Chapter 5
It’s nearly nine o’clock and I’ve been sitting at my dining room table with my textbook, laptop, and a pad of paper laid out in front of me for over two hours now.
I’m supposed to be studying for a big exam that’s coming up next week, but I haven’t done a single thing because I’m so freaking distracted.
Both with the memories this table brings up, but also the bomb that was dropped on me three days ago.
I’ve been spiraling ever since. I spent most of yesterday with my head in the toilet, which was super fun.
I don’t know if it’s from morning sickness—yay me!
—or from the stress this news has brought me. Either way, I’m a freaking wreck.
I haven’t told a single person about this, which isn’t helping matters any, but who am I going to tell?
My parents? Sure, I can imagine how that’ll go.
“Hey Mom and Dad, got some news! Your daughter got knocked up by a guy she had careless, drunk, unprotected sex with. Aren’t you proud of me?
” Or better yet, my best friends, who are actually the ones I would normally go to about stuff like this, but Graham is their brother.
That feels like a way more awkward conversation than the one with my parents.
“Ha-ha, guess what? Fucked your brother! Please don’t hate me, but I’m now pregnant with his child! ”
No, thank you.
Obviously, they’re all going to find out eventually if I decide to keep the baby, but that’s the thing…
I have no clue what I’m going to do yet.
Up until now, I’ve lived my life very content with the fact that I didn’t have kids.
I was never the little girl who dreamt of being a mom, never picked out baby names when I was a teenager, or imagined what it would be like.
That’s not to say I hate kids or anything; I just never felt an overwhelming urge to have them.
Do I want kids?
Would I even make a good mom?
These are the two questions, among many, that have replayed in my head, over and over, since leaving the doctor’s office the other day.
And the answer to both is, I don’t know.
I genuinely don’t know.
Pushing away from the table, I stand and begin to pace back and forth.
My pulse kicks up, my heart in my throat as all the what ifs race through my mind.
Sweat beads across my brow the deeper down this hole I get.
I’m about to finish this program and become an EMT.
I’m starting a brand-new career! Now is not the time for a huge life change.
I can’t start a new job and then be like, “Surprise! I’m pregnant and will need to take a massive amount of time off in about seven months! ”
Fuck!
This couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time. Not that there’s ever an ideal time for something like this. Well, unless you were trying to get pregnant, but I definitely wasn’t.
Why the hell didn’t Graham use a condom?
Why didn’t I insist he put one on?
But most of all, why on earth did I think it was a good idea to go there with him anyway?
My lungs tighten. I can’t breathe. Fuck, why can’t I breathe? Clutching my chest, I swallow down big gulps of air, but it’s not enough. It’s not helping. Panic rises inside me as I barrel through my door in my kitchen, onto the back patio, but the cool air does nothing to calm me down.
Fuck…I can’t do this.
I can’t be a mom.
Who would watch them while I’m at work? My parents won’t be able to. Graham works, has a life of his own, a daughter, who he’s raising all by himself. I can’t put this on him.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I head back inside and grab my phone off the table. I can’t tell anybody about this… but I need to tell someone, or I’m going to lose my mind.
The line rings a couple of times, nausea swirling around in my gut while I wait for it to connect.
“Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Georgia, can you come over?” I’m completely aware of how frantic I sound, but I can’t help it.
“I think, ahh…” Gasping for more air and continuing to pace in front of the table, I manage to blurt out, “I think I might be having a panic attack, or maybe a stroke, or fuck, I don’t know, can you just get over here, please? ”
“Babe, calm down,” she says soothingly. “I’ll be right there. Give me a few minutes, okay?”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Please come alone.”
“Okay, I will.” I can hear her keys jingle as she grabs them, the sound easing my nerves, but only marginally. “Get yourself a glass of water in the meantime,” she suggests. “I’ll stay on the phone with you. You’re going to be okay.”
“I don’t believe you,” I mutter as I fill up a glass with water from the tap. Chugging a good portion of it, I still can’t breathe. Tears spring to my eyes. I set the cup down harder than I intend to, and I know Georgia heard it because she says, “Charley, breathe for me, babe.”
