Two lines means pregnant.
Fucking pregnant.
Two days with the man of my dreams and this is the result. It’s not enough that I’m ruined for all other men, but now I have to deal with this. A baby. I can barely take care of myself and my mother—how the hell am I going to take care of a baby? And who would watch it while I work?
This is a complete clusterfuck.
Despite the nausea and how tired I am, I grab my purse and keys, put the top down in the Mustang—and drive. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m going to do, but I couldn’t stay in the house another minute.
Hands gripping the wheel tightly, I get on the highway and head south. I’m not going anywhere in particular, but having the wind in my face helps the nausea and I’m always calmer when I’m driving.
Fuck fuck fuck.
How could this have happened?
I know the biology, the mechanics of how it happened, but I can’t believe my bad luck.
Tate won’t be happy.
Talk about kids never came up, but I don’t think he’s any more prepared to become a parent at this stage of his life than I am.
He would probably rather I just get rid of it, do the best thing for all of us.
Neither of us can take care of a baby right now.
Somehow, I find myself sitting outside the women’s clinic.
From what I understand, it’s nothing more than a cocktail of pills at this point. Then there’s some cramping, some bleeding, and the cells pass.
Cells.
It’s a baby.
My baby.
And Tate’s.
Dammit.
I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the steering wheel so hard it hurts.
Even if this would make things easier, it’s not a decision I can make on my own. Tate may not want it, but what if he does? What if…I can’t even formulate coherent thoughts at this point, it’s just one long stream of consciousness in my head.
I’m going to go crazy if I don’t talk to somebody, and before I know it, I’ve put the car in gear and headed north again.
Back to town. To the nursing home. To my mom.
Pulling in a deep breath and brushing the tears from my eyes, I square my shoulders and walk inside.
“Hey, Summer.” The woman at the front desk smiles. “Here to see your mom? I think she’s napping.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just sit with her a while.” I make my way to my mother’s room and gently close the door behind me.
She’s snoring softly on the bed and I sink down in a chair beside her. I always miss her but never more so than times like this, when I desperately need her advice. Need to hear soft, thoughtful responses to questions I can’t ask anyone else. She was always my rock, which is why I’ve been trying so hard to be hers, but I’ve never felt more alone.
“Mom, I screwed up,” I whisper, resting my head in my hands. “And I’m so scared. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Tears come again, and I do my best to fight them but I’m an emotional wreck.
Warm fingers caress my hair, my forehead, and then my arm.
