by Ash, Nikki
Melissa glares at me. “You’re being ridiculous, Harper. You don’t want me as an enemy.”
“Well, I don’t want you as a friend either. Now leave.”
After I slam the door behind her, I spend the rest of the weekend crying in my room. When my mom comes home, I tell her I’m not feeling well and thankfully, she leaves me alone.
Richie texts a couple times then calls, but I ignore him. I know it’s not his fault. He didn’t know what Melissa did, but it doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t change the fact that not even a month after Landon and I broke up, I had sex with another guy. And not just any guy… my ex-boyfriend.
Ten
Harper
“The test is positive, honey,” Mom says softly. I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. It’s been two months since Richie and I slept together. The first month I missed my period, I knew something was wrong. Then the morning sickness began. But I lived another four weeks in denial, not wanting to admit what I already knew was true. I’m pregnant with Richie’s baby.
Landon has gone against what we agreed to and has called me several times over the last couple weeks, probably because of the holidays, but I can’t face him, even if it’s only over the phone. I know if I hear his voice or see his face over the screen, I’ll lose it. It doesn’t matter that we’re broken up. It still feels wrong. So, every voicemail and text he’s left and sent, I’ve deleted without reading.
“I know this is a lot to take in, but your life doesn’t have to be over,” Mom says. “You have options.”
Options… Yeah, do I keep the baby, give it up for adoption, or have an abortion? Unfortunately, none of those options include going back to the night of the Halloween party and making the right choice not to drink. If I hadn’t drunk that night, I wouldn’t have been drugged by my ex-best friend, and I wouldn’t be sitting here in the bathroom with my mom having this conversation.
“I need to go tell the father,” I say, my mind in a haze. He needs to know. Then we can discuss this together. Just as I’ve been avoiding Landon, I’ve also been equally avoiding Richie, having no clue what to say. While I was imagining the guy I was having sex with was Landon, Richie was hoping we would get back together. Which is kind of ridiculous since we didn’t work when we were together before.
“Is Landon planning a trip down?” Mom asks. Of course she would think Landon is the father. He’s the only guy I’ve slept with… until now.
“Landon isn’t the father. Richie is.” I don’t need to look at her to know the shocked expression she’s sporting right now. “Landon and I broke up and then Richie and I hooked up at a party.” I don’t bother getting into all the details. It’s pointless. What’s done is done and now I have to deal with it. Melissa and I haven’t spoken since the day I kicked her out of my house. I see her around at school, but we both pretend like we don’t know each other. When I told Angela what happened, she took my side and hasn’t spoken to Melissa either. I’m kind of shocked Melissa hasn’t started any shit yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
After calling Richie and telling him we need to talk and that I feel it would be best if both of our families are there—that was my mom’s idea since I’m still underage and Richie is only about to start his second semester of college—he calls his parents, who welcome us to come over.
Once everyone is gathered in the living room, minus Richie’s older sister, who’s away at college, I tell them the reason for this meeting. “I’m pregnant and Richie is the father.”
Anita, Richie’s mom, gasps, his dad, Alan, groans, and Richie looks like he’s about to throw up.
“And you’re sure it’s my son’s?” Anita asks.
I glare at Richie, who speaks up. “It’s mine,” he says as he drops his head into his hands. “Fuck.”
The families spend the next hour discussing our future. Different ideas are thrown around, but before any plans can be made, I need to confirm the pregnancy and then decide if I’m going to keep the baby.
My mom calls my gynecologist, and since she’s able to fit me in today, we head right over. After taking my blood and a urine sample, which confirms I’m pregnant, the doctor has me get undressed so she can do an internal ultrasound to determine how far along I am and that everything is okay so far.
“Is everyone planning to join?” she asks, looking from my mom, to Anita, to Richie. Thankfully Richie’s dad decided not to tag along.
“Yes,” they all say at once.
Dr. Fox inserts the probe into me and within seconds a loud whooshing sound comes over the monitor. “That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Fox says. She zooms in and we’re able to see the tiny little blip’s heart beating fast. It looks like nothing more than a flutter. A beautiful flutter. And I realize, as I stare at my baby’s heart beating, there’s no way I’m going to give it up. It’s a part of me, a part of my heart.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Richie leans over and wipes my tears. “It’s going to be okay, Harper,” he says softly. “We’ll get through this.” I’m not shocked by his sweet words. I’ve seen this side of Richie. It’s the side that convinced me to go out with him. It’s also the side of him that kept me going back over and over again for seven months.
“Looks like you’re roughly ten weeks pregnant. That might change the farther along you get.”
She hits a couple buttons then reaches down, pulling out a black and white picture of our baby.
Our baby. We created a baby. A baby who wasn’t conceived out of love but a one-night stand. But it doesn’t matter because I already love him or her.
The doctor excuses herself, saying once I’m dressed, I can go to the front desk and pick up some prenatal vitamin samples and schedule my next appointment.
“I want to have the baby,” I say once she’s gone.
