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Marcus turns to face Haden with an arctic glare. “You’re not even helping her?”
“Back the fuck off. Let me deal with this shit,” Haden warns him.
I sit in silence, listening to the argument unfold before me. Like a strong force gravitating me toward my stomach, I rest my palms on top of the baby. Suddenly, the protector instinct kicks in, and I can no longer sit here and listen to what is being said about this tiny human growing inside me.
“Now the baby is ‘shit’?” As I raise my voice above the incessant noise, they both stop and turn to face me. I grab my purse and hop off the stool. I think about saying a few final words, but instead, I leave their apartment and the mess behind me.
Turning the corner amongst the other pedestrians, my phone vibrates, and I contemplate reading the text. Whoever it is can wait. Finding myself a small café a few blocks down the street, I order myself a tea and the most expensive chocolate cake that ever existed. It is a slice of heaven and exactly what I need at a moment when alcohol isn’t an option.
I try calling Vicky, but all the calls lead to voicemail, so then I call Gemma. We have a long chat about everything, and by the end, she reminds me again that she will always be there to help the baby and me, even suggesting I move to California.
After ending the call, I sit for a long time thinking about my options. In five months, I will have a baby to raise. Maybe moving to California isn’t such a bad idea. I need help despite having too much pride to ask for it, and I have to consider what future I want for my baby. Even though I love the city, it may not be the best place to settle down. A child needs a home, not a shoebox apartment, which is all I can afford at this moment.
In the midst of this train of thought, there is Jason to consider. It seems like common courtesy to tell him I am pregnant, but every time I attempt to type a message or even make that call, my body starts to dry heave. One goddamn problem at a time, and he is perhaps the least of my worries.
Back at home, I avoid reading that text and dive into some housework. Cranking up the music as loud as my neighbors will tolerate, I grab a bucket and some gloves to do some major scrubbing on my bathroom tiles. When I can practically see my reflection, I decide to take a long shower and climb into bed with a good book. I keep reading the same line over and over again, and I know that I have to read that text because it’s eating away at me.
Haden: I didn’t mean it. This is a lot.
The asshole wasn’t saying anything that I didn’t already know. Caught up in the heat of the moment, I am able to understand how overwhelming this is for him. The difference is that I have no choice but to accept my actions. This baby is growing inside of me, and every minute that ticks by, I am reminded of that.
Haden didn’t show up at work for two weeks. When I asked Mr. Sadler of his whereabouts, he simply informed me Haden has taken some personal time off. I didn’t question further, and our resident National Inquirer, Clive, told me he was in Maui at some surfing gig and scouting wedding locations with Eloise.
Seriously, what a fucking dick.
Marcus didn’t call me except for last Friday night when he was obviously drunk and asked if he could come over, so I could give him a blowjob. It was laughable, and a polite ‘no’ was all I could manage. He then proceeded to rant on and tell me that I’m a no-good bitch, and he could get better head elsewhere. That was my cue to disconnect the call, but not before he threw the apologies in and professed his love for me, again.
Talk about being a hormonal mess, and I mean Marcus, not me.
Project Fallen Baby is in my hands, so I spent time tying up all the loose ends. The author would be attending our yearly publisher’s event on Friday night. It will be a great chance for her to meet fellow authors and for us to let our hair down at a fully paid catered event. Too bad I couldn’t drink, though Clive will no doubt drink enough for the entire office.
My biggest dilemma is finding a dress to wear to the party since my belly now pops out, and my current wardrobe is no longer an option. Vicky offers to go shopping with me, but her voluptuous figure fits perfectly into every dress she tries on. I, on the other hand, give up shopping in the ‘normal’ women’s stores and hit up the maternity shop. I expected ugly frocks, so I am quite surprised when the shop assistant shows me some fabulous evening wear.
It doesn’t stop me from feeling sorry for myself, though.
“You’re silly. You haven’t put on a pound apart from this little stomach forming,” Vicky tries to reassure me, rubbing my belly while cooing at the baby.
“I feel like a beached whale.”
“You feel like a beached whale now? Wait until the end.”
“Thanks. So much to look forward to,” I answer back sarcastically.
“It’s all part of the experience, Pres,” she reminds me.
As the shop assistant bags the items, I lean into Vicky, whispering, “My breasts are huge, and my nipples… I can’t even begin to tell you what’s happening with them.”
Vicky raises her eyebrows, and the nipple-talk is put on hold until we leave the store.
Having found a black cocktail dress in a stretchy fabric, I am all set and ready to go. Most of the office will attend, and Vicky is certain on there being some eligible bachelors she can get her hands on.
The event is being held at a rooftop bar consisting of a small and intimate crowd. The view is sensational, the bright lights and city skyline surrounding us. Clive is terrified of heights. Standing beside me with a fierce grip on my arm, his face pales from the sheer terror of being thirty stories high.
“I’m scared I’ll shit my pants, Pres.”
“You won’t shit your pants, and you know why? Because they cost you a whole paycheck, and what would Gianni Versace say if he knew you shit in his ridiculously expensive pants?”
“Okay, you have a point. At least if there was some good eye candy here, then I could distract myself.” Clive shrivels his face in discontent as a not-so-attractive waiter walks by carrying some shrimp.
