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“I’ll be here whenever you roll through.”
“You’ll never date?” I ask but mentally, beg her not to answer.
Tapping her chin, she makes a nice show of thinking about it. “If I’m seeing someone, we would have to talk. I’m not a cheater.”
“Of course. The dreaded we ‘need to talk’ talk.”
“Exactly.” She nods.
Without another word, I kiss her forehead and turn to leave. At the door, I second guess leaving when I see tears in her eyes, I almost throw down my bags and say fuck it. Call the whole thing off.
“I’ll be coming back for you, Robin.”
She shrugs a sad shoulder, and something tells me she can’t speak. I know it’s become harder for me, so I know I can’t stay. Turning back, I reluctantly walk out the door, already anxious to return.
* * *
Robin
One week later
“There it is,”I say to no one as I move around the house.
I’ve opened all the windows, and the cool ocean breeze blows in as my Taylor Swift beats drift out. Over the last few days, I’ve done my best to keep busy. You know, not hyper-focus on missing a certain someone. So that’s why I’m dancing around, singing offkey and unpacking.
Truth be told, I don’t have a whole lot and the place is furnished, but I’ve been searching for this bag. It has my Kindle in it, and I’m tired of reading my smut on my phone because it drains my battery so fast, and it always falls on that last bar just when things start getting spicy.
After the incredible night with Soren, I’m in dire need of a good book boyfriend to help me get over him.
My happiness climbs when I spot my sticker-covered Paperwhite kindle. Funny how books do that, instantly put you in a good mood, but they do. And romance is my perfect escape since I’ve never actually had any in real life. That makes me think back to the other night again, and for a second, I almost retract the thought, but Soren wasn’t being romantic. He fucked me like a bull.
Grabbing it, I search through the rest of the backpack’s contents.
Lip gloss, a bottle opener, a sweatband from when I wrongly wore a Richard Simmons Halloween costume, and my birth control. Wait… What?
Grabbing the small blue compact, I try to remember the last time I took one. It had to be last week before I loaded the car and drove down here.
Suddenly, the room spins and my hand flies to my stomach. I feel fine, but we’d been drinking wine, and I’m almost positive Soren never put on a condom.
Oh shit fuck. No. Holy complication, Batman.
If it’s only been a week, I can’t take a test and get an accurate result. My knees begin to jump with anxiety. The realization I might be pregnant with my brother’s best friend slowly sets in. I shouldn’t even think about it. I’ll just wait it out and take a test…but that’s easier to say than do.
Already, my mind is spinning. How can I get ahold of Soren? What will he say?
As much as it sends acid to my stomach, I don’t think he’d be happy. Milo definitely won’t be, and he’ll probably declare war when he finds out it’s Soren, who isn’t even here to defend himself.
My big brother will go apeshit. Tell me how disappointed he is in me. Ouch, it burns already. This little town is more gossipy than Sycamore Mountain. I’ll have all the tongues wagging when they find out I’m knocked up with no baby daddy. Will they all label me a harlot? Does the older generation still do that? I hope not, but I can handle it.
This was suppose to be my do-over. I escaped the small town for beach life. I’m jobless, living at my folks’ vacation house, living off the money I got after selling Pour Decisions. I am far from mom material, and yet with the spark of a possibilities, I realize I really want it.
That’s crazy. I can’t. I’m not even good at taking care of myself. Truth is, I only sustain my own life with fast food and ramen noodles. I didn’t go to college, and I’m not really talented or particularly good at anything.
With that thought, my anxiety is back, banging on the door.
“Hey, girl, hey, you can’t do this.”
Turns out my inner self is a real cunt-waffle.
