Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Morning sickness should really be called all-day sickness. I’ve already thrown up twice, and it’s barely 8 in the morning. The bathroom tile is cool against my legs as I sit back, waiting to see if my stomach has settled.
Each wave of nausea is a reminder that this is real. That I’m really pregnant.
My phone sits on the counter. The number for the women’s clinic pulled up but not yet dialed. I’ve been putting this off for days, but I need to make an appointment. Need to make sure everything’s okay. Need to make this official beyond three positive home tests.
The call is surprisingly easy. The receptionist is cheerful, matter-of-fact. “First pregnancy?” she asks.
“Yes.” I don’t mention the divorce. Don’t mention that the father doesn’t even live here anymore.
“We can get you in next Thursday at 10 AM. with Dr. Larson.”
I add the appointment details in my phone’s calendar.
“Okay, thank you.” I say and hang up. The toast I manage to eat tastes like cardboard, but it stays down. Small victories. I’ve started keeping crackers by my bed, learning to eat before I even sit up in the morning. My body is already changing its routines, and I’m just trying to keep up.
Seven days since Jeremy found out. Seven days of silence. I check my phone again–no messages from him, none from Lilly, either. What is going on? The house feels emptier somehow, like the news has created a vacuum that’s sucking all the air out.
I spend the morning cleaning, trying to keep my hands busy. The kitchen first, then the living room. When the doorbell rings, my heart leaps into my throat when I open it to see him standing on the porch, hands in his pockets, looking as nervous as I feel. No orange work shirt today–just a plain grey t-shirt and jeans. He looks younger somehow.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Can we talk?”
I step aside to let him in, noting how he hesitates at the threshold, like he’s not sure if he belongs here anymore. We end up in the kitchen–neutral territory.
“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, leaning against the counter where he used to eat breakfast every morning. “About us. About everything.”
“Jeremy—”
“Let me finish, please?” His eyes meet mine, earnest and familiar. “I know we can’t just pick up where we left off. I know it’s complicated. But maybe… maybe we could try taking things slow?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now.”
“Not getting back together,” he clarifies quickly. “Just… talking. Being in each other’s lives again. For the baby, but as well…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely between us.
A memory surfaces, unexpected but vivid. Complete change of subject. “Remember, Mr. Thompson’s golf clubs?”
His face breaks into a surprised grin. “Senior year. God, we covered his whole car in golf balls.”
“You said they’d just roll off!” I can’t help laughing at the memory. “They got stuck in his windshield wipers.”
“Hey, that was Kyle’s idea. I just provided the golf balls.”
“From your dad’s collection.”
“Which he never noticed, by the way.” He slides down to sit on the kitchen floor, like we used to do during late-night talks. After a moment’s hesitation, I join him.
“Remember Ashley Carson’s graduation party?” he asks.
“When Tom fell in the pool with his phone?”
“And the cops showed up because the neighbors complained?—”
“—about the karaoke!” we finish together, dissolving into laughter.
The tension eases as we trade memories back and forth. Senior prom, when his boutonniere fell apart, and we had to safety pin it together. The time we got lost driving to the beach and ended up two states over.
“Our wedding,” he says softly, and the air shifts. “Dad was so proud to walk you down the aisle.”
I swallow hard. “He was the closest thing I had to a father. Is,” I correct myself. “The closest thing I have.”
“He asks about you, you know. Mom, too.”
Nodding, I pick at a loose thread on my shirt. “I haven’t heard from Lilly since… since last week. When you overheard.”
Jeremy’s posture stiffens slightly. “Oh?” His tone is carefully neutral, but something flickers across his face.
“Yeah, it’s weird. She usually checks in every day, but…” I study his expression. “What?”
“Nothing.” He says it too quickly. “Just… nothing.”
Silence settles between us, heavier than before. The kitchen clock ticks away in seconds, reminding us that this moment, like all moments, must end.
Finally, he pushes himself to his feet. “I should go. Early shift tomorrow.”
I stand too, brushing off my jeans. “Yeah, okay.”
We walk to the door together, our footsteps echoing in the quiet house. At the threshold, he turns.
“Thanks for talking,” he says simply. “It was nice.”
“It was,” I agree.
No hug. No kiss. Just a gentle “Bye, Lex” and he’s gone, leaving me with memories of golf balls and proms and weddings, and questions about why he tensed up at Lilly’s name.
Through the window, I watch his truck pull away. I touch my stomach absently, thinking about how this baby will have their own memories someday. Their own stories about high school pranks and first loves. Will they have Jeremy’s laugh? My stubbornness?