Drew
“Thank you, Ms. Drew,” Hailey says and I give the cute little six-year-old a wave as she skips out of the studio holding her mom’s hand, her crazy curly hair slowly falling out of her bun.
I chuckle a little as I go to the storage room, grab the mop and bucket, and head back out to clear up the spilled orange juice. My hands tremble, that wave of nausea hitting again—sour, insistent. Breathe. Just get through this. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to vomit.
For two weeks, I’ve felt sick, but for two weeks, I didn’t think about it until Bellamy opened up to me.
“She was pregnant…”
Bellamy’s words from two days ago hit me straight in the chest, and I take a deep breath as I fill the bucket up with floor chemicals, then water.
I know I can’t ignore the feeling—I can’t just brush it under the rug. We haven’t exactly been careful, I mean, yes I’m on the pill, but that isn’t always effective, and I’ve somehow missed two periods without realizing.
I shake my head and wheel my mop and bucket over to the benches where one of the kids dropped their drink, and I quickly clean up the mess before mopping the whole studio.
My little six-year-olds were the last class today. Bellamy will be here soon, so my plan, even if it is a stupid one, is to hope and pray that my period comes in the next two weeks and ignore all the symptoms.
I’ve been under a lot of stress, especially with the three shows I’ve conducted and the dancing I've done with my students to help raise money for several different charities. Don’t get me started on my sister's constant complaining…
Apparently, two days ago, Dad banned Drake from the house after he snuck into my old room and defaced it. By telling him he’s not welcome, I mean, Dad hit him and dragged him out of the house, which I’m actually sad I missed.
Elizabeth blames me—shocker. Now, she’s blowing up my phone with nasty messages about how I’m jealous, blah, blah, blah. You know, the usual crap but it’s a lot, so maybe that is why I’ve missed so many.
I can’t be pregnant, it will probably destroy my relationship because of Bellamy’s past.
My phone rings as I empty the bucket down the drain. I sigh as I walk over the freshly cleaned floor and grab it, but frown seeing a number I don’t recognize.
"Hello?" I answer cautiously, mindful that it could be my sister.
“Hi, is this Drew?” a woman asked hesitantly.
I hum and agree, “It is…”
“O-Okay, um, uh, well, uh, you see,” she stutters, and I frown until she says, “My name is Whitney….”
“Bellamy’s sister?” I confirm softly.
She clears her throat. “He speaks about me?”
“Of course, all the time, you and Angie,” I admit, and she gasps.
“He speaks about Angie?” she confirms with a slight tremble.
I smile, taking a seat on the bench and I admit, "He does, especially about how she couldn’t really swim but loved to sneak out to the pool on your family’s property. He also mentioned the movie nights he’d do for you both, and how you both loved to gang up on him…"
"He’s healing," she sniffles and I sigh.
"He is," I confirm, concerned. "Is there a reason you called, Whitney? Are you okay?"
She sniffles again and chokes, “Mom said he finally spoke to him and mentioned you. I tried to call him several times, but he still won’t answer my calls, so I looked you up…”
“I feel like I failed her. I just need time to forgive myself for leaving her when she needed me.”
Bellamy’s words from last night come back to me when I questioned why he’s ignoring his sister’s calls.
"He feels like he failed you," I say quietly, hoping she understands it isn’t personal.
“He didn’t fail me,” she gasps, and I nod even though she can’t see me.
