The bus stop wasn’t too far, and my mind wandered on the ride. When I got back home, I realized Glamma wasn’t there. It was her day to play mahjong with her friends at the nearby coffee shop.
Relief swept through me as I walked back to my room.
It used to be my mother’s room. Now, I imagined she was there with me as I kicked off my shoes, crawled into bed, and got under the covers.
Scrolling through my phone, the number was easy to find.
The handsome man whom I’d met at a girls’ night out with a college friend visiting from out of town. He’d brought me to a luxurious hotel room and taken the edge off all the stress I’d been feeling. When I’d woken up in the morning, he was gone, but he left behind a note with a phone number and the words:In case you want to do this again.
I didn’t even know his name.
He didn’t know mine.
It had been wild and sexy and exciting and... totally out of character. Which was why I’d never texted him again even though I saved his number in my phone. Clearly he was no stranger to the “no strings attached” thing, and that just wasn’t me. Well, not usually.
I heaved a great sigh, slouching lower in my bed so the blanket brushed under my chin as I began texting.
Jada: Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Jada. We met a few months ago and stayed at The Retreat.
I sent the message and stared at the screen. Should I send another message? But then the read receipt came through, and three little dots.
My heart rate skyrocketed. I hadn’t expected him to reply this quickly, not in the middle of the day.
Unknown number: I remember you. You’re hard to forget.
Butterflies danced in my stomach, despite myself.
Then he sent another message.
Unknown number: Want to see me again?
I bit my bottom lip, considering what to do next. This wasn’t news you shared in a text, but I also didn’t want to give him the wrong idea by meeting in person. So I pressed the call button.
After a few rings, his voice came over the phone just like I remembered it. Smooth, low, a little rough. “Hey, baby,” he said.
My lips twitched for half a second before I remembered why I was calling. “Hey, I have something to tell you,” I said. It sounded like a stranger’s voice coming out of my mouth. Never mind the fact that he was a practical stranger. He still hadn’t offered his name.
“What’s that?” His tone cooled a bit. He seemed more skeptical now.
Turns out, there’s no right way to tell someone you don’t really know that you’re pregnant with their baby. Even after wracking my brain for the right words, I came up empty.
“Hello?” he mumbled.
“I’m pregnant.”
The line went silent. I pulled the phone away from my ear to see if he’d hung up. But the seconds ticked by right before my eyes.
“Hello?” I said.
“Get rid of it,” he told me. His voice was ice cold and so forceful that I flinched.
“I can’t ‘get rid of it,’ even if I wanted to. I’m five months along.” My voice was shaking, right along with my hands.
“I have a contact. We’ll get it taken care of. Are you free now?”
I stared at the phone in shock. But something else was rising up in me too: indignation. Who was he to tell me what to do with my baby? With my body? “I don’t think you heard me. I’m keeping my baby.”
“I’ll pay you,” he rushed out, his cool facade breaking.
