have no fucking idea where he is. I took a pregnancy test this morning, and you guessed it! Positive! So I need a doctor in there to tell me that the test was wrong and that I don’t have another thing to add to my list of things to worry about. I don’t have any cash with me, but I have these credit cards and a checkbook. I’ll pay anything.” I take out my wallet and put it on the desk.
“I’ll sign a piece of paper saying if you happen to kill me during the exam you’re not to blame, but I can’t go another minute guessing, okay? I can’t guess about another thing in my life. I’m not crazy, but every minute that passes, I’m inching closer to it. So if you don’t want me to go ballistic in this office and cause more of a scene than I already have, you’ll tell the doctor you have a very desperate woman out here in need of his or her assistance!” I take a breath and hope the woman doesn’t call the police.
“Um, she can have my appointment. I’ll go later.” The woman who smiled at me earlier looks at me sympathetically.
“Thank you,” I tell her desperately.
A door opens, and a nurse comes out, addressing the receptionist. “Who’s next?”
The receptionist points at me.
It seems as though the doctor has been out of the room forever. I guess the receptionist is telling her what a nut I am. I probably shouldn’t have come here so soon, but I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. I need to know for sure what my situation is. When the door opens, I breathe a sigh of relief.
