Page 90 of The Voicemail

The silence is instant and terrible. I look at her to gauge her reaction, but she’s staring at me like I have three heads.

“Pregnant,” she repeats. “How long have you known?”

“About two weeks.”

Her mouth opens, then shuts. I wait for anger. It comes, but not the way I expect.

“That absolute menace,” she says, voice low.

“Maya.”

“No. I know this isn’t all his fault. I know pregnancy requires participation. I took health class. But I’m still very comfortable blaming him.”

Despite everything, I laugh. Then she starts crying.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers. “You were pregnant when they took you.”

I nod.

“Do you want it?” she asks.

No judgment. No push. Just Maya, making room for the answer to be ugly if it needs to be.

“I didn’t know for sure this morning,” I say. “But today, when I thought something terrible could happen, I wanted it more than anything.”

Her fingers tighten around mine. “Does Alex know?”

I look toward the door again. Maya follows my gaze.

“I haven’t told him.”

“Why?”

I rub my thumb over the blanket. My wrist aches with the movement, but I keep doing it anyway.

“Because if he knew before Bianchi was gone, I thought he’d lock every door between me and the outside world. I don’t want the baby to be a weakness people use against him.”

“It will be,” Maya says, because she’s my best friend and she loves me enough to be honest. “You will be, too. This won’t be a one-off thing. You’ll always be in danger.”

“I know.”

She leans closer. “Then tell him the truth. Set your boundaries. You are a human being who deserves to make her own choices. And you’ve helped create as much of this baby as he has. He doesn’t get to make all the decisions.”

“What if he doesn’t listen?”

“Then I’ll sneak you out of the country and we’ll live a fabulous life abroad.”

I giggle a little at the absurdity.

“I mean it. I love you. I love this baby. I don’t love the idea of you staying with Alex, but maybe he’ll grow on me. He seems to have grown on you.”

I wipe my face on the sleeve of Alex’s borrowed shirt.

“We aren’t anything defined,” I admit lamely. “We just happen to be two adults who made a baby together.”

“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight.”

“Good,” I say, yawning. “Because I’m so tired.”