Chapter 7

Kailee

" W hat do you do for fun?" Leo asks. I can't drink my wine fast enough for this date.

"I worship Satan."

Leo laughs and continues picking loose skin off one of his fingers. He's been doing it all night. A nervous habit?

Why am I even here? Oh, I know. It's because bachelor number one, Leo, made a bet with bachelor number two, Jeff, and bachelor number three, Chase, told me about it to butter me up for his own purposes. I should go out with all of them and deny all three so they can cry about it together.

Honestly, I'll have a hard time turning down Chase. The man makes my toes curl just by looking at him. I find myself looking for him and hoping he'll pop into the teacher's lounge when I'm there. OK, I may give that one a chance .

In the meantime, I have to survive the date with bachelor number one, when all I want to do is scratch my eyes out at the walking boredom that is Leo. So far, I've heard about his Voltron model collection, how his last two dates didn't match their listed weights on Tinder, and his disc golf record score.

"Do you like car shows?" he asks, glossing over the Satanic worship tidbit.

"Not really."

He smiles. Jesus fucking Christ, what is it with guys? The bigger of a bitch you are, the more they fawn over you.

My stomach clenches, and I eye the salad in front of me with disdain. It's a normal-looking salad with lettuce, tomatoes, onions, cucumber, and croutons with a side of ranch dressing. I usually love salads just like it, but my stomach roars as I mix the ranch with the vegetables. I'll just shut up and eat my salad so I can go home, use my vibrator while I think about bachelor number three yet again, and go about my life tomorrow.

"I listen to bluegrass records. What kind of music do you like?" Leo asks.

It's a nice question. For any other woman in the world, except for his last two dates who were obviously judged by their respective weights, Leo Paulson is a catch. Just not for me.

"I listen to punk," I say, swallowing the last word because something else wants to come out of my mouth.

I must pale or turn green because Leo leans over his own salad and grabs my hand. "Are you OK? "

His hand is so hot that it burns me, and I pull away. I reach for my water glass and down it in three gulps, only to be rewarded with more fuss from my stomach. Whatever's happening in there, the water is making it worse.

"Excuse me. I need to go to the restroom."

I don't wait for a response or worry about how he feels. I break into a sprint for the bathroom and almost take out our waitress as she rounds the corner from the kitchen with a plate of what I assume is my steak and baked potato.

I quickly search for the restroom, scanning left and right. Eventually, I ask the bartender, who instinctively backs away from me as he points. I'm green around the gills. I feel it.

I barely make it to the toilet. In fact, a little gets on the floor in front of the bowl as everything comes up. Salad. Wine. Half my lunch. I'm pretty sure I see the scrambled eggs from breakfast, too. What the hell? Is there a stomach flu that I got from the students?

The door creaks open, and a pair of work boots approaches my cubicle. "Kailee?" Leo asks in a kind voice. Why can't I like him?

Oh yeah…He judges women by their weight, is boring as hell, and he's not Chase fucking Barnett.

"I'm OK. I'll just be a minute."

"You don't sound OK, and you looked terrible right before you ran for it. Can I get you anything? A wet rag? "

Hot, brown vomit comes out of me, and my stomach muscles squeeze so hard that I momentarily worry I may have to change my pants. I haven't thrown up like this in years. I threw up about three weeks ago from some bad fish or something, but this is violent.

Food poisoning?

"Can you call my friend? Her name is Lorelei. She's in my contacts. Ask her if she can come get me." I slide my clutch purse under the stall to Leo, not even caring that I'll have to disinfect it later because it touched the gross floor. I don't want anyone to see me like this, but if someone has to see me, Lorelei is the only option.

Leo silently picks up my purse and ruffles through my bag. There's nothing interesting in there except my wallet, phone, and keys, so I have nothing to worry about. It's not like he'll find a condom I was hoping to use tonight.

I intentionally didn't pack one because I knew I wouldn't sleep with him.

I hear my phone connect the call, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Please pick up, Lorelei.

