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“Find out his record company or who the band’s management is. Then you call and leave messages. If you have to tell them you’re pregnant, do it.”
“Why is all this awful stuff happening to me?” I asked, using a tissue to dab my eyes. I’d cried so much tonight I didn’t know how there were any tears left.
“Sometimes God, the universe, fate—whatever force you believe in—has plans we can’t possibly know about until later.”
“Was it God’s plan for you to be alone after Jeremy died?” I asked softly, referring to her late husband.
“I don’t know,” she said, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “But maybe if he’d lived, and we’d had kids of our own, I wouldn’t have been in a place where I could have taken care of you when your mom died. Maybe helping raise you was what I was supposed to do instead.”
“I’d be grumpy about that if I were you,” I sniffled. “Trading the man you loved for a hormonal teenager.”
She chuckled. “There was no trade. Jeremy was going to die that day regardless. You weren’t even born yet. And no matter how much I miss him, I wouldn’t trade the relationship I have with you for anything.”
I got weepy all over again. “I love you, Aunt Meg.”
“I love you too. And whatever you decide about this baby, I’ll always have your back. If you keep it and Zeke doesn’t want to be in its life, then we’ll figure it out. Just like we always do.”
“Do you think it’s possible he’s really that heartless?” I whispered.
“I don’t know him, so it’s hard to say.”
Well, one way or another, we would find out because deep down, I already knew I was keeping this baby.
* * *
I’d left four messages for Zeke at his management company, and I hadn’t heard a peep from him. The woman who answered the phone had sighed heavily the last time I’d called, saying she’d pass on the message, but there hadn’t been a word. Part of me couldn’t believe he would be this callous, but one call per week over the course of four weeks meant he probably wanted nothing to do with me. Or his child.
I was due in mid-December and the morning sickness had been kicking my ass. I’d called out of work more in the last month than I had in the last four years total, and I had a bad feeling I was going to get fired if I did it again. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to carry big, heavy trays for much longer either, so I’d already started looking for something else. The issue was, who would hire someone who was already ten weeks pregnant?
Panic had set in, and I’d geared myself up to make the fifth call on Monday. I wouldn’t hang up until I talked to someone in charge. It seemed ridiculous that they wouldn’t even address the issue.
“Ms. Figueroa? This is Aurora Bentley. I’m Onyx Knight’s manager. I understand you’ve been calling repeatedly to reach Big Z.”
“Yes.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “We, uh, had an accident when we were together in March. I really need to talk to him.”
“Ms. Figueroa.” The way she said my name sounded like she was saying something vile.
As if I were vile.
And I was mortified.
“Do you know how many women call here trying to reach someone in the band?” she continued. “If we took every phone call to the band, they would never do anything else.”
“It’s not like I’m lying,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “He’ll know for sure in about six months.”
“Then, in about six months, when you’ve taken a DNA test and hired an attorney, have him or her contact us.”
“But—” I began.
“Please don’t call here again. Big Z isn’t interested in you. You know that night you spent with him was just sex, right?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
I was fully aware our night together hadn’t meant anything more to him than sex, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear it from a stranger.
“You’re that aspiring journalist from Minnesota, yes?” she continued when I didn’t say anything.
Oh, god.