Mom nods, but the tears in her eyes tell me she’s disappointed. She wanted so much more for me and here I am following in her footsteps. About to have a baby straight out of high school. My entire life all I’ve heard from her is how she wants me to go to college and follow my dreams.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” I ask her, ignoring the fact Richie and his mom are still in the room.
“No, sweetie, I just think you’re only a baby yourself.” She looks over at Richie. “You both are. And this is going to change your entire life. But if you want to keep the baby, I will support you the best I can. Money will be tight, but you can live at home. You’re going to have to work more hours because babies are expensive, but maybe you can take some classes online.”
“Live at home?” Richie says. “If we’re having a baby, then we’re going to be living together.” He looks at his mom, who nods in agreement.
“I agree. If you’re going to have this baby, you two should get married. Give the baby a proper home. Of course we’ll help them,” Anita says to my mom. “Buy them a house just off campus and help pay for their bills while Richie is in college. He’s planning to go to medical school, and I won’t let this ruin his future.”
Everything she’s saying has my head spinning. I’ve only just found out I’m pregnant and have decided to keep the baby. But she’s already talking about living arrangements and marriage. My first instinct is to call Landon. He was there for me when, up until now, the biggest change in my life occurred—my parents divorcing. But then it hits me that I can’t call him about this. I would have to admit I slept with Richie and I’m now pregnant.
An uncontrollable sob racks my body as I remember what I promised him: “If one day I make it back to Boston and you’re single, promise me you’ll give us another chance. I refuse to believe this is the end of us, Harper.” This will mean the end of Landon and me. There’s no going back. I fucked up and now I’ve destroyed any possible future for us.
“They’re not even together,” Mom points out. “They’re too young to move in together. She can live at home and they’ll have shared custody of the baby.”
“That�
��s absurd,” Anita argues. “You’re damning the baby before he’s even born.”
My head is spinning with everything they’re saying, and I feel like I’m about to lose it.
“You guys, stop,” Richie demands. “Harper, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks me.
“Okay, just let me get dressed,” I say, hiding my face so nobody can see I’m full-on crying now.
Everyone leaves, and I use the moment to try to calm myself down, but the more I think about everything, the more worked up I get. I’m pregnant with Richie’s baby. I’m still a senior in high school. I only make minimum wage, and my mom can barely afford the roof over our head. Was I stupid to say I want to keep this baby? Am I in over my head? My eyes go to the black and white image. I know I’m young and this isn’t ideal, but I can’t imagine giving up my baby.
I pull my phone out, and without giving it a second thought, I call Landon. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I just need to hear his voice. He promised we would stay friends and right now I really need my friend.
The phone rings several times before it goes to voicemail, and I hang up without leaving a message.
“Hey, you done?” Richie asks, just as I’m sliding my phone into my back pocket. I feel it vibrate, and I want to answer it, but not with Richie standing in front of me.
“Yeah, come in.”
He takes a look at the picture in my hand and smiles softly. “I’m really sorry for my part in this.” He points to the baby. “I could’ve sworn we used protection.”
“What do we do now?” I ask, choosing to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past. I can’t confirm or deny whether we did, and there’s no use in pointing fingers or placing blame.
“I know your mom wants you to live at home, but I really think we should try to be a family. I don’t want to be a weekend dad. Once you graduate, we can move in together and get married. You heard my mom. My parents will help us while we’re in college, and we’ll be able to give the baby a two-parent home.”
A weekend dad… Landon’s conversation about his own father creeps into my thoughts. He said it was hard for his dad to be a father when he only got to see him four days a month. Is that how it would be with our baby? Richie only getting to see him or her a few days a month and all because I refused to try to be a family. My parents are divorced and I never see my dad anymore. Sure, a lot of it is because he’s drunk all the time, but it doesn’t change the fact I miss him. Would that be fair to Richie for me to do that to him? To our child?
“But we’re not in love,” I point out. This wasn’t how my future was supposed to go. One night and everything is all messed up. This should’ve been me and Landon. He was who I should be pregnant by. I try to imagine how he would react but quickly push the thoughts aside. Pretending was what got me into this mess in the first place. I’m pregnant with Richie’s baby, not Landon’s, and the quicker I come to terms with it, the better off I’ll be. There’s no use wishing for things that’ll never happen. Landon and I are done for good. My getting pregnant ensured that.
“No,” Richie agrees, “but maybe over time we could be. I think we owe it to our baby to at least try. The last thing either of us wants is to be a statistic. Two teen parents shuffling our baby back and forth between houses. Doesn’t our baby deserve better than that?”
I consider his words, and while my heart doesn’t necessarily want to agree with what he’s saying, I know deep down he’s right. His family has the means to help us. It doesn’t matter that I’m not in love with him, or that he’s not the person I want to spend my life with. I see how much my mom is struggling on her own, and I’m not going to put more on her shoulders. It’s not fair to her or to the baby. It’s no longer just me I have to think about, but our baby. And letting them help us is what’s best.
“Okay, once I graduate, I’ll move in with you and we’ll get married.”
Richie smiles and takes my hand, squeezing it softly. “Everything will be okay, Harper.”
I smile back and pray he’s right. Because right now, it feels like nothing will ever be okay.
One decision.
