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26
CAMBRIA
Estelle asked me to stay a little later to help clean up the night before, so she made me a special dinner tonight to make up for it. She wanted me to make a request, and at first, I felt too awkward to ask her to make me something specific. Of course, she wouldn’t relent until I told her: mashed potatoes and steak, medium-rare.
We had a great time just talking about life for a little while. Of course, everything I told her aboutmylife was completely fabricated, but it was still fun to hear about the person she was in her youth.
Apparently, she used to be a traveling jazz singer with a band way back in the 70’s. I kept trying to imagine her as a wild, youthful woman, taking any and every man she could and grinding him to dust with her beauty and talent.
Throughout dinner, I found myself cradling my belly every now and then, just like the pregnant women I went to high school with. As soon as they get their little plus sign, they’re holding their belly in every single photo they take. I always thought it was weird, but now I think I understand. It’s come so effortlessly to me to want to hold my baby even before they’re here.
Estelle was able to help me find an apartment in the area, which she absolutely didn’t need to do for me. She’s already got so much going on with the restaurant, but she managed to pull a few strings for me and connected me with her nephew and his wife, who own a rental company.
It’s nothing fancy, certainly not as luxurious as the place I was living in back at Delirium, but it’s a roof over my head. The rent is cheap enough, too, even if there’s some water damage and a giant hole in my closet wall.
Even though I still have yet to find out how far along I am or even what gender my baby is, I’ve gotten busy with preparing my new place for the baby’s arrival. I’ve spent hours scrolling through the ideal items to have in a nursery as well as agonizing over whatnotto do.
I never thought that motherhood could be more overwhelming than just being a mom in general. Apparently, modern women have fights about which car seat is safest, what formula is best, and what schools are most optimal. You can’t just go with your gut and say fuck it like you could in years prior. There’s a playbook for everything, and yours could be absolutely dead wrong.
Aside from the hysteria about swaddling techniques and co-sleeping, I was able to find a few recommendations from new moms about which crib to buy. I have to assemble it myself, which puts a weight in my heart. I always thought I’d be putting together a baby’s bedroom with the man who gave me the baby.
Here I am, doing it alone.
The assembly of the crib is surprisingly simple as I learn how to decipher the wordless instructions. I’m feeling pretty confident about my ability to put it together myself when I hear my phone vibrate.
At first, I don’t pay it any mind. If it’s someone from the diner, I’d rather pretend I didn’t see their message than get roped into working for them.
Then another message comes through, and I grow more concerned.
What if it’s Abram?
I walk over to the phone on the other side of the room, awkwardly stepping over the partially-assembled pieces of the crib as they lie strewn about the floor.
I open the message, and I see it’s from an unknown number with a Chicago area code.
“I always liked you with longer hair.”
“Don’t act like you don't know who this is.”
My stomach sinks, but I ignore the messages, praying that it’s just a wrong number.
“I’m outside your window. I can see your blue shirt.”
My blood freezes in my veins as I look down at my blue shirt. I reactively spike my phone into the wall, screaming like a vengeful spirit has taken over my vocal cords.
There’s no way it isn’t Cole. How the hell did he find me?
I turn around and frantically run to the window, glancing around like a confused animal during fireworks on the fourth of July. He must be out there somewhere.
Then I see it.
Cole’s rusted-out, champagne-colored Buick sits in one of the empty spots along the front of the apartment building. I spot him in the front seat, his beady, soulless eyes staring right through me.
I quickly close the curtains, trying to hear myself formulate a plan of escape as my heart beats loudly in my ears. It doesn’t matter how he found me. All that matters is that he doesn’t get in.
If only it was as easy as calling the police. He was let out of prison on a technicality. It’s not like the cops can actually do something about that. He’s not actually committing any crimes other than being creepy.
Other than stalking. That’s a crime, right? Do I have to have a restraining order for it to be illegal?
Regardless, I don’t have time to call the police, nor do I have the ability. I just broke my phone against the wall, rendering it useless.
The only thing I can do now is load the handgun I bought when I first got here and pray Cole doesn’t have something more powerful. I’m allowed to shoot him if he comes through the front door. That’s self-defense.
But it isn’t just myself that I’m defending as I pull back the slide on my gun and position myself in the hallway. It’s my baby, too, and I have no qualms shooting a man who threatens us.
