27. Tilly

Chapter twenty-seven

Tilly

I 'm scrubbing a toilet, finding a sort of rhythm in the disgusting work. My mind tends to drift while I'm cleaning, often landing on Tommy—each wrinkle around his eyes, the way his hair sticks up at the back, and how he would tease me about nearly everything. I smile, flushing away the blue cleaner and standing to stretch my aching back from all the bending.

Moving into the main room, I sit on the bed and turn on the TV. For the last five weeks, I've taken over for the other maid, Selina, cleaning the motel rooms. Jemma has been a constant source of support, never prying into who or what I'm running from. It's been nice to have someone on my team. A person like Jemma, someone without a malicious bone in their body, is refreshing. One day, I hope to pay her back. It might not be to her exactly, but by showing the same kind of help to someone in need.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Jemma passes by my open door. "Oh, there you are. How's it going?"

"Good, just one room left," I say.

"Nice, but I was thinking…" That's never a good sign, and I cross my arms against my chest. "You should come out with us tonight. Kevin asked about you," she says. In this small town, it didn't take long for everyone to know about me—the newcomer. Jemma's done her best to include me in her social circle. Kevin is a nice enough guy, a little older and a single dad. Handsome, but I'm not at all interested.

I roll my eyes playfully. "Well, if Kevin asked."

Jemma grabs my arm, her enthusiasm infectious. "He's nice! Divorced, single dad, sexy."

"Then you date him," I say, waving a hand. I have no interest in dating anyone, maybe ever again. What I had with Tommy was too good, brief as it was.

Jemma's laughter fills the room, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. "No way. I'm not stepmom material, trust me." I can't help but smile; Jemma's interest in Kevin is obvious, even if she won't admit it. "Seriously, you work so hard and never do anything fun. Come out with us."

"Fine," I concede, and Jemma's excitement is immediate. She squeals with glee and claps her hands together, bracelets jangling on her wrists.

"Awesome. You still have that green dress? Wear that," she advises, then pauses at the door, turning back with a mischievous grin. "Actually, that top makes your boobs look huge. Maybe wear that. Kevin's a boob guy, if I remember right."

Looking down, I take in the sight. She's right; they do look bigger. "I think it's all the junk food you bring me, combined with no surfing. Not exactly proud of it."

Jemma just shrugs. "Flaunt it if you've got it, honey."

After she leaves, I stand, ready to strip the bed sheets and finish up my work for the day.

***

An hour later, back in my room, I toss my key into the bowl on the desk and collapse onto the stiff mattress, stretching out my back. Over the last month and a half, I've added my own touches to the room. No longer am I suffering with the motel's linens. Nope. Tilly Jacobs has purchased her own fluffy floral quilt and thousand-thread-count sheets. Lying down feels blissful, so I tuck a pillow under my head, thinking a quick cat nap won't hurt, especially since I have an hour to get ready. What feels like minutes later, I'm jolted awake by Jemma banging on my door. "Tilly! Bus is leaving!"

Sitting up, I yawn, feeling utterly drained, but I know Jemma won't take no for an answer. Dragging myself to the door, I open it. "Sorry, I fell asleep."

"Oof, you look like shit," Jemma doesn't mince words. Ever. Most of the time, I like it, but right now, it makes my nostrils flare.

"Gee, thanks," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No, seriously, are you feeling okay?" She's suddenly concerned, touching my forehead.

"Yeah, just tired." But as I say it, my stomach churns violently, and I'm sprinting to the bathroom.

Jemma's standing in the doorway as I lose everything I ate today down the drain. "Oh, Tilly..." Her voice is a mix of worry and sympathy.

Once my stomach's empty, I rinse my face with cold water, trying not to focus on the smell of vomit in the air. "Yeah, must've caught a stomach bug."

"No, honey. You're pregnant." I burst out laughing at her conclusion. She arches an eyebrow. "Laugh all you want, but I have an eye for these things."

"Uh, not to be all scientific, but don't you need to have sex to get pregnant?"

"So, you're a virgin then?"

"No, but it's been forever." Even as I say it, I'm doing the calculations in my head.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

I've been here for five weeks and haven't had a visit from the friendly neighborhood red devil. Stress maybe? But just as I think it, I remember something else. No protection that last time with Tommy. Oh, hell. No. Nope. No way. I feel all the blood leave my face and let myself slide to the floor. I can't focus on anything in the tiny, but very clean, bathroom. My mind has become a blank canvas as panic consumes me.

Jemma steps inside and stares down at me. "Alright. Forget drinks with Kevin. We're heading to the drugstore."

