Chapter 19

R aleigh and I chose to meet for brunch, which I appreciate. I'm hopeful the discussion of my unplanned pregnancy will be less daunting if it's done over expensive avocado toast. I anticipated our introduction being awkward, but Raleigh has a welcoming nature that makes me feel like I belong. Maybe it's her positive vibes or the slight southern accent. Regardless, she's one of those people you trust almost instantly.

"What are you getting to drink?" she asks. "I'd kick a door off its hinges to get to their orange juice."

"Orange juice? Really?"

"Girl, just get it. You'll thank me later."

I'm searching the menu for something that won't make my stomach queasy. Just reading eggs benedict makes me want to run for the door. They have lemon-blueberry muffins. Close enough. The ginger cakes from Sugar and Ice are the only thing keeping me alive these days.

"That's it?" she asks. "You're not hungry for anything else?"

"Everything else makes me nauseous."

"Got it. I'll get a muffin too." She sets her menu at the edge of the table.

"The last thing you probably want is the smell of eggs on the table."

The thought alone nearly makes me retch. Luckily, our booth is tucked into a little alcove and the smells of other people's food aren't as pungent as they were the other day during filming.

I drop my chin to my chest. "Oh my God, thank you so much for understanding. It's been a nightmare."

"When I was pregnant with Darby, the smell of raw chicken destroyed me. It's the worst."

I set my menu on top of hers and make small talk about the cute decor in the restaurant. The server comes around, and we order two glasses of orange juice and two lemon-blueberry muffins. The woman smiles and leaves with our menus.

"So," Raleigh says, "should we get into it?"

Here we go.

Once I start talking, it's like I can't stop. I tell her about everything: the failed tubal ligation, about not wanting to tell my job, about the hellish symptoms I've been going through in my first trimester—a word I've gotten used to over the last few days. Well, almost everything. I feel a little guilty omitting the minor detail that it's Sully's child, but I can't risk him finding out. Not until I know what I want to do and have a plan of action. All Raleigh knows is that the dad was a one-night stand. Technically, it was two nights, but that's not important anymore.

Once I finish my tell-all, our food arrives and she shares her experience with her first child, Arthur. She was twenty-two when she became pregnant with him. She tried to reach out to Barrett, the father, but due to some miscommunication, they didn't connect again until Arthur was almost five. It's heartbreaking to hear about the struggles she went through, but it has a happy ending. It's especially touching that throughout those five years, Barrett never gave up looking for Raleigh.

Then she goes into the ugly stuff. She doesn't sugarcoat the postpartum depression and anxiety. The expenses and daycare costs. I appreciate her transparency. Thankfully, I'm paid well by Vault Productions, and I've been good about saving money from my mother and grandmother when they both passed, which is how I was able to afford my house—and tubal ligation, which I feel I'm entitled to a refund for.

I take a sip of the orange juice. Goddamn, that's good . "What is this?"

"They fresh squeeze it and blend it until it's light and fluffy."

"It tastes like a cloud." I didn't know orange juice could taste like this. "Why do we even bother drinking it any other way?" Best of all, it doesn't make me nauseous. Another safety food!

"Ugh, I know." She takes a sip of hers. "So fucking good."

I peel at the wrapper on my muffin. Nervous to take a bite and have it want to come right back up again.

"I'm going to ask the big question: do you want to keep the baby?" She pauses. "Saying no is just as valid as saying yes."

"That's the weird thing. I do… but I don't know why. There's no reason for me to keep this baby. I never expected to be able to have children. I always figured I would adopt someday down the road if I wanted to be a mother. The genes I'm passing down to my baby… it scares the hell out of me, but selfishly, I still want it. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Of course not."

I drop my face into my palms. "I wish I didn't want it. But I do. It's so fucked up, Raleigh." I pull my hands down, and her sympathetic eyes are brimming.

"It's not fucked up. Feelings are weird. Motherhood is weird. It's not the first time you'll feel conflicted like that. Just know it's okay to experience those feelings fully. Don't guilt yourself over emotions."

I nod, returning to my muffin and tearing off a morsel to eat.

