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Buzz, buzz.
Jesus, what does Kiwi want now? He left an hour ago, and Mags is at work. I shift onto all fours and crawl over. Before I can take the device, the screen lights up with the repeat notification, and my stomach drops. My arms give out, and I plop onto the bed, followed by jerking back up. The last thing I want is to pancake my baby.
I programmed his name in just because. I never gave him my number, though. In slow motion, I reach out and pick up my phone. Swiping, I hold my breath.
Wes: Hi.
Wes: U there?
My heart is pounding in my chest, and the flutter in my stomach could be anything from happiness (he's reaching out) to dread (he's finally going to tell you he never wants to see you or your baby again) to heartburn.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I don't know what to do. I type and erase the two words three times because I misspell at least one letter.
Me: I'm here.
The bubble pops up immediately.
Wes: Hi.
He said that already.
Me: Hi.
Nothing happens for two minutes, and the flutter in my stomach turns into a black hole. I place my hand over Nugget and rub circles. My phone goes dark, and I press my lips together to prevent them from trembling. I'm about to place it to the side when it buzzes in my hand. I don't think I've ever opened a message this fast.
Wes: How are you feeling? Is the baby okay?
"Your daddy is asking about you," I whisper to my belly. I don't want to get too excited, but the relief has me sagging against my pillows.
Me: We're good. Though, she doesn't like to sleep when I want to sleep.
I hit send and then realize my error. Shit.
Instead of another text, his face lights up the screen. He's calling—double shit. I had downloaded a picture of him from Kai's social media profile since Kai's is set to public. It is an old photo because, after I left, none of his friends shared one with Wes in it.
I swallow and answer the call. I can do this. I might throw up in the process, but I can do this.
"Hi." I hate how weak my voice sounds.
"I'm having a daughter?" His tone is equally low, but the awe and shock are coming through the speaker in waves.
"Yes." I haven't been this terrified since walking into The Pole that night.
Silence. Then, "Is she healthy?" I swear his tone cracks, and the stuffed animal I'm holding becomes blurry.
"She's perfect." I sniff and wipe under my nose.
I sit there, listening to his breathing on the other end, and watch the numbers on my alarm clock tick by.
"I want to—"
"I'm sor—" We both start at the same time and then laugh.
"You first," I blurt out.
"I, um… I want to be in her life." He speaks slowly, and when his words sink in, it's like he's stabbed me in the heart.
Her life. Not yours. Not both of yours. Hers. I close my eyes.