Thirty minutes later, I'm staring at the positive test stick, my mind numb with shock, Jemma's arm around my shoulder. "It'll be okay, Tilly. There are places you can go until you're on your feet."

I stand up, the reality of the situation crashing down. "No, Jemma. It won't be okay. I'm twenty-eight, with no driver's license, no car, no real job, and definitely no place to raise a kid."

"It's not ideal," she mutters, and the initial shock gives way to hysteria.

"And no dad? How the hell am I supposed to do this?!" I ask. The way she recoils from me with her jaw dropped, I must be foaming at the mouth.

Jemma begins, "Well, I hate to be the one to say it, but you could—"

I cut her off, my face losing whatever color it had left. "No, I couldn't!" The idea of what she's suggesting, to do that to Tommy's baby, it makes me sicker than when I was throwing up a half hour ago. It is not an option for me.

She raises her hands in surrender. "Okay, no judgment if you change your mind, but I won't bring it up again. Look, you have a job, sort of, and a roof over your head. That's a start."

I put both hands on my face and groan. Jemma's trying to be supportive, but all I want in that moment is to be alone with my thoughts. She sighs and shakes me a little bit. "And you know, there are places you can go—"

"Jemma, I really just want to watch TV and fall asleep." She's never given up trying to get me to use the resources she knows about. Maybe it's pride, but I just can't. I left of my own accord, I can work, and I'm not helpless. Those places, they are for people without any other option.

"Okay, honey." Getting up, she gives me another sympathetic look. "You'll be okay? I mean, mentally? I can stay if you want."

"Yeah, I just need to cry a bit and try to sleep," I assure her, forcing a smile despite the storm inside me.

"Alright then. Call me if that changes," she says, closing the door behind her.

The moment Jemma leaves, I grab my phone. Instead of calling Sam as I initially planned, I open my social media app. I made a fake profile and I'm not friends with Sam on it, but her profile is visible to the public. Probably something she did just so I could see her. I navigate to a specific photo that's been etched in my mind.

It's Sam in the hospital, cradling her newborn son, with Tommy sitting beside her, kissing her cheek, a beam of happiness across his face. I swipe to the next photo—Tommy holding the baby, his smile even wider, the joy unmistakable. The caption beneath reads 'Thomas Joshua,' including his weight and birthdate.

He looks happy. Happy without me. Without us. Because there is an us now. Me and his baby. The phone suddenly feels like a thousand pounds, and it must be on fire because it's burning in my hand. Now trembling, I chuck the phone across the room and yell out a loud, "Fuck!"

It's bad enough I missed the birth of TJ. All I got was the social media version. The one that all her old high school friends and great aunts got. People that barely give two shits about her. I didn't get to be there to witness her lose her shit on Greg when he ate a burger in the room while she was bent in half with intense contractions. Or when she threw her water bottle at the doctor for telling her she wasn't even remotely close to the end of the magical childbirth experience. Thirty-three hours of labor. God, she's a fucking hero.

I got the stories. I got the laughter afterward. And I got the guilt. Yes, my best friend, the sweetest little thing on the planet, is now mad at me. "You should have been here, Tilly," she said at the end of the phone call. I can still feel the deep cut that single sentence made. Because it's fucking true and its torture. But Tommy was there. He held that little bundle of joy. Fuck, she named the kid after him.

And here I am, alone, pining for him. That last time we were together, the thought of consequences like this had been so far from my mind. I'd been on the pill, but the chaos of finding my apartment destroyed, going to the tournament, then Tahoe must have led me to miss a few doses. Thankfully, I hadn't taken any pills since I left, and I haven't been drinking much—just a couple of beers every so often. I hope that won't affect the baby.

The baby. Could it be a girl? Or a boy? Whatever it is, it's a little piece of Tommy that's mine. A tiny version of him that I get to take care of; forever. Will the baby have his dirty blonde hair? That smirk Tommy gets on a little boy? Lord, that would be damn cute. And if it is a girl? God, I can only imagine. Teaching her to surf, or how to do a French braid. And all of a sudden, it doesn't seem as scary.

Sure, there's a lot to do and figure out, but hell, I've done harder things. Haven't I? Simply surviving my family is an accomplishment. Caring for a baby, I know it will be hard. But I'm fucking tough. Jemma was right, I have jobs and a place to live. Looking around the room, I can almost picture the crib in the corner.

I can do this. I have to do this. There's no other option. The tiny thing crowding my uterus doesn't have any options. They didn't ask to be born into chaos. And they won't be. I will not let that happen.