“Georgia, I can’t!”
“Yes, you can. Deep breaths in through your nose, come on.” She gives me a second. “Now exhale slowly through your mouth. You can do this.”
“Okay,” I murmur, my voice cracking.
“Good, now look around,” she instructs me to do next, her voice steady and calm, unlike mine. “Tell me five things you can see right now.”
“What?”
“Just do it. Five things, Charley.”
“Okay, uh…” Brow furrowed, I glance around the kitchen. “I see my refrigerator, I see the stove, uh, the utensils sitting on top of the stove.”
“Two more things, and don’t forget to breathe.”
My hand presses against my chest as I drag in a gulp of air. “Apples and bananas on the counter in a bowl.”
“Good, that’s good,” she coos. “Now, tell me four things you can touch right now.”
“Georgia—”
Cutting me off, she says, “Do it, Char.”
“Um…” I turn around, scanning what’s in front of me. “The towel next to the sink,” I say, grabbing it and squeezing the material in my fist before setting it down. “The glass I just drank from. The fake succulent in my window. And, uh…the beating of my heart against my palm.”
“Three things you can hear,” she says next.
“Your voice, I hear your voice.”
“You do, that’s good. What else?”
Focusing for a moment, I let out a sigh of relief and thank the universe that we live so close together as I say, “I hear your car door shutting.”
“One more thing, babe.”
The tip of my nose stings and my vision blurs as I hear the last thing. “You knocking on my door.”
“Good job,” she offers gently. “Let me in. The door’s locked. I left in a hurry and only grabbed my key fob.”
Practically running to the door, my heart still in my throat, I switch over the deadbolt, then twist the bottom lock on the knob before pulling the door open.
Georgia steps inside immediately, wrapping her arms around me as tears fall hot down my face and my shoulders shake as I break down in my best friend’s arms.
“Thank you for coming,” I mumble with my face against her chest.
Georgia rubs soothing circles over my back. “Babe, you don’t need to thank me. Of course, I’m here.” She rests her cheek against the side of my head. “What’s going on?”
Dread sinks into my gut like a lead weight. I have to tell her. She came over here, so I have to now, but I really don’t want to. Telling her feels like admitting it’s real, and I don’t think I’ve gotten that far yet. But I have to tell her.
I swallow, trying to bring back some of the moisture to my throat. “I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise you won’t hate me.”
“Charley Rose Madison, there’s nothing you could do to make me hate you.”
If I wasn’t such a shitshow, I’d probably laugh at her using my full name, but it only has more tears streaming down my face, soaking into Georgia’s shirt.
“And I need you to promise you won’t tell anybody else either,” I add, my voice muffled.
“I promise.”
Taking a deep breath and ignoring the blood whooshing in my ears, I mutter, “I’m pregnant.”
Georgia tenses at first, probably wondering if she heard me right, and then she pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, her hands soft as they cup my face.
“You’re pregnant. Okay. That’s certainly not something to hate you for.
” Snorting, she adds teasingly, “Well, unless Fletcher’s the father. ”
“It’s not Fletcher.” I huff out a chuckle through my nose and shake my head. My stomach clenches as I cast my head down, gaze focused on my hands. “It’s Graham.”
Silence.
That’s all I hear for several long seconds.
When I find the courage to look at Georgia’s face, her brows are pinched with confusion and her mouth is dropped open.
After a moment, she schools her features and takes my hand, leading me farther into the house.
“Alrighty, clearly, I’ve missed a few chapters, so how about you start at the beginning.
” There’s no anger in her tone, and as we sit beside each other on my couch, she continues to hold my hand, placing it in her lap. “You and my brother…
How long has that been a thing?”
My face twists up as a fresh wave of tears fills my eyes.
“It’s not a thing,” I mumble before telling her all about the night at the bar.
The tequila, the reason we were both there, and how it led to him coming back to my house.
I don’t even leave out how I cowardly bailed on him the next morning, but I do conveniently leave out our history.
