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“You been reading all the romance novels at work again, haven’t you?” I teased.
“I always do,” she said proudly. “I was a romance fan before Bridgerton hit Netflix, baby.”
“I know you were. You’re the one who got me reading those. Despite the fact that my parents would say I was wasting my education reading that smut.”
“Excuse me? Human sexuality is healthy, and novels explore the full spectrum of human relationships, communication and our struggles both ethically and physically in the world,” she said hotly, “And smut written by men is called ‘literary fiction’ but if it’s penned by women, it’s just a trashy book.”
“I love you. Especially when you get your feminist on. I know you’re right, too, but I have this ingrained idea that I should be reading Dickens or something.”
“Dickens sold stories to magazines in serial form. They were the soap operas of their day. Populist and melodramatic and looked down on by scholars. Try again.”
“Okay,” I laughed, “you win. Romance novels rule. It’s just the kind in real life that’s a complete bitch. And gets you pregnant.”
“I can’t argue with that. Except, you know, I’ve successfully used birth control my entire adult life. But everyone’s different,” she smirked.
“Sure, brag about your unfertilized eggs, kick me while I’m down,” I said rolling my eyes.
“Hey, never throw shade at chicks who get knocked up in their thirties. It just means we were caught up in the moment with a scorching hot man who turned out to be really virile,” Trixie insisted, “Plus, in my case—”
“Yeah, we know. You were married,” I said. “So you win the unplanned pregnancy contest, I guess. I’ll be a single mother.” I sighed heavily.
“He’s not going to leave you to do this on your own,” Michelle said, “he’s not a deadbeat.”
“I didn’t say he was. I just don’t want to have this horrible, awkward situation where I’m working out a schedule and making sure he knows the kid has soccer practice at four and stuff. It’s so miserable to think about custody and dental bills and—”
“Okay, tell me the truth,” Michelle said. “When you found out you were pregnant, Trix, did you start worrying about dental bills immediately?”
“Yeah, totally the first thing on my mind,” she deadpanned. “You’re gonna be pregnant for a long time. Like you won’t believe how long it seems. You have time to figure this out. Just let yourself get through the panic first and the wanting to hide.”
“Why would she hide?” Michelle asked. “It’s not like she needs to wear the scarlet letter or something. She did nothing wrong. Anyone who judges her has to go through me first.”
“I love you,” I said, “both of you. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you guys.”
“We are here for you,” Trixie said. “You’re not in this alone.”
Still, after we hung up, it felt very much like I was alone. I curled up on my side, knees up protectively. I just sort of rocked back and forth, stunned, not knowing what to do. I’d never felt so stupid and helpless and wrong. I had done something reckless, had unprotected sex. With a guy I wasn’t in a relationship with, wasn’t serious about and who was definitely not into me. I had made a stupid choice for the hell of it, and it felt good at the time. But I felt like I had tempted fate, had been asking for the kind of consequences that last your whole life. Not that the baby was a punishment—the baby was just part of a situation I’d created that was a problem. I didn’t resent the baby or not want the baby. I just wished I’d done things differently, made a choice to not sleep with the arrogant ass who worked for me and left the bar with random blonde bimbos. I could’ve kept my damn panties on and not had to worry about this. Because now I was worried about literally everything. Finances, where to live, childcare, if it was better to take off before I was showing and never come back or to raise the baby in the town where its father lived. That way they could have a relationship and I could also witness firsthand whatever delicate blonde he screwed while my kid spent the weekend at his house and played step-mommy with her. I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep from crying. I felt so incredibly sorry for myself, and I had no one to blame but me.
21
Noah
It was too damn early for that phone to be ringing. I opened my eyes just a slit and saw that it was still dark outside. I had time to sleep. If this was a telemarketer calling about my car warranty, I was going to blister their ears with some cussing. I blinked at the clock. It was two fifteen in the morning. The phone kept ringing. I groaned and picked it up to look at the display.
