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“Your promises mean nothing to me!” I hiss again, my eyes shooting flames. “And to think that I loved you when you’re nothing but a cheat and a liar!”
Sam stands in front of me, unmoving and unspeaking. There’s a deep look of regret on his face, but I don’t care. What the hell? He can stew in his own shit because I want no part of this. Without another word, I turn and stalk away, not looking over my shoulder until I’m back in my bedroom. Then I slam the door for emphasis, but there’s no sound from downstairs. Fuck him.
But what am I going to do now? I’m pregnant with a child by a man who basically tricked me. Who does that? My entire life has come crashing down and suddenly, I realize I don’t know anything anymore.
12
Harlow
“I’m sorry it’s so cold in here. The stupid windows are single pane,” Ramona apologizes while handing me a cup of warm tea. I take it, and look up at her gratefully.
“Thanks, girl,” I murmur quietly. “I appreciate it so much.”
She throws me an encouraging smile.
“It’s chamomile and honey,” she tells me. “So there’s no caffeine or anything.”
I nod, blowing on the hot liquid as steam whirls around, and then let out a sigh. It’s been a little over a week since the fight with Sam, and I haven’t seen him since then because I moved out of the townhouse. I know that I literally own the building, but I couldn’t spend another night there. As a result, I showed up at Ramona’s place, and she opened both her heart and her home to me.
I glance around her rather run-down apartment. It’s a very small one bedroom, with dirty windows and cracked window panes. The furniture is rickety, and the neighborhood at night can be loud. But despite these structural issues, it’s clear that Ramona takes care of her home, and the apartment’s welcoming and homey despite its obvious faults. The floors and counters are immaculately clean, and my buddy’s painted the walls a cheery yellow, and decorated with matching throw-pillows and airy white curtains. Ramona also happens to be quite the cook, so there’s always something delicious-smelling wafting from the oven.
“Muffins coming right up,” she pipes cheerfully.
“Yum,” I say. “Cranberry ones?”
“Yep,” she burbles, peering into the oven. “With just a hint of orange too, so I hope your pregnant self enjoys them.”
I laugh.
“The baby will love them, I’m sure.”
But then, my eyes well up with tears out of nowhere. This has been a problem lately because I’ve been uber-emotional and prone to wild fits of crying at the most inopportune times. I look at my friend pathetically as my lower lip trembles. “What am I going to do, Ramona?” I ask in a quiet voice. “I’m still so scared.”
Like the sweet person that she is, Ramona immediately sits down next to me on the worn couch and pulls me into a firm hug. “You’re going to take a minute and breathe, and then we’re going to sort through this all,” she says in a firm voice.
I nod, sniffling against the shoulder of her scratchy wool sweater.
“Thanks. And thanks for going back to my place to grab some clothes for me,” I whisper. “I couldn’t stand to go back to the townhouse, especially because I don’t know ifhe’sthere or not.”
Ramona nods. “I didn’t see Sam, but it was the middle of the day, so he was probably at work,” she says in a reasonable voice. But then she pats my leg and pulls back. “Wait a minute, you’re freezing, Har. Here, let me get you a blanket.”
My buddy darts off the couch and grabs a thick, crocheted afghan from a large basket on the floor before returning and spreading it over my form.
“There! My mom makes these and sent me a pile of them. She’s always crocheting, so I’ll get afghans even in the middle of summer,” she says, rolling her eyes. But I can hear the affection she has for her mom just from the sound of her voice and nod with appreciation as she wraps the plush blanket around my legs before tucking it beneath me. “There, snug as a bug in a rug.” Then, my buddy grins, grabs her own tea off the coffee table, and sits down once more.
“I think you’d be a good mother,” I say in a soft voice. “Thank you again for letting me stay.”
My friend nods, her long dark curls falling around her face with the movement. “Of course, Har. But you’re going to be a wonderful mother too, you know.”
My expression falls. “Maybe,” I say in a sad, defeated voice.
Ramona rubs my arm softly. Then she changes tactics. “So how are you feeling? Is the baby doing somersaults today?”
I smile at that.
“Yeah, they’re okay. Honestly, I’ve just been so schizo lately. Some days, I want all of this to be over, to move on with my life and forget this chapter entirely. But other days, heck even within the next minute, I feel like I’ve already bonded with this kid, as crazy as that sounds.” I look down and notice that my hand is resting against my belly in a protective manner. “I mean, is it fair to bring a kid into a world like this? Where you have no father?”
Ramona frowns deeply. “I don’t know,” she says in a slow voice. “Lots of kids grow up without dads, and they seem okay. Look at Barack Obama.”