One choice.
That’s all it takes for your life to change.
Eleven
Harper
Twelve and a Half Years Later
“Ella, come on, sweetheart. Put your flip-flops on. We need to get your brother from camp.” I drop my nine-year-old daughter’s pink flip-flops on the floor and she quickly steps into them.
“Did you see the back handspring I did on the balance beam?” she asks, taking the open bottle of water from me and swallowing several gulps before coming up for air.
“I did. It was perfect.” Checking the time on my phone, I see I only have ten minutes to get across town and over to the park where Hunter is finishing up his first day of baseball camp. I don’t know what I was thinking putting both kids into camp at the same time. Oh, I know. I thought when Richard told me he would make sure he’s available to help with pick-up, he really meant it. Stupid me for believing him.
Ella climbs into the back seat of my Audi SUV and I hightail it out of the gymnastics parking lot to hopefully get to Hunter on time. But just to be on the safe side…
“Siri, call Bridget,” I speak into my Bluetooth. Bridget Hogue is one of my best friends. We met a couple years ago when her son, Brendan, was in the same class as Hunter. They bonded over their love of baseball, and Bridget and I bonded over our love of wine.
“Hey, Harp,” she says, answering on the third ring.
“I’m running a few minutes late. Can you grab Hunter for me and I’ll meet you in the parking lot?” Our boys have been on the same baseball team for the last two years, and they’re attending the same baseball camp this summer. The camp is four weeks long, and of course it falls during the same time as Ella’s gymnastics camp. It wouldn’t be a big deal except they’re a good twenty minutes across town from each other and end at the same time.
When I told Richard, he promised to help out so they could both attend their camps. First day and he’s already flaked. After all this time, I should already know how he works, but I keep hoping one damn time he’ll come through. Money, he’s good at dishing out. It’s his time that he’s stingy with. And while I couldn’t give a shit about him giving me any of his time, I care that he fought for shared fifty-fifty custody, got it, and is down to only seeing his kids four days a month. Last time I checked, four days out of thirty doesn’t equal fifty percent. But what do I know?
“Why don’t I just meet you at my house?” Bridget suggests. “The boys can hang out, I’ll have Simon pick up dinner, and we can have a glass of wine. I haven’t seen you in like a week.”
“Ella, want to go over to Bridget’s?” I ask my daughter, who’s sitting in the back seat with wireless headphones over her ears while she watches a movie on the overhead television. When she catches my eye in the rearview mirror, she takes them off.
“What, Mom?” she asks. “Did you say something?”
“Bridget’s?” I ask again.
“Yes!” She squeals. “Will Eleanor and Elizabeth be there?” Eleanor and Elizabeth are Bridget and Simon’s two-year-old twin daughters, who Ella loves to dress up and treat like they’re baby dolls.
“Yes, Ella, they will be,” Bridget answers over Bluetooth.
“Yay!”
“Well, there’s your answer,” I say with a laugh. “We’ll see you soon.”
I disconnect the call and literally two seconds later, my phone rings. “Red wine, not white,” I say into the Bluetooth, thinking it’s Bridget.
“Then it must’ve been a bad day,” a masculine voice says through the speakers.
Richard.
“It started with my washing machine leaking and soaking my laundry room and ended with my children’s father bailing on picking up our son.” I try not to say anything negative about Richard in front of the kids. Even though I can barely stand him most days, he is their father, and I don’t wan
t to ever sway their opinion of him. But with Ella listening to her movie, I let it slip.
“How bad is the laundry room?” Richard asks, ignoring the part about him bailing. “I can transfer some money over…”
Money… that’s his answer to everything. When we were married and he would mess up, he would throw money at me like it would make everything better. And I’m not talking about expensive gifts. No, when I would get upset over him missing dinner or he would come home smelling like another woman, he would literally give me money. Now, I’m not a materialistic person, but if a guy can’t even take two damn minutes to pick out some flowers when he’s messed up, that should be the first sign he’s not going to even attempt to do the hard work to make a marriage work. Not that it ever mattered. Our marriage was doomed to fail before we even said ‘I do.’
“I don’t need any money,” I say, exasperated. After all these years he should know by now I don’t want his money nor will I take it. But because he doesn’t pay any attention, he doesn’t get it. “Are you taking the kids tonight?” According to the paperwork, he’s supposed to take them every Monday, Wednesday, and every other weekend. Because of his job being so demanding, he almost never takes them during the week.
“I can’t,” he says. “That’s why I’m calling. I have a medical conference I was invited to speak at this weekend. It was last minute, and I need to prepare.”
“So, you won’t be taking them this weekend, either,” I say. “Is Samantha going?” Samantha is Richard’s fiancée. His fourth since we divorced. His second wife, Janine, and him lasted a whole five months. Then there was Rosie, his third wife. They were divorced before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. Eloise came next, but they never even made it to the wedding. Samantha is number five, if you include me.
“She is…”
“So, couldn’t you make it a family weekend?” I suggest. “I’m sure the hotel has a nice pool.”
Richard sighs. “I can’t pay attention to them properly. I have to prepare for my speech.”
