Unexpecting (Unexpecting #1)

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Some pregnant women are plagued with morning sickness. It is said that nausea can be looked upon as a sign the fetus is developing normally.”

A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

T hat happened Sunday night, so the week didn’t start off too well. It never got any better either.

I paid a visit to my doctor, who, after a blood test, confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. This precluded a whole panic attack, which would have led to some serious crying and then a lot of laughter because I’m so messed up. Anyway, Dr. Dennis told me I was due on or around February 16. She set up an appointment for me with an obstetrician for the first week in September. Of course, as soon as she gave me the date, I couldn’t help but start to get teary-eyed, thinking it would be a few days after Brit’s wedding. I wondered if Brit would be happy for me by then.

I’m going to have a baby. I wonder if he or she will look like J.B.?

J.B., who is the father of my baby; who doesn’t want to be the father—and I’m sitting around wondering if the kid will look like him? J.B., who has been avoiding me so much this week that he couldn’t even bring himself to enjoy Cooper’s breakfasts on the weekend, preferring to head out early to bike or play soccer or some equally testosterone-fuelled activity .

Things didn’t seem to be any better the next Monday either, when I woke up with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I went to work. Once again, my day only went downhill from there.

There was a jumper on the subway line, so I was half an hour late to open the store. I’d decided to take a few extra shifts at the store each week. No summer vacation for me this year—I had to start planning for another mouth to feed come next year.

Being late wasn’t the end of the world, since there’s usually not a lineup to buy wine before ten o’clock in the morning, but it still didn’t look good and it always starts my day off wrong. It also irritated me that some selfish person decided to take his life by jumping in front of a subway car during rush hour, which not only ended his life but screwed up the lives of several thousand people as well. Talk about inconsiderate. So I was not a happy camper when I finally unlocked the door to the store.

The day got a bit better as the morning wore on, but I was still forcing myself to smile. And I still felt gross, sort of like I was hungover, but without having had a drink, which was totally unfair. I kept telling myself I must be getting the flu. I was still on my own—Hannah doesn’t come in until twelve o’clock—and I was ringing up two bottles of Inniskillen Riesling for a nineteen-year-old (she was actually happy to be carded), when I heard the door chime ring. I looked up with my welcoming smile—like I always do, even when I’m feeling like crap—and saw my mother walk in.

″Hello, Casey.” Today Terri was dressed in a tasteful pantsuit. Tasteful for her, which meant she was not wearing anything under the jacket and was showing a little too much crêpey cleavage for my liking.

″Hello.” I wondered why my mother never gives notice before she comes by. Never phones, never e-mails her intention. She always drops by Libby’s unannounced, when she knows Libby absolutely hates people doing that because it never gives her a chance to tidy up. Look at what happened at Cooper’s party. I wonder if she thinks we’ll avoid her if we know she’s coming. I wonder how many times she stops by my place without me knowing she’s come by.

I finished with the customer and sent him away with a smile. Terri looked around the quiet store before teetering over to me behind the counter in her red stilettos. They were nice shoes, if you’re into shoes. A little tacky, but that’s Terri for you.

I was about to comment on them—the nice part, not the tacky—when Terri started in on me. The whole three-name thing .

″Casey Louise Samms, I need to know how I could have raised you to be able to show such little regard for me so that you wouldn’t even have the decency to call and tell me you’re pregnant. I have to find out from your sister? I’m your mother, for God’s sake. How could you not tell me?” Her voice rose with each word until she was shouting at me.

I didn’t remember the last time Terri was angry with me. Growing up, it was always Ed the father who was the disciplinarian. Terri’s reaction to anything Libby and I did was always indifference at best. I really didn’t know how to react to this onslaught of hurt feelings.

″I’m sorry?” And I was. I don’t like anyone mad at me. No matter what I feel for Terri (and even on a good day, I’m not sure), she’s still my mother and technically will be my baby’s grandmother. I should have called her.

Terri snorted at my lame apology. “I’m sure. Any reason you felt the need to keep me in the dark about this?”

