Chapter 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

Claudia

It’s a busy week, and this stomach bug is making me crazy. I wake up feeling like hell, and it eases as it gets later in the day, but then it’s back full force in the morning. On top of that, my period is late, and I’m starting to get a bad feeling. Although Anders and I religiously used condoms, I started to enjoy putting them on, and I have long, sharp fingernails. I never tore one that I noticed, but anything could have happened considering how frantic we were for each other some of the time.

I stop at the drug store on the way to work and buy a test.

It’s been a week since the symptoms started and I’m fucking terrified.

Pregnancy—a baby—is in no way part of my plans.

In fact, it’s the opposite of what I want right now.

I’m busy with work, falling in love, and about to start a huge project with a client that turned out to be a Fortune 500 company. Working with them will require full-time focus and commitment, not to mention travel and long hours.

I don’t have time to be pregnant.

I also know Anders won’t be happy about it.

Fuck-fuck-fuck.

I’m trying not to panic, but I can’t seem to help it.

I barely say hello to anyone when I get to the office, and immediately head to the restroom.

A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I take a few deep breaths.

We were always careful.

I’ve been planning to see my gynecologist to get on some kind of birth control, but I couldn’t get an appointment until December.

Now I regret accepting a date so far in the future.

I open the little plastic test and stare at it accusingly.

“You will not be positive,” I whisper. “Do you understand?”

Yeah, because this inanimate object is listening to me.

“Please-please-please,” I whisper as I do my business.

Peeing on a stick was not on this week’s bingo card. Hell, it’s not even on this year’s bingo card.

Negative.

It has to be negative.

And the more times I put that out into the universe, the more I start to believe it.

I’ve been under a lot of stress and working crazy hours.

I miss my boyfriend and spend a lot of time talking to him at night instead of sleeping.

I’ve been spending so much time at the office, I’ve been eating out more, which isn’t as healthy as I normally eat.

All of these things could be factors, and I try to breathe as I wait for the results.

This is excruciating.

A million thoughts run through my head as I wait. I wash my hands twice and look at the timer on my phone.

Another twenty seconds to go.

There is no way in hell I can have a baby.

But what if there is a baby?

Could I terminate a pregnancy when it’s Anders’ baby? I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but fear is making me a little irrational. Other than the death of someone I care about, this is the worst possible thing that could happen to me. And my gut tells me my fear is warranted.

My period is never late.

Never .

My funny tummy has lasted a week, which is more than any type of stomach flu should last.

I take a shaky breath and look down at the test.

No-no-no.

Tears sting my eyelids.

It’s fucking positive.

Two pink lines.

Positive-as-fuck.

No, please, no.

I cover my mouth with my hand and fight back a bout of tears.

This is bad.

So, so bad.

Anders is going to freak right out.

I’m freaking out.

I can’t breathe.

I need air.

I wrap the test in multiple layers of paper towels and toss it in the garbage before grabbing my things and hurrying to Randy’s office.

“Hey.” I’m breathless and trying not to hyperventilate.

“Everything okay?” He looks up with a concern on his face.

“I’m so sorry—I need a couple of hours off. My dad is having car troubles, and I’ve been using my mom’s car until I buy my own. Can I please take a few hours to help them out?”

“Of course.” He waves a hand. “At this point, you’ve probably got a good fifty hours of comp time banked. Take the day. You’ve been working like crazy.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” I stop myself. I want to say I don’t need the whole day off, but I do. I’m about to lose my shit and I can’t do it here. “You know what? Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I turn and practically run out of the building.

By the time I get to my car I’m sweating and feel like I’m going to puke.

It’s a cold November day, but I turn on the AC in the car anyway, letting it blow on my face.

I’m pregnant.

Anders and I are having a baby that neither of us want.

How am I going to tell him?

Then a thought hits me.

Will he think I did it on purpose? Like his ex did? I’ve been clingy and a little insecure since we’ve been apart, and this will look like I’m trying to… what? We already have plans to see each other at Thanksgiving and Christmas, go away together in February. We’ve been making plans for the future, so would he really believe I did this on purpose?

My thoughts are a kaleidoscope of frenetic words and images and emotions.

All I can think of is that I’m going to lose my job, my security, my boyfriend, everything I’ve worked towards since I graduated from high school.

It takes me a few minutes to calm down, and with the AC still blasting me in the face, I pull out of the parking lot and drive. I’m usually calm when I drive, so I get on the highway and go north. I’m not heading toward anything in particular; I just need to think. Work on my breathing. Try to wrap my head around this unexpected—and unwanted—development in my life.

A baby.

A fucking baby.

I don’t want to be a mom yet.

I don’t have time to be a mom.

Mostly, I don’t have time to be pregnant.

And Anders is going to be so upset with me.

He was clear that he didn’t want kids any time soon.

We had a plan.

How did I fuck up my first relationship so badly?

This isn’t the kind of fuck-up where you cut your losses and convince yourself you’re better off without the guy. Because I won’t be. If he leaves me, I’ll be devastated.

Except he won’t leave me.

He’ll want to marry me. Do the right thing. Live up to his responsibilities.

He’d been planning to take care of the baby with his ex, even though he hadn’t wanted to be with her, but it’s different with me. He knows he’s basically my first everything, so he’ll do what needs to be done. And probably end up hating me.

I can’t do that to him.

I refuse to be like his ex.

I love him too much.

If I’m going to have this baby—and despite how upset I am, I’m already positive I can’t get rid of it—I refuse to force him to do anything.

After it’s born, I’ll get a paternity test and have an attorney draw up papers giving him options. He can be a part of the baby’s life, or he can sign away his rights. Either way, I’ll be okay. My parents will help me. I know this. I have a good job. Maternity leave will be inconvenient, but I plan to make myself invaluable to them. And even if they fire me, with my advanced degree, I’m highly employable.

I realize I’m spinning out again, overthinking every detail before I’ve even had a chance to digest the information, but that’s how I do things. I’m not the type who’ll wait around for a few weeks to let things settle. I need to have a plan immediately.

The only kink in my hurried-and-unorganized-planning is what to do about Anders.

If I tell him I’m pregnant, he’s going to want to talk, make decisions, and probably move in together.

I want all of those things, but not because of a baby. If we’d already discussed moving in together, it might be different, but even then, I know he doesn’t want a baby right now.

God, this is a clusterfuck.

I don’t know what to do and I can’t tell anyone.

Not yet.

First thing I have to do is make an appointment with my gynecologist.

Then, depending on what happens, I have to cancel Thanksgiving with Anders.

And I’m not looking forward to either of those things.