“I mean,” I walk out of my bedroom, “it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“I spoke to you two days ago.” She’s the only one who knows I’m pregnant, and she’s been checking on me almost daily to make sure I’m okay. “And you still had no leads on who he could be?”
“Well.” I look at the clock on the stove and see I have about ten minutes to spare, so I head to the couch and lie down. “I sort of came face-to-face with him while on a call.” I fill her in on everything that happened.
“So you are on your way to tell him now?” she asks in a soft voice.
“Yeah,” I breathe out heavily. “I would never hide it from him. So I have to tell him, and regardless of what he says, I’m keeping the baby.”
“Hey, your body, your choice.” She tries to make me feel better. “You do it with or without him. You were fine doing it without him.”
“I was, but it was one thing when he didn’t know. Now he’s going to know and, well, if he doesn’t want anything to do with the baby, I’m going to be the one who has to tell him or her, ‘Your father left.’”
“You don’t have to tell them anything. Maybe they won’t even ask.” I laugh at her.
“How are they not going to ask when they go to school and see mommies and daddies?”
“How would I know? I haven’t been around children since I was one myself,” she retorts as the alarm rings.
“Okay, I have to get going.”
“You call me when you get done,” she urges, “and fuck that guy.” I laugh. “I’m starting to hate him as of now, unless I don’t have to. It’s easier to switch from hate to like than like to hate.”
“I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Good, don’t say anything. Have a nice talk and remember, you got this.”
“I got this,” I agree with her. “Talk to you later.” I hang up and feel like I’m going to be sick. This time, it isn’t my pregnancy, it’s nerves. I swallow down the lump that has been moving from the middle of my chest to my throat and look up at the ceiling of my bedroom. “It’s going to be okay.” I try to calm myself down. “What is the worst that can happen?” I get up. “He’s already gotten me pregnant, and, well, if I hadn’t seen him yesterday, I would never have told him. Now all I have to do is tell him I’m having his baby. Explain that I don’t want or need anything from him, and he can go on his merry way.”
I look down at my feet before getting up and heading out the front door. I look over at my neighbor, who is outside with his walker. “Hi, Mr. Welland.” I hold up my hand. “How you doing?”
“Could be better,” he says as he tries to pick up something on the ground.
I drop my bag and jog over the grass that separates our properties. “Here, let me help you.” I pick up the hose and hand it to him.
“Thank you, Collins.” His hands tremble a bit as he takes it from me. “Ruby loved her flowers,” he says to me softly. Ruby, his wife, died six months ago.
“She did.” I smile at him as he looks at the planters by the side of the driveway. “Do you need help watering them?”
He shakes his head, holding on to the walker with one hand and the hose with the other. “I’m going to be good now. You can go.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. You go and get to work.” He shoos me away. “Save people’s lives.”
“I’ll try,” I snort. I turn back and make my way over to my bag, picking it up and heading to the car. I open the door, and the heat assaults me right away. “Going to be a scorcher today.” I start the car before rolling down the windows. The radio blares loudly.
I reverse out of my driveway, taking one more look at Mr. Welland before making my way over to the bakery. With each passing minute, it feels like I’m going to yak in my car. Even pulling up on Main Street, I feel my hands becoming clammy. I park my car and put my head back for a split second before turning the car off and getting out.
My head is down as I walk past the other shops to the bakery. I spot two women who are about my mother’s age. They side-eye me as one of them holds on to her purse straps so tight that her knuckles turn white. As I pass, I hear part of the conversation: “. . . hides behind the uniform.” The other woman moves her purse from one side to the other, as if I would mug them in the middle of Main Street in full daylight.
I avoid even making eye contact with them as I feel the tightness in my stomach. I squeeze my hands together nervously. Not the first time that has happened, and it will not be the last.
I pull the door open and step in, the smell of sugar hitting me right in the face. The queasiness comes on in full force. “You better behave yourself,” I mumble to my body, looking around to see that all of the tables are empty but one. I recognize several of the people here, and I know they know who I am, even though most of them wouldn’t speak to me or nod hello if we passed on the street. This will be fine, I tell myself, hoping to believe it, as Everleigh comes out of the back room.
“Hey, Collins.” She smiles at me, and then I look over her shoulder to see her husband, Brock, coming out behind her.
“Hi,” I reply softly. I give Brock a friendly smile hello.