″I—” This was one of those times when a lie wouldn’t help and telling the truth would only make things worse. Normally, I’d go with the lie, try to smooth things over as best I could. Today—with me still pissed at J.B. and feeling nauseated—well, the lie didn’t come out quick enough. The truth did, though. “I didn’t think you’d give a damn,” I told her a little too bluntly for the usual conciliatory daughter. This was the bitter, resentful daughter having a bad day.

Terri made a face like a fish gasping for breath; had she been a fish, I’m sure she would have been gasping for water. Either way, I had a horrible feeling that I probably make the same expression when someone is telling me off. “How can you possibly say such a thing?” she gasped. “I’m your mother.”

“Because it’s true,” I told her calmly. This too was a first. During confrontations, I’m more likely to become emotional and start to cry than stay calm and cool. “That’s what I think. And Libby, too. When we were growing up, you were always so busy with your boyfriends to pay much attention to us. I don’t call that mothering.” I gave her an indifferent shrug. “It’s no matter now. It’s just the way things are. Both Libby and I learned the hard way that others come first with you. Yes, I should have called, since you are my mother, but I hadn’t done so yet because I didn’t think you’d care. And frankly, I’m sick and tired of being the only one in this world that is happy about this baby!” Now my voice was raised. I was not being fair, taking out my bad mood on my mother, but right then, I didn’t really care how unfair that might be .

″I didn’t realize that’s how you felt,” Terri replied stiffly. Her eyes rested on the bottles of wine in the store—anyplace but on me. “Well.”

Nausea rose dangerously in my stomach. “Sorry.” What else could I say?

″I see.” Terri finally looked at me, and I was sickened by the expression of devastation on her face. I caused that. I felt horrible.

″Mom,” I began, but she held up her hand.

″Casey, I know I wasn’t the best mother to you and your sister growing up, and your father made things very difficult for all of us. But after—” she took a deep breath. I thought she might be on the verge of tears, but she straightened her shoulders and fought them off. “I thought you were adult enough to realize I did my best. And however I raised you, it turned you into the women you and Libby are today. Maybe I’m biased, but I think I did a good job since you turned out pretty well.”

″Oh,” I told her, feeling very small.

Terri nodded. “Well. Congratulations. I’ll let you get back to work.” Without another word, she walked out the door.

Didn’t I feel like crap? I wanted to run out the door after her, but just then another customer came in, and since I was the only one there this morning, it was up to me to man the fort. I stifled a yawn. I had a horrible sleep last night.

″Morning,” I said to him without my usual verve and friendliness. At least I think I greet people with verve and friendliness. Not this morning, though. Not after ripping my mother a new asshole. I’m truly a horrible person. I’ve screwed up J.B.’s life, I screwed up Brit’s wedding, I practically made my mother cry, and all because I selfishly wanted a baby.

I’ve actually never told off anyone. And telling Terri off didn’t make me feel empowered or take a load off my chest. No, I felt like shit. My mother came in to give me a mild scolding for being inconsiderate and not calling her, and I basically gave her the award for worst mother of the year. Nice, Casey.

The customer was most of the way around the store. I’ve watched people when they come in: they start with the shelves of white, move to the fruit wines, which no one really lingers at, then the sparkling, the reds, and finally the cooler with the chilled bottles before hitting the cash register. This guy was finishing the sparkling by the time I got to him. I finished another yawn—what’s with me this morning?—before I got to him.

″Can I help you find something?” I asked, with a fake smile determinedly fixed to my face .

″No, well, I’m looking for a bottle of wine.”

″You’ve come to the right place,” I tried to joke, but my heart wasn’t really into it. Plus, I was beginning to feel really ill. “Red or white?”

″It’s for dinner.” He looked at me shyly. He seemed familiar. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a baseball cap. Very cute, with dark blond hair and sort of a squashed-features-Matt Damon face. It was nice I could appreciate how cute he is even while feeling sick to my stomach.

″What are you serving?” Where do I know him from? He’s too young to be a friend of a friend. Maybe from Coop’s restaurant? He’s cute, but familiar too. It was starting to bug me.

″Steak, I think. Or salmon.”

