17. Emily

17

EMILY

I slogged into my apartment, dripping wet from the three-block walk from the subway station in the rain. My shoes squished water out with each step, leaving puddles along the way. I felt frustrated that I hadn’t remembered my umbrella, but I’d been so preoccupied with Daniel and worrying about how to tell him I was pregnant that I hadn’t even checked the weather. There was no one to blame but myself.

I peeled my suit jacket off, dropping it on the door mat next to my shoes, then set my purse down. It, too, dripped from the shower it had gotten, but the contents inside were safe, protected by the leather from which it was made. I was cold, shivering, and hungry, but I needed to warm up first. After the long day of work, and the emotional weight of being pregnant, I knew I needed some alone time to unwind and relax. I decided that a hot shower would do the trick.

I undressed quickly, trying to ignore the chill in the air, and stepped into the shower. My wet clothes lay on the floor in a puddle I’d have to clean up later. Immediately, I felt the hot water cascading down my body, like sweet relief after a long day. I put my head under the water and began to wash my hair. The sound of rushing water was loud. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth ease my worries and wash away my weariness.

I let the shower run, my thoughts racing as I processed the events of the day and pondered the changes coming into my life. I felt the warmth of the water and the steam around me, and for a moment, I was lost in my own world.

Eventually, I opened my eyes and stepped out of the shower. I felt a wave of comfort, the steam still lingering around me like a hug. As I was drying off, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Soon, my body would change in miraculous ways, but I’d be unable to hide it. That made my gut clench as I remembered that I still had to tell Daniel. I got dressed, now feeling warm, at least.

I was famished. As I walked out to the kitchen, my stomach grumbled unpleasantly. I had been so preoccupied with my worries about being pregnant that I had forgotten to eat all day. Now, my body was demanding sustenance.

I walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Inside, a half-empty bottle of wine glinted in the dim light, beckoning me. I stared at it for a moment and then closed the door firmly. As much as I wanted to drown my troubles in a glass of wine, I knew that I had to be responsible and abstain while pregnant. And the fridge was nearly bare. It had been weeks since I grocery shopped, and the lack of lettuce, milk, and eggs was a clear sign that I was out of fresh things to eat.

The smell of my greasy leftover Chinese food was a pungent reminder of how long I'd gone without a home-cooked meal. I could already feel the healthy dinner I'd prepare in my head. My mouth watered at the prospect of a home-cooked meal with a glass of red wine, everything perfect and pure, but I managed to shut the fridge and move away.

I rummaged through the cupboards instead, eventually coming up with a few items to prepare a rudimentary meal. A handful of pitted olives, some stale crackers, a tomato, a hunk of cheese, and a jar of pickles were all I could find.

I laid out my ingredients on the counter and worked quickly to assemble a meal. Fried olives and cheese with tomato slices, served with crackers and pickles. It wasn't gourmet, but it would do.

As I ate, I kept thinking about what I would do if Daniel didn’t want to be a father. Could I support the baby financially? I was full of worries, and no matter how much I ate, the gnawing feeling in my stomach wouldn't go away. It was a cancer eating away at my mental stability. The food only served to numb the physical pain of hunger but did nothing to sate the beast that wanted to prey on my heart.

When I finished the meager meal, I tossed the leftovers out, including the leftover Chinese, and rinsed my plate. I’d do dishes later, but right now, all I wanted was to curl up on the sofa and watch a movie to get my mind off things. Being humiliated at work had really brought me down.

I collapsed on the couch and heard a knock just as I reached for the remote. No one in the city knew where I lived except Charlotte, Evelyn, and the lady from HR at work. It had to be Char, because Evelyn would have called me first. For a moment, I debated whether I wanted to open the door and have company, but the knocking grew louder, so I pried myself off the couch and tossed my wet hair, heading for the door.

I pulled the door open to reveal Charlotte. In one hand, she held a dripping umbrella, in the other a bag of cheeseburgers from McDonalds, and there was a bottle of wine tucked under her arm.

“Guess who’s here to rescue you from being alone after a shitty day?”

On any other day, her face would have been a welcome sight, but today I wasn’t feeling it. I stepped aside, mumbling, “Come on in.”

She brushed past me, leaving her umbrella by the door and heading toward the couch. The apartment was small—a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room. It was a dump, but it was my home. I didn't like the place, but I liked that it was mine. The living room furniture was the remnants of a fire sale, a stained brown leather sofa, a nicked coffee table, a chipped bookshelf. All of it was purchased with the little savings I had when I moved to Chicago.

Char plopped on the old sofa which I’d had cleaned professionally with some money I scrimped together from recycling aluminum cans. I hadn’t had time to do much else. The living room was painted in pale green and topped with brown shag carpeting. The window was covered over with yellowed shades, which ran down and blocked most of the light from getting in. That was well enough. If I couldn’t see out, then others couldn’t see in, and that was fine by me.

“You had a rough day, and I’m here to cheer you up.” Charlotte smacked the sofa, and I locked the door and joined her. She set the burgers and the wine on the table and picked up the remote. “How about a chick flick while you tell me about your day?”

