We fucked up, plain and simple. There’s an easy option available to us but she doesn’t want to do it so now she’s making me the bad guy.
“Money, I guess,” she says after what feels like a long time. “So I can get the medical care I need.”
“Let’s start with the paternity test,” I say abruptly. “Once we do that, we can discuss options. But I have to go—we have an interview scheduled.”
That’s a bald-faced lie but I can’t sit here and continue a conversation that’s going nowhere.
“Okay.” Her voice is small and shaky again, like I’ve disappointed her.
Hell, I’m disappointing myself right now, but it’s hard to breathe and if I don’t get off this phone and out of this stuffy hotel room in another minute, I might explode.
“Send me the information, yeah? I’ve gotta go.” With that, I disconnect.
Fuck, I’m such a jerk.
But right now I’m a jerk on the verge of a panic attack.
I stuff my phone in my pocket, grab my wallet and make a beeline for the door.
I need fresh air before I heave.
This is a really big fucking mess and I have no one to blame but myself.
Chapter 16
Summer
It’s been a week since I spoke to Tate and I haven’t heard a word from him other than the lab calling to say payment was made so I can go in and have the test done. I did that, got the results confirming that he’s the father. Based on the research I did, blood paternity testing involves examining genetic material to affirm or refute biological relationships. And there’s no refuting that the baby is Tate’s.
I don’t know if he’s seen the results, but they were sent to him so now all I can do is wait. The conversation we had last week didn’t leave me feeling confident that he’s going to support me in this, so as usual, I’m on my own. Taking care of myself, taking care of my mom, and potentially taking care of the baby growing inside me.
There’s no moral or religious reason for me not to have an abortion.
I tried going to the clinic again, and this time I got inside, but then I froze.
Everything inside me screamed that it wasn’t the right choice. It’s not logical but I can’t fight what my gut is telling me. So even though having a baby at this point in my life is going to be nearly impossible, I walked out of the clinic without looking back.
The truth is, the baby is already real to me.
I’m only six weeks pregnant and there’s no physical sign that anything is different, but I feel different. Puking every morning is the only reminder of my new condition, and it passes by lunch. Then I’m fine the rest of the day.
It’s hard to know if it’s the pregnancy making me tired or the fact that I’m not sleeping or eating well. I’ve been going through the motions every day and it’s wearing on me. I have to confide in someone other than my mom, because she hasn’t had another moment of lucidity since the day I told her.
I’m on my own.
And the only person I can talk to is Dolly.
“Hey, girl. What are you doing here?” She looks up from her desk in the back of the diner when I go in on Tuesday.
“I need to talk to you,” I whisper.
“You okay?” she asks, concern in her eyes.
“No.” I shake my head as I sink into a chair.
“What is it? Your mom?”
“No.” I pull in a deep breath and then just blurt it out— “I’m pregnant.”