I’m not ready to go there, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
When I’m finished, I say, “You can’t tell Gemma and Grace. I don’t want them to hate me.”
“Babe, why on earth do you think any of us would hate you for this?” she asks, as her brows pinch together once again. “Of course, I won’t tell them anything you don’t want me to, but I can confidently say, they—and I—don’t hate you, and we never will. What would even make you think that?”
“Because he’s your brother, and friends should never sleep with friend’s brothers, and you guys are all I have.
” A hiccup comes up my throat as tears create a hot path down my face.
“Growing up, you know how it was in my house. My parents constantly fought, then constantly ignored each other for weeks on end afterward. You three were what kept me going, what kept me sane when it felt like things were never going to get better.”
Georgia hands me a tissue for my wet face and runny nose. I’m a damn mess.
“I don’t know… I’ve just always had this fear in the back of my head that one day I’ll screw it up and lose y’all. But I can’t lose you, Georg. Any of you. I can’t.”
A sob wracks through me as Georgia pulls me in for another tight hug. “Charley, I had no idea this was something you worried about. I wish you would’ve told me years ago, so I could’ve put that worry to rest sooner, because it’s never going to happen.”
“It sounds so silly, hearing me voice this aloud,” I murmur. “I mean, Christ, I’m thirty-eight years old, and have been friends with y’all since we were kids. You would think I’d be secure in a decades’ long friendship. I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize,” she pushes. “You have nothing to be sorry for, and everything you’re feeling is totally valid.” Georgia pulls back again and meets my gaze. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are they. I can promise you that.”
“Thank you.” A pathetic half smile twitches my lips as my vision blurs again. “Georg, I don’t know what to do.”
“Does Graham know yet?”
Shaking my head, I say, “I only found out three days ago, when I went to the doctor after we had lunch.”
“Have you told anybody?”
I shake my head again, and her eyes soften as they take me in.
“You’ve been living with this news for three whole days by yourself? Is that why you didn’t come to Grace’s today?”
“Not entirely,” I reply honestly. “I really do need to study, and I’ve been trying to, but I can’t concentrate. Then I started thinking about it again, and that’s when I panicked and called you.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I know I need to tell Graham, but I’m dreading it,” I admit.
“I’ve been avoiding being near him at work, like a child.
But I don’t know if I want to keep the baby, and it’s my choice if I decide to have an abortion, so would he really need to know?
He has enough on his plate. Why worry him if it’s not going to become anything? ”
“You’re right,” Georgia starts. “It’s one hundred percent your choice, but he deserves to know.
I know my brother, and regardless of the outcome, he would want to know.
He’d also want to be there to support you through whatever choice you make.
And if you do decide to have an abortion, it would probably help to have him there with you.
While it’s your body, your choice, no matter what, that doesn’t mean you need to—or should have to—carry the burden of making a decision, and then going through with whatever it is you decide alone.
Let him take some of this too. Graham’s a good guy. I know he’d want to be there for you.”
“I know he is.” More pressure builds behind my eyes because I do know he’s a really great guy, and that almost makes this harder. Groaning, I say, “I hate how right you are.”
Georgia laughs. “I know I am. It’s a gift.”
“And so modest.” Rolling my eyes, I breathe out a chuckle. “Tell me something good with you,” I say. “I need to get my mind off this for a while, so tell me anything.”
Wrapping an arm around me, Georgia relaxes into the couch, and I rest my head on her chest while I listen to her tell me all about the house she and Fletcher are going to look at this week.
Calling her was the right thing to do.
And I should’ve known she wouldn’t freak out or judge me.
She’s Georgia. My best friend. She knows everything there is to know about me—well, except for how hopelessly in love with her brother I was when we were teenagers—just like I know everything there is to know about her.
And she’s right, I know she is.
Graham deserves to know, even if the thought makes me want to hurl all over again. I can’t keep this from him forever, and waiting isn’t going to make it any less real. I need to figure out how to do it, though.
And I will.
Just not right this second.