“We’re not a couple. We were never a couple,” I admitted before quickly tacking on, “Don’t judge me!”
“Nobody’s judging you, Wyndi. Calm down, my love. Who is this man?”
I shrugged, then heaved out a heavy sigh. “It doesn’t matter. He has no intentions of being involved with the baby.”
Her eyes ballooned as she plopped down into one of the dining chairs. “He told you this? He’s already decided not to be involved? How far along are you?”
“I’m nine weeks or so. And yeah. As soon as I told him I was pregnant, he suggested that I terminate.”
“Did you consider it, after hearing his response?”
“Nah. Eff him.”
“Where is he from, this . . . man that doesn’t want the baby? Where’d you meet him?”
“I met him at the Coyotes’ end of the year banquet.”
“The Coyotes’ end of the year banquet?”
“Yeah, he plays for the team.”
“The father of the baby plays for the team? The Coyotes?”
“Mom.” I was frustrated that she kept repeating everything I said.
“Relax,” she told me with an attitude. “It’s taking me a minute to process all of this.”
“So, don’t process him as an a-hole. He’s just young and dumb. And we weren’t trying for a baby or anything. We were just having fun.”
She didn’t respond.
I felt myself start to get upset. “Look, it took me two years to get over everything Channing and the pregnancy took me through. It took me two years to decide to put myself out there again. Yes, I decided to have fun with someone younger. I had my reasons. I didn’t want to pick anybody I could take seriously. I didn’t want anything serious. Do you even understand how messed up I was after the miscarriage and my future husband going into a mental health crisis while I watched? Do you understand that it took two years of therapy for me to even consider letting a man take me on a date?” I glared at my mom. “Real talk, you oughtta be glad you’re getting this grandchild, because there was a while there when I considered myself A-sexual. I was trying to have fun and ease back into dating. I ended up getting pregnant. This is my life!” I jumped up from the table and ran into my mother’s powder room.
Halfway there, I realized that the rumors about pregnancy hormones were true. I closed the door to the bathroom, leaned against the sink, and laughed my ass off. I couldn’t believe the way I yelled at my mother. The hormones were already out of control.
“You better calm down in there before you cause both of us to get a whupping,” I told my unborn child.
Everything I’d said to my mom and LoLo was true, but neither of them deserved my word vomit. I peed, washed my hands, then wiped my face down with a cool, wet paper towel before rejoining them. They both looked contrite.
Before they could speak, I spoke. “I’m sorry. I?—”
My mother cut me off. “No, I’m sorry, pooh. I never knew. You never told me how the situation with Channing affected you mentally or emotionally.”
“No, Mom. I didn’t tell you, because you were being a pillar of strength for Aunt Cecelia, and I got that. She was watching the son she knew and loved fade away into somebody she didn’t recognize.”
“But so were you. You were watching your first love do the same.”
“I was, but she needed you more.”
“She has a whole husband she could’ve leaned on. I would’ve been there for you if you had opened your mouth.”
I took a deep, cleansing breath. “It’s neither here nor there at this point. I came out of it. I wish Channing the best. I hope he stays on his meds and is able to make a stable life with his new lady. I wish Preston the best. I’m good.”
“Who is Preston?”
“The baby’s daddy,” LoLo responded, shoving a piece of now probably cold bacon into her mouth. “Preston Wilcox, number thirty-eight on the Chicago Coyotes.”
“He’s famous or does he ride the bench?”
