Chapter 29
Crisp March sunlight filters into Aunt Viv”s sprawling Le Marais apartment. I situate my open laptop to soak up the coveted natural glow. Outside the arched windows, historic charm blends impeccably with fashionable, Parisian street life bustling below.
I have been waking up in the stylish guest suite for more than three months now. Being wrapped in Viv”s signature mix of vintage French detail and striking modern upgrades feels like home.
I smooth my curve-hugging red dress, displaying my small protruding baby bump. It quickly dawned on me that yoga pants and sneakers won’t cut it here, not even during pregnancy. When in Paris, it is mandatory to be chic no matter your condition.
“No café au lait for you, I’m afraid,” Aunt Viv chirps as she places a cup of rooibos tea in front of me.
I sigh, taking a small sip.
“Excited to make headway on your website design today?” She blows me a stylish kiss before whisking her silk robe into the kitchen to fetch her cup of coffee.
“Ready as ever for some magic-making, Auntie!” I call back sunnily through a mouthful of flaky croissant.
As much as I miss coffee, the croissants more than make up for it. How do the French manage to make them this tasty? It will be hard living without them once I’m back in New York. As delicious as Pain Quotidien’s pastries are, they are only an approximation of what I have been enjoying here.
Viv returns bearing her steaming mug, which I hungrily eye. I haven’t had a single sip of the black gold since I found out I was expecting.It’s been lemon balm, ginger, and rooibos tea on rotation, not a very satisfying replacement for the real deal.
After the initial shock, I quickly settled into my new reality. Yes, okay, at first, discovering a tiny life was brewing inside of me threw me for a major loop. I just turned twenty-three and have some ambitious plans.
But hearing Jack question my ability to be a mother just strengthened my resolve. No matter his opinion of me, I”ve got this handled. I have my sisters” unwavering support, Aunt Viv overseas whenever I need backup, and now the means to provide everything my child could need.
In just a few short months since receiving Jack”s contract completion payment, I already have several clients signed on for my new social media consulting business. A few are established authors wanting to increase their reach. Others are entrepreneurs launching product lines.
I created my first online branding course last month, teaching step-by-step Instagram growth strategies. The passive income from members signing up is already exceeding my initial hopes. This month marks the first that I”ve turned an overall profit between the course platform and my hourly coaching rates.
And I still earn sponsorship revenue from my popular TikTok channel too. But now I have the luxury of shifting my focus toward more meaningful collaborations, rather than accepting random product promotions for the sake of making an extra dollar. I say yes only to brands that authentically align with my values around ethical manufacturing and inclusivity.
Seeing tangible success this quickly not only from my online influence but also as a solopreneur feels amazing. The million dollars in my account helped me tremendously, though I haven’t even touched any of it. Just knowing that the money is there has allowed me to take risks and step into this new chapter with ease. Now my perseverance and willingness to do the grunt work by myself is paying off. Team Emerson and I have the confidence and financial security to handle any challenge heading our way.
Sure, I could have waited a few more years before becoming a parent. And navigating pregnancy without my own mother or any kind of rulebook terrifies me to the core.
But that doesn’t mean I should be caving in.
I stroke my thickening tummy, saying a silent prayer of gratitude.
Surveying glossy hardwood floors and designer furnishings in the elegantly converted studio space, I inhale the rich aroma of hot chocolate, mixed in with the one of coffee.
I run my hands over my dress, checking the fit. Viv”s sharp eyes trace the self-conscious gesture before knowingly meeting my gaze.
“How far along are you now anyway? Twenty weeks?” She keeps her tone neutral.
“Yep.”
Viv chuckles, patting my hand. “So, when are you gonna tell Jack? Hopefully before the summer? Once the baby pops out, you should have that conversation behind you already.”
I shift uneasily. Even an ocean away, the Whitmore empire still looms.
“Let”s just say his family has oppressive expectations around heirs. Plus, baby daddy sees me as a flakey child playing dress-up.”
Viv smooths back my hair like she did when I was a girl. Her touch is soothing, so similar to my mother’s. “Yet this flakey child is launching an international business. I”d say you have a few life lessons to teach those arrogant suits.”
“That’s right, Auntie,” I say, straightening up. “Fuck the Whitmores.”
At that, a giggle escapes her. She stands up, waving me off. “You already did that, girlie,” she chides jokingly. “So, what are we listening to today?” she asks, turning up Billie Holiday. “Does this hit the mood?”
The bluesy melodies mingle with the muted bustle outside, and I nod as I turn back to my laptop. She works best with music playing in the background, and I’m cut from the same cloth. We both lose ourselves in our projects. I go over several logo mockups for my website, and then research Instagram hashtags. The hours flow by productively while my dream inches into a tangible shape. My hand distractedly strokes my abdomen, anchoring a fierce resolve to build something true and lasting.
Eventually, Viv sighs contentedly over her drafting table. “How about a bite at that sidewalk café with the divine salads?”
Through the windows, midday Parisian sun beckons like a gilded gift after spitting persistent spring rain for the past three days.
I peek through glass panes, considering. “Sounds perfect. Maybe I”ll be able to take some footage nearby too before the clouds roll back in.”
Viv smiles approvingly as I grab my purse and phone.
