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When she returned from the conference, I suspected she’d keep freezing me out. It didn’t sit right with me, after the time we’d spent together, the cease-fire with a side of steamy sex. We had to work together on this project whether she’d prefer to ghost me or not. I wouldn’t let anything jeopardize this community center. Not even her embarrassment over an office chair hookup in city hall. She was going to have to get over herself and be civil and professional. And if we kept our fling very secret, I wouldn’t mind sneaking around a little more.
22
Nicole
Holy cow.
I kept thinking that. Holy cow. Like I’d lost my ability to think in mature language. There was no, I feel overwhelmed and despondent about the consequences of my life choices. Not even a tacky but accurate, holy shit. Just a stunned exclamation about cows in my mind on a constant loop.
What on earth was I going to do?
The trip home had been pretty miserable, mostly because I was so freaked out. I was too old for an unplanned pregnancy. When that happens to a sixteen-year-old, people cluck their tongues but go, ‘oh she didn’t know any better. She’s just a teenager.’ Well I was no teenager. I was a thirty-two-year-old city planner who got knocked up having hate sex with my employee. That was a good one for the old resumé, I thought ruefully. Abuse of power. Sexual harassment. Impropriety and favoritism in awarding the bid to him—I hadn’t shown bias when I chose his construction firm, but it would be damn hard to prove that when I was gestating his embryo as we spoke. It looked bad. I mean, it was bad. Strictly speaking, from an objective standpoint, it was really bad. I was so screwed, and it was my own fault. I’d participated every step of the way, that was for sure. I’d paved the path to my own ruin. It was nauseating how badly things had turned out. Of course, everything was nauseating to me, since I was freaking pregnant. At thirty-two. By accident. Unmarried, unengaged, not even dating anyone. Shame bubbled up in my throat. Tears stung my eyes.
My parents—God, they would’ve been so ashamed of me. This wasn’t how they raised me. I was supposed to get my degree—several of them, in fact. I was going to change the face of southern small towns. I’d bring in community resources, tourism, combat the poverty and unemployment and attrition of young people with my environmentally friendly and socially responsible city planning strategies. Instead, I’d slutted around with a guy who drove a jacked-up pickup and didn’t even like me. I blushed to think of the things I’d done with him. How could something that had felt so incredible be so embarrassing when I thought about it now? I wanted to hide under a blanket. So as soon as I got home, I dumped most of what was in my suitcase in the washer and then sat on my couch, a blanket over my lap. I didn’t scroll through my phone or turn on the TV. I just sat there, numb and horrified by my situation. I blinked at the wall and didn’t find any helpful answers.
Everything seemed to tilt a little to one side in a queasy way, and I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. Probably all the stress hormones from finding out I was unexpectedly pregnant were keeping me awake even though I was beyond exhausted. I knew I should drink something and take a shower, brush my teeth. But I sat there, on and on, like I was completely stuck. I couldn’t make myself move, not even when the washer finished and I needed to load the dryer.
Who cares? I thought despondently. It won’t matter. I’ll still be pregnant by a man who doesn’t want me, whether my clothes get dry or not.
I sighed, but that made me feel even sicker. Slow, shallow, even breaths. There. I could do that. If I breathed really carefully, the waves of nausea slowed down and I could hold really still and let this feeling pass. Assuming that it would. Assuming that I wouldn’t have to spend the next eight months gagging and ready to weep with self-recrimination. That didn’t sound like too much fun. I also thought it sounded like what I deserved.
When I heard a knock at my door, I carefully turned my head in that direction. I couldn’t decide if it was worth getting up to answer the door. In the end, I dragged myself reluctantly off the couch and peered through my peephole where Michelle and Trixie stood looking back at me. I unlocked the door and opened it. They hadn’t even handed me the Gatorade Michelle was holding out to me when I burst into noisy tears.
