Chapter 5

FIVE

2 WEEKS LATER

This cannot be happening. I grip my fingers curled in my lap, while my thumbnails scrape across each other, hoping I’ll wake up and this will be a dream. Or that my doctor will come through that door and tell me I was mistaken.

I shake my head, trying to banish the negative thoughts. I can’t think that way because if that test is positive, I never want my child to think they weren’t wanted. I know too painfully what that feels like.

The door opens and I sit up, trying to remain calm and steady on the outside, even though there’s a raging storm of whirling emotions happening inside me right now. Not to mention the insane nausea.

“Well, Lexi. Your urine test was positive, so the one you took at home definitely wasn’t a false positive.”

I took three, but I’m not about to confess that to her because I already feel a little panicked.

“We’ll do a blood draw today to check your HCG level, and if everything is normal then we can refer you to an OB-GYN.”

“So, I’m…” Say it. Say the words. “I’m really pregnant.”

The doctor nods and offers me a tender smile. “You’re really pregnant. I’m guessing this wasn’t planned…”

“No,” I confirm, my gaze dropping to the floor. “This definitely wasn’t planned. He wore a condom. I…I just don’t understand how this happened.”

She shrugs. “Condoms aren’t foolproof. They’re only 98% effective. There could’ve been a tear in the condom, or there are any number of causes for accidents to happen, even when you take preventive measures. Do you want to talk about your options?”

My gaze snaps to hers. “I’m keeping it.”

The words are out of my mouth without thinking. Maybe it’s stupid, but I can’t get rid of it. I’ll be a single mom if I have to, but it’ll haunt my nightmares if I don’t follow this through. My baby isn’t unwanted. Unplanned, yes. Unwanted, never.

I’m fortunate enough to be in a position where I can afford a child. I spend very little on myself, and I have a reliable job. The only thing truly terrifying about being pregnant is having to do everything on my own.

The doctor nods in understanding and then moves back toward the door. “Then once the nurse does your bloodwork, you’ll be free to go. I’ll get the referral to an OB-GYN sent off.”

“Thank you,” I say and wait for her to leave before I let my whole body sag on the table.

By the time I get out of there and back to my apartment, exhaustion and reality are hitting me hard.

I’m pregnant.

After my one and only one-night stand with a man who made me feel things he was never supposed to. And now I have to figure out what I’m going to do.

I place my hand on my still-flat belly, emotions bubbling up until my vision blurs and tears spill down my cheeks. I can admit that I’m scared—really scared—but I’m feeling something else too.

Hope.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I won’t be alone. I’m not alone. He or she is in there right now, and yeah, maybe it’s just a cluster of cells right now, but it’s mine.

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I cave and walk to my bedroom, opening the closet and digging out the small shoebox I keep hidden. It’s too painful to pull out very often, but every once in a while, I need to remember, as best I can, what it felt like to be loved.

I was only five when my adoptive parents died in a car accident. I barely remember them anymore, but sometimes I think I remember what it felt like to be loved unconditionally, like I was a gift instead of a burden or another mouth to feed, but it’s like a wisp of air so light you’re not really sure if you felt it or not.

I have one picture of them. The three of us are smiling at the camera, their arms wrapped around me, and we sit in front of a Christmas tree with bright, multicolored lights. It was our last Christmas together. I wish I could still remember their voices, their laughs. Sometimes I dream of her telling me bedtime stories and dropping a kiss to my forehead like I was precious. But so often those memories are shoved aside for all the painful moments that came after they were gone.

No one in their families wanted me—not that they had big families to begin with. Since there were no relatives willing to take me in, I was put in foster care and moved from one home to another pretty regularly. Some homes were better than others. Some were living nightmares.

Not a single one ever felt like home. There was no foster parent like you might see in the movies who believed in me. I came with a check, and that was more important than I was.

I wish my memories weren’t filled with those homes. I wish I could remember my adoptive parents more than all the horrible foster parents that came later. I wish I could understand why my birth parents didn’t want me. I don’t know how many times I’ve looked in the mirror, wondering if there’s something I can’t see that tells everyone else that I’m unlovable.

I place my hand back over my stomach as the tears fall silently down my cheeks, and I stare at the picture of the only two people in the world who ever loved me. This may not be how I planned for things to go, but I will love this baby so much. I never want him or her to know what it feels like to be unloved, unwanted, alone.

I lean back against my closet wall and close my eyes, trying to even my breathing as another bout of nausea sweeps through me. It’s always worse this time of day, and I’m glad I took the day off even though it’s often more work having a sub in my classroom than just pushing through and doing it myself. But that’s a problem for Monday.

Today I’m going to accept that my life is changing and it’s not a bad thing. Scary—terrifying—but not bad. I drop my head back against the wall, my hand resting on my belly protectively.

“I love you already,” I whisper, hoping my baby can feel how much I mean those words. “I’ll give you everything I can, okay? We’re a team, you and I.”

Even as the words leave my lips, I know they aren’t the whole truth. There’s one more person who deserves to know. Whether he wants to be involved or not is up to him, but he still deserves to know.

I have to tell Ty, which means going back to the apartment building I snuck out of six weeks ago and hoping he still remembers me.

The building seems more intimidating in the full light of day. The sun was barely starting to light up the sky when I snuck out a month and a half ago, but I’m sure this is the right place. I take a fortifying breath and then walk inside. The security guard/doorman is standing behind a small desk set to the right of the door and politely smiles at me.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“I’m here to speak with Ty. Is he available?”

His smile falls, and his look can only be described as a mix between disappointment and condescension. “He doesn’t have anyone on his list for today. You’ll need to come back another time when you’re on the list, if he wants to see you.”

It’s the way he enunciates the “if” that has my shoulders tightening. “Can you call up and ask him? It’s important that we talk.”

His gaze gets hard. “You need to leave. If you think you’re the first woman who’s come here trying to get something from that young man, you’re mistaken. I know your games, and you should be ashamed of yourself. Now, can you leave on your own, or do I need to forcibly remove you from the premises?”

The burning sensation of tears building behind my eyes is the first sign that his words hit their mark. My heart sinking to my stomach is the second. The third is the emotion which clogs my throat so completely I can’t even work up a reply. Before the tears have a chance to fall, I spin around on my toes and exit the way I entered. I make it half a block away before I duck into an alley just out of sight of passersby so I can get myself under control. The tears fall silently down my cheeks, and I brush them away as quickly as I can, but they’re relentless. I don’t know what to do. We never exchanged numbers. I don’t even know his last name.

I bang my head back against the wall and then close my eyes. I’m going to figure this out. I always do, and this time will be no different.

But I’m not going back there today. My emotions are too all over the place—thanks, hormones—and now that I know what I’m up against, I have a better idea of how I need to proceed next time.

I walk around the block to where I left my car, get in, and then place my hand back on my belly, centering myself and reminding myself that I’m a mom now. I have to be strong, and my baby deserves to know that I did everything in my power to tell their father about his or her existence.

Whether he wants to be involved or not.