I shrugged. “I was about to start watching Dirty Dancing .”

“ Dirty Dancing ? That’s your break-up movie. You told me things were okay with Dan.” She dived into the bag of cheeseburgers and pulled on out, dropping it on her lap. As she surfed channels with one hand, she unwrapped the burger with the other and took a huge bite. It looked to me like she was more interested in not being alone tonight than comforting me, but after such a crappy dinner, I didn’t care. I grabbed a burger and dug in too.

Our ritual of chick-flicks and wine would have to change, but even telling Charlotte about the baby seemed like a massive feat. So, I started with the small things. “I didn’t say things were fine. I said it’s another story and I’d bring that up later.”

Charlotte chewed loudly and nodded. “Go on,” she said with her mouth full. She set the burger on the wrapper sprawled on her lap and wiped her hands on her pants, then grabbed the wine bottle. She’d hit play on Dirty Dancing and the opening credits were rolling. “Oh, God,” she said after swallowing, “I forgot glasses.”

“I—" I started to protest, but she was on her feet, racing to the kitchen before I got the words out. I shrank back, nibbling the burger. I had a feeling the grease would make my stomach turn, but I ate it anyway. It was the best thing I’d eaten this week.

“Here,” she said, pouring a glass full of wine from the bottle and thrusting it toward me. I took it, but I set it on the table and ate more of the burger.

“Now, tell me what’s up.”

As she sat, the couch jostled. I felt a bit queasy and decided to take it easy on the burgers. “Well, today was bad because of the guys being rude, but…”

“But what?” She picked up my wine glass and put it in my hand again. “Drink. You’ll feel better.” She gulped her wine, eyeing me as I bit my lip and looked at the half-eaten burger in the wrapper on my knee. “Drink, Em. What’s wrong?”

I hesitated, my chest so constricted I thought I was having an asthma attack, and I didn’t have asthma. Telling my best friend I screwed up was probably harder than telling my own parents, mostly because I still cared what she thought.

“Why aren’t you drinking? You love this brand of wine.”

I looked up at her and sighed. “I can’t.”

“Why? Are you on something else? Medication? You are sick?”

“No, Char, I can’t drink with you because I’m pregnant.” I set the glass down, ready for the lecture.

“Shut up!” Her eyes grew wide, eyebrows so high they almost touched her hairline. “You’re serious? This isn’t a joke?”

I shrugged again. “Dead serious.”

She downed her full glass of wine and set it on the table, laying the cheeseburger next to it. “And he dumped you over that?” She clicked her tongue. “Girl, you can sue. You don't have to put up with this. That man has a responsibility to his?—”

“No!” I took a deep breath and huffed it out. “No, I’m not suing. And no, he didn’t dump me over it.”

“Then why did he dump you?” She looked confused, and I felt to blame for that. Every boy I’d ever gotten dumped by—which were very few—had left me in a downward spiral of watching Dirty Dancing on repeat for weeks. It was only natural for her to assume he dumped me based on my movie choice.

“He didn’t dump me, Char.”

“Why are you watching Dirty Dancing then?” Charlotte took my glass of wine and sipped it. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t going to partake.

The couch squeaked as I shifted my weight. I laid the burger on the table and curled my knees into my chest. “When I asked him about having a family, he said he didn’t see himself as a father.”

“Oh, my God, you haven’t told him? How long have you known?”

“A few weeks.” I felt tears welling up in my eyes as I squeezed my legs. With my chin firmly planted on my knee, I said, “I don’t know how to tell him. What if he’s angry? What if he thinks I’m out for his money, or that I did this on purpose? God, Char, I was so excited about finally meeting a man who was interested in me and with whom I am seriously compatible. I wasn’t thinking. We had sex so many times in his office and never used protection.”

“So you know it’s his?” She unfolded the wrapper on her burger and continued eating, chewing loudly.

“Yes, of course it’s his. I haven’t had sex with anyone else since I came to the city.” Tucking my head down, I let the tears fall. Daniel meant so much to me. I didn’t know how I’d do this without him. Sure, I could get a different job, make a living, support myself, but adding a baby to the mix would be difficult. How would I save enough money to pay the bills while I was off work for weeks on maternity leave? And how would I afford childcare I could trust?

“God, you need to tell him. Emily, this is no joke. You need proper prenatal care, screening… How are you going to afford that? Unless you have an?—”

“No. I’m not aborting my baby.” I gritted my teeth and looked up at her. It would be the first thing my parents demanded of me. I couldn’t believe my own best friend would suggest it.

“Okay,” she said, dropping the burger and holding her hands up defensively. “I’ll never say it again. I’m just telling you if you don’t tell him, you’re going to really struggle. Babies are expensive.”

“I know…” I mumbled, tucking my chin again. Babies cost a lot of money, but the cost wasn’t just financial. Having this baby might just cost me my relationship. But one thing was for certain. Even if Dan didn’t want the baby, I was keeping it. No one would change my mind about that.