″For steak, I’d go with a nice, full-bodied red.” I pointed to a row of bottles. “The Cab Franc is always nice. Or the pinot noir—a favourite of mine, but very rich, almost chocolaty. For salmon, my first choice would be white—possibly a chardonnay, depending on how you cook the fish.”

″You sound like you need the whole menu.” It didn’t seem to turn him off. In fact, now he was paying more attention to me than the variety of wine I was showing him.

″It would help. To pick out the right bottle. Or you can pick the wine first, and then create the menu around it.” I hid another discrete yawn.

″I guess I don’t really know yet. My girlfriend’s doing the cooking.”

″Ah.” Now why did that simple statement make me feel like I was about to throw up? The thought of food, or because he had a girlfriend? He looked at least ten years younger than me, and hey, I’m a pregnant woman now. So long, casual pickups, especially when the baby belly starts poking out. Darn. “Are you wine drinkers?” Back to business.

″Not really,” he admitted. “I do the beer thing, and Evie likes vodka. But her parents are coming so… are you okay?”

″Sure,” I said. Suddenly I really couldn’t stop yawning, and my stomach lurches were going crazy. I needed to finish this sale pronto. “Then I would go with this—it’s a nice New Zealand sauvignon blanc.” I led him over to a shelf. “Can’t really go wrong with this.” He picked up a bottle and scanned the back label. “Can you excuse—”

″You were on the subway the other day,” he said suddenly.

″I’m sorry?” I thought I needed to get to a toilet very quickly. I thought I was going to vomit.

″The subway. We were talking about Harry Potter—”

The cute guy on the subway? Of course. I’d think this was a neat coincidence if I wasn’t about to throw up on his shoes .

″Oh, yeah. Listen, can you hang on a second?” Leaving him hanging there, holding the bottle of wine, I headed behind the cash register, not three feet away, at a run, where I knew there was a garbage can. It’d have to do. There was no time to go to the bathroom.

I bent behind the counter, grabbed the can, and loudly emptied my stomach into it. It wasn’t much, since I hadn’t eaten much all morning, but enough to make a mess in the garbage bag. Then I retched for a couple of minutes until I finally stood upright and leaned weakly on the counter. My face was damp with sweat, and I rubbed my forehead weakly. “Sorry.”

The cute subway guy was looking at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

″I’m so sorry.” I desperately wished for a piece of gum. I took a sip from my bottle of water. Not too much, because I didn’t think it would stay down. “I’m really sorry. I just—do you want me to ring that up for you?”

″Uh, no.” He placed the bottle gently on the shelf. “Are you okay? Do you want to sit down or something?”

I leaned weakly on the counter. At least my stomach felt a bit better, which was good because nothing else did. “I’m okay. I feel a little better. I’m just—sorry. This is pretty embarrassing.”

″Don’t worry about it. I’m actually a doctor.”

″Really?” My skepticism came through loud and clear, and he laughed. He looked to be no older than nineteen. I was thinking of carding him when he bought the wine.

″Really. Why don’t you sit down? Is there something I can do for you?”

″Get me a new garbage pail? I’m fine. Let me ring that wine up for you.” I stood upright. The nausea was fading quickly, and only the humiliation remained. I thought my whole body must be red.

″I can come back for it later.”

I gave a weak wave. “I feel better—really. I guess I just needed to throw up.”

″Always makes me feel better. Do you have the flu?” He grabbed three bottles of the sauvignon I showed him earlier and brought them to the cash register.

″No,” I told him, scanning the bottles. “I’m pregnant.” That was the first time I told anyone I didn’t know. It was the first time I admitted it to a stranger, and I smiled as I tested it out again. “I’m pregnant.”

″Congratulations. Morning sickness must be a bitch. ”

I gave a weak laugh. “It’s my first morning with it, and if the next couple months are anything like this, yes, it might be a bitch.”

″Good luck with everything,” he said as I handed him his bag. “It’s great news.”

″Thanks. You know, you saying that means more than you know. In fact, you just made me feel a whole lot better.” I smiled at him, my first true smile of the morning. Despite the utter humiliation of my having thrown up in front of such a cute stranger, my Harry Potter-lover from the subway had just turned into a ray of sunshine.

″Always happy to help.”