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Clarissa
Flipping down my visor mirror, I apply one last coat of gloss and then tousle my hair for a little volume. I spent hours this morning picking out the perfect dress, before bronzing some of the morning sickness out of my complexion. Somewhat satisfied, I smooth my hand over my dress, caressing my bump.
“Here we go, Peanut. Do me a favor, and let me keep that granola parfait down. Okay? Just give me half an hour. But if you can swing it, a full day would be greatly appreciated.”
Nerves firing, I gather my purse and lock my car, darting my eyes around the parking lot before making my way toward the building.
The next twenty minutes will be life-altering. Mustering up my courage, I send up a last-minute prayer as I enter the school with a belly full of butterflies, the culprit responsible for this champagne buzz hard to pinpoint today.
And though some of the details are still fuzzy, I can’t credit the baby for all this nervous excitement. It’s a memory that has some of this anticipation thrumming. Those eyes, those lips, that night. It would’ve been hard to forget, even if I didn’t have a constant and growing daily reminder.
I’m romanticizing and have been for the last few days. While I’m sure it has a lot to do with the hormones, I can’t credit it all to the pregnancy. It’s the memory of him and the hours we spent—eyes locked, skin slick, hearts pounding. It was easily the hottest night of my life. But the truth is, no matter how often I fantasize about it, it was a no strings attached hook up.
Well, it was supposed to be, until the faulty condom listened to that feisty little sperm and staged a coup, which will result in his or her arrival in a little under five months. The first month I’d been oblivious, too caught up in the start of my career as a teacher. The next month, I’d spent in denial, though I’m not the type to avoid any situation. I take pride in the fact that I’m a planner, though my best friend, Parker, would say I’m an organizational freak, which I think is a plus considering my profession. But once I’d dealt with steps one and two—denial and shock—I decided confrontation could wait until I’d successfully completed my first trimester.
Before confrontation was acceptance and that’s when the wooing started, a sure sign that he or she takes after their father. Because I’m already in love.
With the baby, not the father.
No, when it comes to him, the reality is I’m mortified. But today, I decided to let hope reign. And my hope is that maybe we can get some of the spark back from that night, form a connection of some sort, even if it isn’t romantic, for the baby’s sake. At least that’s what I told myself this morning when I’d polished my body and painted my lips. It’s a real possibility that I’ve waited too long. Because here it is over four months into the pregnancy, and I haven’t worked up the courage to tell him yet. But that ends today. I know guys like him don’t often stay single, and if my memory serves me correctly, he was a rarity. The idea this news may ruin something personal for him sinks in as I guilt myself for waiting too long. I bat that worry away, determined to see this through.
“No matter what, we’ll be okay,” I murmur, running my fingers along my belly before gripping the glass door and pushing my way into the reception area.
“I’m here to see Troy Jenner. Can you tell me what classroom he’s in?”
The receptionist looks me over skeptically. “Are you on his emergency contact list?”
“I’m sorry?”
“That kind of information is only for those listed on his emergency contacts. Even so, I’d have to call him to the office.”
“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. Mr. Jenner is on staff here, correct?”
The woman snorts before taking a bite of her apple, speaking around a mouthful. “Troy Jenner, teaching here? Now that would be something.”
I physically jerk back, and she sees it.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Please God, no!
Swallowing, I unintentionally palm my stomach, and her eyes follow. Suspicions raised, she leans in for closer inspection.
“And who are you again?”
I haven’t said who I am in relation to Tro
y, and we both know it.
Think, Clarissa.
“I’m h-his stepsister.”
She doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t either. Because it’s a lie. A lie that could cost me everything.
“Ah,” she says skeptically. “Well, I’m really not supposed to, but,” she glances at my baby bump, “if this is an emergency?”
“I’m afraid it is,” I reply gravely. Her eyes fill with pity as my mind races back to that night at the bar.
“I just started teaching high school at Round Tree, first year.”
He grins before taking a sip of his beer. “What a coincidence, I’m in my fourth at Burns.”
From then on, it was all smiles, suggestive looks, followed by moans, grunts, and thrusts, inducing the best orgasm I’ve had in years. All of that bliss gave way to a hellacious morning after, though I had no regrets, until this very moment.
Because the man I’ve been fantasizing about is no man. Troy is a student. A high school student.
All of my hopes, along with any idiotic and romantic notions, disintegrate as I grip the counter to keep my knees from buckling.
I’d taken a half-day to deliver the news knowing this was my only way to get it to him. We didn’t exchange numbers, our clothes the only thing we’d swapped when re-dressing in his back seat. Ironically, this is a detail I could never forget. Throwing caution to the wind for just one night to get some much-needed vitamin D had led to an alcohol-induced pregnancy in the back seat of a vehicle.
And this is the cherry on top? I’d procreated with a fucking high school student?!
Reeling, I swallow back the bile climbing my throat as the receptionist summons Troy to the office.
I could walk out of this school right now, and he would be none the wiser. But the sin he’s committed, his blatant lie, has forever altered three lives, one of which he helped create. That can’t go unaddressed.
It’s too late to turn around. No part of this can be undone, and I’ll forever hate him for putting me and his unborn child in this position.