Silence falls between us, and I stare at a woman from another table who's out with her girlfriends. She's rocking a baby carrier at her feet with one foot while she chats with the rest of the table.

"Is it worth it?" I ask, glancing at the sleeping baby inside the carrier.

"For me it was. But that's something every parent has to answer for themselves. Considering you're already worried about your baby shows you want to protect it. That says a lot. You've got a great job, you're strong, and from what I can tell, you're an awesome human, so I think you'll make an awesome mom too. There are great things about motherhood. There are also shitty things, but you'll become stronger than you ever knew you could be. It's okay to do it on your own." She clears her throat. "But…"

"But?"

"But I think you need to tell the father. Try to reach him. He deserves to know either way."

I nod and nibble on another piece of muffin. The last bite stayed down. "I know—and I will. I just need time to figure out how."

"Good. Now… are there any questions you have?"

I laugh and open up the Notes app on my phone. I've got a million questions, and thankfully, Raleigh's an open book. I ask every question I could think of regarding pregnancy and newborns and parenting. Motherhood sounds really fucking hard, especially since I won't have support from family. It's just me. I'm only twenty-three. I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it, but I want to try. I'll find the strength to persevere. Like I've always done.

We say our goodbyes after breakfast is over and part ways, promising to stay in touch. I take the long way home and stop at Lake Harriet. Wrapping my scarf around my neck, I get out of the car and walk the vacant path that circles the lake. In the summer, this place is filled with people jogging, rollerblading, or biking. However, the blustery November weather has all but turned this walkway into a ghost town.

The water on the lake appears thick and sluggish, a telltale sign it will freeze over any day now. Most of the leaves have fallen and blown away, but every so often, a crispy brown remainder scrapes across the path like a lost tumbleweed.

This is stick season. Where life hides underground or nests indoors, waiting for the harsh winter to pass. Maybe that's where I'm at in my life. I'm in my stick season, a period of transition. It will get colder. The days will feel neverending, filled with darkness and air so bitter it bites at my skin. I'll forget the sensation of sunshine on my face. I'll question why I live in such awful conditions.

But… spring always comes. When the ground thaws and vibrant green life sprouts from the brown sticks and dirt, it will be so beautiful and such a welcome sight that the dark days will have been worth it.

It's worth it.

I lie in bed that night with a spice cake and a frothy orange juice—compliments of myself after buying ten pounds of oranges and a new juicer. After firing up my laptop, I login into Pinterest. This is what the moms do, right? I type pregnancy into the search bar, and my screen is flooded with pastel colors and links to every list you could think of. Ten affirmations for your first trimester. Ten foods you should stop eating. Ten pregnancy essentials. Top ten safest car seats.

I start with affirmations.

#10. M y morning sickness is the overwhelming emotions of happiness my baby has because I'm their mother.

I stare at the words for a while, then read it again and stare some more.

My morning sickness is the overwhelming emotions of happiness my baby has because I'm their mother…

That's the dumbest thing I've ever read. "Seriously, who writes this stuff? Is there a top ten list of total bullshit?" I shake my head and take another sip of my orange juice, muttering, "Get fucked so hard."

Losing all credibility for the remaining affirmations on that list, I exit the post and hide it so I never have to see it again.

Top ten baby names.

"I suppose it's time we upgrade your name. You can't be Cletus the Fetus forever. Or Cletith… if you're a girl. I mean, not that you have to choose between just two genders. You've got a lot of options these days, so you do you, boo."

My mind is blank trying to think of names I like. The only names that come to mind are those of my coworkers. That'd be weird.

"My mom's name was Bonnie. Maybe you could be Bo, for now at least." I look down at my stomach. That name brings a whole new level of comfort to me, like mom is with me in some way. This baby really is mine, which means it's also part of her. The notion warms my heart, enough for me to touch my belly, something I've been afraid to do until now. Pressing in, I feel the firm swollen bump. I do it again and smile.

"I promise I'll have my shit together by the time you arrive. Or at least as together as it can be. Everything will be okay… We're going to do this together. You and me, Bo."