***

"Damn, girl, how much did you drink?" Lorelei asks, holding a cold cloth to my neck. Always have a friend who will pick you up from a restaurant, hold a popcorn bucket in front of you as she walks you out the back door, and hold your hair while you throw up when you get home.

"Just one glass of wine."

"What did you eat?"

"A few bites of salad. Do you think it had bacteria on it or something?"

"I don't think it would have hit you this fast. That usually takes some time to set in. What did you have yesterday?" She asks, handing me a paper towel to wipe my face.

"Soup and watermelon. I didn't feel like eating much, and when I ate the soup, I got so hot that I ate the watermelon. It's all I wanted."

Lorelei crinkles her eyes and sits back from me on her heels. She runs her hands down her jean-clad thighs and then pulls her own strawberry-blonde hair back into a ponytail with a sigh. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I don't want you to be offended. I just want you to think about it, OK?"

I nod and move my head back over the toilet. I feel like I'm going to puke again.

"When was your last period?"

"Why would you even ask that?"

Lorelei ignores me. "When was your last period?"

I lift my head a little and grab the glass of water on the counter as I think. "I don't know. I've never been regular. A couple months ago or something? I'm sure I'll get it soon. I go three months in between sometimes, and then it's heavy and excruciating. It's been that way since my first period at eleven. It comes when it wants to."

Lorelei looks at me without blinking. "Kailee, are you pregnant?"

The world spins, and I'm not sure if it's sickness or shock. It's a good thing my head is already over the toilet, and I set my face on the toilet rim. The plastic of the seat is cool, and I could stay here forever. I'll just sit here and think while my face is parked somewhere it can't cause a mess. Lorelei reaches out and pats my back.

Could I be pregnant? I've always had a messed-up cycle, even suffering from endometriosis so much that my doctor told me years ago that I may have trouble conceiving. I've had ablations, and I had surgery that left uterine scars, severely reducing my fertility. That's what I was told anyway. It was in the damn brochure and on the form I signed before I had the surgery which was the last-ditch effort before a hysterectomy. If I'm pregnant, I'll write a strongly worded letter to that idiot doctor.

I mentally tick off any other signs I've had lately. I've been tired. So tired that I've wanted to die just so I could get some sleep. I thought it was a lack of sunlight in the cooking dungeon that was making me tired all day at work. I can hardly drag myself out of bed in the morning. My boobs hurt, but I thought it was because I got a few new bras and the fit was wrong. I'm hot. So hot all the time. I actually thought I might be in early menopause last week while working on the truck. Nobody else seems bothered by heat, but I want to stick my face in a refrigerator when it hits me. I wouldn't put it past my body to go through early menopause with all the issues I've had, so I thought nothing of it.

My chest clenches, and something visceral happens in my abdomen. Nerves. No – this is fear. Terror. "Oh, my fucking God. What the fuck am I going to do?"

"I'm going to go get a test at the drugstore up the street," Lorelei says, getting off the floor. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Will you be OK?"

"I'm going to be sick."

"You're already sick," Lorelei says as she walks out of my bathroom. "I'll be right back."

My front door slams shut, and a tear dribbles down my face. This can't be happening. Tired. Sick. Boob hurt. All of it blends together in my mind. My cycle is always off, so I don't blame myself that I missed this, but there's so much more to this than being tired and sick.

Living paycheck to paycheck. Government insurance. Single. I have a one-bedroom apartment, for fuck's sake. Does the government require the baby to have a separate room? Why hasn't anyone told me any of these things? Do the police come to check to make sure you have a crib for them?

The police.

Chase .

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

A guttural sound comes from my throat. I haven't been with anyone since our one-night stand, and I hadn't had sex in months before Chase. I haven't talked to my mother in three years, but I can practically hear her chastise me for creating another human being with a total stranger while bent over a kitchen counter.

I swear to God, I really didn't think I could get pregnant with all my past issues. I was told by a medical professional that it was unlikely. I always use condoms. What is the chance that a woman who was told she may never be able to conceive gets pregnant the single time she has one too many margaritas and doesn't tell the dude to glove up?