She locks the door, and we step out into Marais Street life bustling under azure skies. Bundled against the early March bite, locals sip espresso at busy cafés along cobblestone blocks. On tree-lined Rue des Francs Bourgeois, scents of roasted chicken and confectionery treats intermingle as patrons crowd patios with tiny dogs underfoot.
I link my arm through Viv”s, never tired of enjoying her adopted city through a native”s lens. My chest squeezes with familiar grief and gratitude at everything Mom”s vivacious sister gives me so generously—affection, confidence in the woman I have become, and a safe harbor to recalibrate.
As if reading my thoughts, she pats my intertwined elbow. “Your mere presence here is like your mother has resurrected. You are so much like Lillian, but with a spark all of your own. She would be so proud of you, girlie.”
I swallow, thickness gathering in my throat. If only she could be here to guide me through this unfolding chapter. But at least I have Aunt Viv.
“Merci, Auntie,” I whisper simply.
We select a cozy café where bowls of onion soup gratinee and staples like croque monsieur feature prominently on the handwritten menus. Viv orders us the salads we enjoyed last time along with a glass of wine for her and a sparkling water for me.
We fall into easy chatter about baby names while Paris bustles around us. The quintessential lunch gets my phone camera clicking.
After we’re done eating, we pay the bill and stroll toward the Seine. “The Pompidou Center never gets old!” I exclaim. “Let me shoot a video here. It’s a modern marvel; my followers will love it.”
She nods, and we pass street performers wowing tourists under the iconic exposed piping and the beams flanking Place Georges Pompidou. Revelers cluster on its massive plaza, enjoying the toothy March sun.
I hand Aunt Viv my iPhone, the signature intro song clip I use already queued up.
“Help this TikTok star get some Paris footage.” I wink playfully. “My followers are going to drool over this one!”
“Show us your moves, girlie.” Viv laughs. She trains the lens on me as I strike a pose in front of that iconic modern building, its primary colors reflecting whimsically over my elegant knee-length camel coat. But the sun is shining strong, and I take it off, dropping it on a nearby bench.
As the beat drops, I sway smoothly through familiar steps—playful hair flips, mini squats pulsing to driving lyrics. But my muscle memory feels a bit off-balance with the slight swell of my belly. My once effortless gyrations and shimmies lack their usual snap as I remain hyperaware of the subtle fullness.
But I build momentum, tossing coy looks over the shoulder that make Aunt Viv whoop in encouragement. As my twirls and shimmies grow bolder, a few passersby slow their steps to watch curiously. I remain focused, nails grazing down posture-perfect arms extended before sharply snapping them overhead. My one hand cradles the bump discreetly as I blow kisses with the other to the charmed spectators.
“Encore,Mademoiselle YouTube! Formidable!” cheers Aunt Viv, still filming. Galvanized by the growing attention, I repeat my sensuous choreography as delighted spectators now echo my gestures behind me. I flash a dazzling grin over my shoulders toward the camera, happy that I’ve still got the spark in me, despite being halfway through my pregnancy.
Maybe a baby will not change much, after all.
My energetic street performance gets cut short by Blondie’s “Call Me” ringtone blaring loudly. Aunt Viv taps my phone screen to halt the recording. A dozen eyes follow her curiously as she checks the caller ID, then passes the phone over.
“Well, here he goes again. Shouldn”t you answer?” She arches one perfectly sculpted brow at my frozen expression.
I shake my head vehemently, ignoring the persistent trills. Jack keeps calling me every few days. After a few months of distance, I don’t know exactly what to say. How do I tell him about the baby? Why does he keep calling me? Having to go through awkward check-ins threatens my still fragile resolve to venture on the motherhood rollercoaster by myself.
So, I hit ignore instead, as I have done for the past three months. Plastering on a wide smile that doesn”t reach my eyes anymore, I curtsy dramatically toward the impromptu audience.
“Merci et bon après-midi!” Grabbing my coat and Aunt Viv”s free arm, I quickly steer us away down the block.
Safely out of sight around a building corner, Viv gently halts my hurried momentum.
“You need to tell him.”
I shift my purse uneasily. “We haven”t talked for a couple of months now. Since I came here. It’s easier to ignore his calls.”
Viv turns me softly toward her, her eyes searching mine. “Chérie, he deserves to know.”
My fingers stray to my belly protectively. I think again of Walt and his expectations, and Jack’s words that I’m still a child myself.
“Telling him will just chain him to me by some outdated honor code, and not by love,” I confess quietly. “He”ll insist on marrying me.”
“So, what’s wrong with that? You love him, I can tell.”
“I do. But I want him to love me back. Which he doesn’t. That’s what’s wrong with it,” I cry, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “He likes me well enough,” I continue sobbing on her shoulder while she reassuringly smooths my hair,”but he doesn’t love me.”
“Yes, you care deeply for him, I can see that,” she whispers.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the truth. Despite everything, my stupid naive heart tethers me to Jack. But I swallow stubbornly, refusing to settle.
“My baby deserves real devotion, not just his warped sense of obligation.” I lift my chin, defiance steeling me. “I have all I need without him or his family.”
My voice wavers, but I mean it. I deserve to be loved. And I can build my complete family without Jack.