“She?” I ask. “Can you already tell?”
“Oh, heavens, no! I just have feelings about these sorts of things. What do you think?” she asks.
“About any of it. The gender. The idea of being a mama,” she smiles, and while this chick is a bit flighty, I can tell she’s not dumb. I guess my reaction right now isn’t typical. At least not the typical reaction of someone who was trying to get pregnant with the love of their life only to finally get that positive test.
“I’m not sure,” I answer, staring at the ceiling. “It’s wild. I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t—” I stop. I’m tearing up, and I don’t know why. It’s embarrassing and a little annoying. She doesn’t seem to mind and hands me a tissue.
“There’s no right answer to that question, honey,” she says sweetly. “Finding out you’re pregnant can evoke all kinds of feelings, not always the ones we expect. It’s life-changing, no matter what the circumstances are. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. In fact, I’d say that’s the most normal way to feel.”
“I feel stupid saying it, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t know how it happened,” I admit with a sniff. She just smiles warmly.
“Hon, I think that’s understandable. If you were sexually active before, I’d assume you would be on the pill and using condoms. But if you weren’t, there’s no point in taking birth control. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, a condom is the last thing on our minds,” she says.
No kidding.
“You are pregnant, and you have to decide how you feel about it. Do you have support?” She asks, and I turn my head on the pillow to look at her.
“Support?” I parrot.
“Family. Friends. A partner,” she elaborates.
“I…I have friends,” I say.
“Well, I’m sure you will make a wonderful mother. I can also give you some resources and pamphlets. One thing a lot of mamas who feel a little alone don’t realize is just how many resources there are. There is information on everything from birthing classes to breastfeeding.”
“Of course,” I say, my voice coming out a bit hollow.
She smiles and places a hand on my arm. “It’s a lot, I know. But things always work themselves out,” she says. I nod and use the tissue again. “Now, do you wanna hear the heartbeat?” She asks and I blink.
“The heartbeat?” I ask, and she nods. “Is it–she–big enough? I mean, am I far enough along?”
“Oh heavens, yes,” she says. She moves the wand around until a whooshing, thumping sound comes over the speaker. It’s quick, rhythmic, andstrong.I need another tissue. Maybe the whole box. Because she just confirmed what the little stick, weird cravings, and the nausea already told me, even though I didn’t want to believe it.
“That is a perfect heartbeat,” she says as she clicks a couple buttons. A machine next to us spits out photos, and she shuts everything off. She hands me more tissues and uses some to wipe the jelly off my belly and helps me sit up. “How are you feeling?”
Great question. A question that has so many answers and none at all. It’s like she understands, smiles again, and pats me on theknee. “It’s a lot, I know. Stick close to your friends. Read those pamphlets and don’t forget to breathe. Also, don’t forget to enjoy it. Pregnancy is a beautiful thing, even if it wasn’t planned.”
She hands me the photos and walks out, giving me privacy so I can change back into my clothes. For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the black and white photos. It’s hard to make out the images, but they are proof that there is a life inside of me. Proof that my life is about to change. The big question is how do I tell him? And what do I do when he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me after I do?
Chapter 25
Mila
“So how wasyour night out with the girls?” Lainey asks, and there’s a tone in it. I do feel bad about that night, but at the same time, I don’t think it’s fair for her to decide who I hang out with.
After my doctor’s appointment, I didn’t feel like being alone. I’m not ready to talk to anyone about it yet. I have the ultrasound picture folded up in my pocket, heavy and present.
We are at Second Chance; a thrift store we have been shopping at together since I met her. It’s going to sound bad, but before my parents died, I had never even been to a thrift store. My dad insisted he made enough money for us to wear clothes that someone else hadn’t worn first. My mom and I once went to a yard sale and literally had to lie about where we got the treasures we’d found. Funny how thrifting turned out to be a rebellion.
Needless to say, after they were gone, and I was living off tips, I couldn’t afford more than second-hand stuff. Lainey was raised in a family with five kids and two teacher incomes. She swears up and down that thrifting is a skill. At first, I didn’t believe her, but I found a pair of Doc Martins in my size for twelve dollars.From then on, I learned that thrifting wasn’t just a skill but an art.
“It was good,” I say as I sift through a rack of shirts. “They’re not as bad as you think.”
“Brynn and her slut posse? I think they’re wretched! So, what, are they just awful then?”
I smile. I love my friend, but I can’t deny that I had fun. “I don’t know. Girls are girls. Once they loosen up, they’re different.”
“Different than what?” she snorts. “The bitches I’ve known for the better part of three years? You know, one time they hid my wig from me and replaced it with a fire-truck red one? I didn’t know what to do, so I wore it. Niko was fuming. All the men at the bar called me Mary Jane for a week. It took me another week to figure out it was a Spider Man reference.”