Chase Barnett's new nickname should be Officer Super Sperm.

Lorelei is back within minutes and breezes back into the room, a frown lining her face. She usually smiles around me, but her entire demeanor is off. She understands the seriousness of this. She probably thinks I couldn't mother my way out of a paper bag. I wish she'd smile or crack a fetus joke. Something.

"I'm going to give you some privacy. Can you pee?" she asks.

"I think I can work some up," I say, letting her help me off the floor.

As soon as she leaves the bathroom and shuts my pocket sliding door, I undo my pants and quickly sit on the toilet. I pee as fast as I can, making sure I hit the tester stick, and throw the stick on the counter before squatting in front of the toilet again. "I'm done. You can come in."

Lorelei comes back into the room and glances at the stick while standing safely at the door. "Did you look?"

I shake my head. "I can't. You do it. If I do it, it makes it real."

"It's real anyway if there are two lines there, Kailee."

Something on my face must tell her I'm not capable of this, and she creeps closer to the counter, craning her neck to look at the test. When she reads it, she picks it up and squints.

"Just tell me."

She looks at me, a sad look on her face, and I know what she's going to say before she says it. My face crinkles, and I throw up again. This time, I'm not sure if it's from being sick or the scary realization that I'm someone's mother now.

Lorelei is at my side in a moment, her arm around me. "It's OK, Kailee. We'll get through this. Take a couple days and decide what you want to do, but since you're probably already several weeks along, we'll need to decide fast."

"How many weeks do you think?"

She shrugs, "It depends on when you got pregnant. Pregnancy weeks are counted from the first day of a last period," she explains. "Women are already four weeks by the time they miss a period. Women like you, with irregular cycles, are often surprised by the time they get to seven or eight."

I nod. "I can't have this baby, Lorelei. I can't. What kind of mother would I be? "

"You'd be a great one. That's not even a problem here."

"Are you insane? Look at my life." I raise my arm and half-ass gesture toward my bedroom. "I don't even make my bed. Aren't moms supposed to make their beds?"

"I see a woman who works two jobs and is educated enough to work one if she wants to tie herself down. I'm not saying things wouldn't have to change, but you've got this. What about help from the father?"

The fact that Lorelei doesn't assume Chase is the father strikes me as funny. Sure, I've been known to date a couple of guys at a time, but I'm offended Lorelei thinks there are a lot of options for me to choose from. What's next? Asking me to parade a bunch of men on a talk show to take DNA tests?

"He's not involved."

She clears her throat. "Do you know who it is?"

I slap my hand against the toilet tank in frustration. "What kind of question is that of your best friend? Of course, I know who it is."

I put my face back in the toilet and let the tears fall on the gross water below.

"Who's the father?" she whispers.

"Chase."

Lorelei blows out a sigh and is silent for a few moments. When she does make a sound, it's an odd hum before she speaks. "Holy fucking shit! I didn't want to assume, but… Kailee! What the fuck? "

I lift my head, and my vision swirls. It's been a rough night, and I just want to crawl into bed and never get out again. "You can't say anything."

"How can I not say anything? It's Chase's baby!"

"Just give me a few days to work out what I'm going to do. I don't know what'll happen. I'm making this up as I go along, and I've had about three minutes to even think about it. I'm not exactly sane right now."

"I cannot keep this from Liam, and he probably can't keep it from Chase."

"Please, Lorelei." I hear the pleading in my voice, and I'm ashamed. "You can't tell Liam because I need to tell Chase myself. Wouldn't you want to be the one to tell Liam you were pregnant?" My body heaves with another sob as I wipe the snot away from my nose.

She bites her lip before quietly going into my adjoining bedroom and pulling my blanket off my bed. She drapes it around me and tucks it around my waist. The gesture is so maternal. I wish I could take this…thing and give it to her. She'd be much better at it.

She refills my water glass and flushes the toilet for me like I'm a child. "Fine," she finally says. "But I know you, Kailee. You have to tell him. No pulling this thing where you avoid him and he never finds out, or he finds out twenty years from now when his kid shows up at his door."