"Hey, buddy. I'm your momma," I whisper, tears streaming down my cheeks but my heart swelling with a newfound joy. "I'm gonna figure this out, okay?"

Turning on the TV, I scoot back against the pillows at the head of the bed but leave one hand over my belly button. This dingy motel room might be where I am now, but Jemma's right—it's a start. Even as I think it, a bout of loneliness rushes over me. It shouldn't have happened like this, but it did. I'll do whatever I need to, even if I have to do it alone in Kansas.

Hours later, I'm still in the same spot. My mind has been racing the entire time. But no new plans or answers have taken shape. Taking a deep breath, I finally muster the courage to dial Sam's number, using an app to block my caller ID. There's a tightness in my chest at the thought of not mentioning the baby—it's going to be incredibly hard. But more than anything, I need to hear my friend's voice.

"Hello?" Sam's voice comes through, a baby's cry echoing in the background. The sound twists my stomach, making my nerves fray at the thought of having one of those noisy things in my life soon. I quickly shove the thought aside, reminding myself I'm not going to bring up my own situation.

"Erm, hi, Sam."

"Oh, Tilly! How are you?" The baby's cries subside, and my heart begins to race.

"I'm okay. A little under the weather," I admit, keeping it vague.

"Yeah, there's a nasty bug going around here, too."

"So, how's the baby?" I venture, trying to sound casual. But inwardly I can't separate her baby with mine. If the situation was different, our kids would grow up together. That's something that I've always wanted but never thought was possible. Things can change so fast.

Sam launches into an enthusiastic update about her son, and my heart swells with affection for her happiness. Being a mother suits her. I always knew it would. She's always been so levelheaded and caring. If anyone deserves their happily ever after, it's her. Not like me. I don't get the guy and the house and the business. No. I get alone, cold, afraid, and knocked up. After she finishes, I clear my throat. "That's wonderful. I saw the pictures."

"He's so much bigger now. I swear he grows every day. But I've been so busy, I haven't had time to post anything new. Now that I know you're looking, I'll put a bunch up tonight."

"I'd like that," I respond, genuinely looking forward to it.

"So, how's the job?" she asks, shifting the conversation.

I dive into a story about a recent disaster a minor league baseball team caused in one of the motel rooms. They left it in ruins, complete with blood-stained sheets that utterly creeped me out. The team's manager even had the audacity to argue they shouldn't have to pay for the damages since the blood came from an injury. By the end of the confrontation, I threw the bloodied sheets at team's manager and told him to ‘suck it.' If Jemma wasn't my boss, and completely not on board with the nastiness of semi-pro athletes, I'd probably be back in a new rental car on the road by now. My original car was eventually dropped off four hours south. It took a full day to return it and grab a greyhound back, but I couldn't risk returning any closer. Talk about a hit to my bank account.

As our chuckles subside at the end of the story, my grip on the phone tightens. "And how's Tommy?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. Normally, I'm able to resist asking but with everything that's going on, it's impossible. I'm not even sure what I want to hear. Is he happy? Is he heartbroken? Is he—gulp—seeing someone? Any answer will hurt, but I have to know.

Sam's silence stretches. "I don't think I'm supposed to talk to you about Tommy. It's not fair to him. Why don't you call—"

"I can't, Sam." My voice cracks.

"Tilly, whatever your family has done, or will do, we're here."

I'm blinking away tears. "I can't do that to any of you, Sam. Especially not with TJ around."

"I love my son, Til, and I'll do anything to keep him safe. But I love you too. Come home, Tilly."

I press a hand to my forehead. "I can't. Not now. Not ever."

"That's not true. We can—fuck, Tilly, we don't do this. You didn't let me run! We stick together and protect each other. I hate that you're somewhere alone like this."

Yeah, me too, I nearly admit. My resolve is melting, and I know it's time to go. Any more begging and I might give in. Or at least beg her to visit me somewhere. I want to hold TJ, figure out if I'm made for this mom stuff but more than that, I want to see that little piece of Greg and Sam. To hold and kiss him, watch as he falls asleep. Sleeping babies are irresistible. Or at least anytime I've seen them. I think I've held a baby exactly three times in my life and all for very short periods of time.

"I just... I wanted to call and check in. You sound happy, Sam. I wish I could be there."

"You can." But I'm shaking my head, even though she can't see me. This call isn't making me feel any better. The ache of missing Sam is a physical pain in my stomach.

And Sam won't tell me about Tommy.

"I love you, Sam. I'll call again soon." I hang up before she can respond, a mix of sorrow and unresolved longing heavy in my heart.