She flashes me a distracted smile. “Thank you.” She finishes putting her earring on and takes it. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “Are you okay?”
I laugh so awkwardly, I snort and she makes an expression of comical, fake disgust. “Girl…”
I laugh nervously. “Yeah, of course I’m okay.” My voice is too high.
She lifts a manicured eyebrow. “No, you aren’t.”
You need a good lie. It’s your mom. “Just thinking about what the day will bring. It’s all still so…unexpected.”
That works.
“Being on patrol must be full of unknowns in the beginning. Maybe always.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and leans in, hugging me and kissing my cheek. “But I can say a person can get used to even the unpredictable.”
She has no idea how much I hope that’s true.
Her hands are steady on my shoulders. “Lead with your mind, baby. The rest will follow.”
She nudges slightly into the bathroom to look in the mirror and draws on her red lips with precision. She gives herself one last look, then points her lipstick at me.
“We do good work, and we look good doing it.”
I give her a meek smile. How could I ever have thought I had the class and composure of this woman? My God, when I walked across that stage at Academy graduation just months ago, I finally thought I’d done it.
But one night, though I don’t regret it, regrethim…not really…but one night, and I throw away this career I earned?
I can’t be pregnant on the streets of LA.
My mom clicks out of the bathroom and turns one last time to me. “Be safe, baby.”
I wave her goodbye, then close the door and fall against the wood. Safe?
This job is anything but safe.
Why does my mom always make hard decisions look so effortless and easy? Is it for her? Am I the only one who melts at a thousand degrees inside when life gives me lemons?
I look down at my stomach. But is having a baby a lemon?
Or lemonade?
I look back at the door and hear the faint sound of the front door closing. That woman is a queen if I’ve ever met one. One who is equal parts justice, love, and an iron gavel. She’s not a nuanced person, and the word accident isn’t in her vocabulary.
And maybe it isn’t in mine either.
Anton was no accident. I wanted him for months. I decided to take him. I wanted it, and I enjoyed every second of it. That was no accident.
Though we used a condom, and yes, this wasn’t intentional, when was I going to think about having a baby?
I’m thirty now.
I know we aren’t walking the same path in life, but he’s a good man. A great man. Maybe even the exact man I should be doing this with. At this point in my life, I’d probably be pushing mid-thirties before I considered or found a man to have a baby with.
Anton’s patient, understanding, supports my career, and he’s selfless. He’s also been on his own for many years—older and confident enough for us to figure this out as adults.
We promised each other we’d be friends. I believe he meant it.
But I think of my mom again and how quickly she dismissed my father out of the equation.
Will she approve of all this? I know she’d want me to keep it. She’s a modern woman and doesn’t think I have to have babies to be fulfilled, but I see how she holds her little nephew. She’d want to be a grandma.
