Chapter 12
TWELVE
It took him ghosting you for you to realize you like him? Stop being a pendejita.
And he ended up being just like the rest of the men I’ve encountered.
If you’re going to group him with assholes, the least he could’ve gotten was a fair shot.
Whose side are you on, Santi?!
I’m merely observing. If you want me to pick a side, that’ll cost you.
Money talks?
And bullshit walks.
My mother knows something’s up. I can just envision her pinched expression as she stands at her kitchen sink, calling me for the second time today.
This is the longest I’ve gone without physically seeing her, and staring at my phone as it rings with her name on the screen gives me major anxiety.
I don’t dare send her to voicemail.
Want to know the quickest way to die? At the end of my Puerto Rican mother’s wrath.
I’m convinced the woman has no idea how truly terrifying she is.
I used to watch her peel potatoes with only a sharp knife.
She’d proceed to cut said potatoes in her hand with that same knife, sans chopping board.
Each time the blade hit her palm, I wondered what kind of superhuman birthed me.
There’s a reason my papi doesn’t argue with her, a reason my cousins knew not to talk back to her. There’s a look she has that still strikes fear in all our hearts without her having to utter a word.
It makes me wonder if I inherited that. What kind of parent will I be?
And will it always be just the two of us?
It’s been a week since our first appointment, and in that time, the baby has grown. Or maybe it’s just me.
If the way my sweatpants sit at my hips, under my burgeoning bump, is any indication, the both of us are.
The moment I heard the rapid thumping of its heartbeat, Santana’s hand tightly holding mine, I couldn’t help but soar.
The worry something was wrong, the concern I hadn’t been able to see the baby for myself, it all melted away.
I was given an estimated due date, a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and a long-ass list of appointments for the following months.
I know I asked for more action, but this wasn’t what I had in mind. I mean, my monthly Brazilian waxes aren’t meant to benefit my fucking obstetrician.
I’m about to get real comfortable being spread eagle.
Titties are about to become breasts, and my pussy will now be referred to as a vagina. Great.
As I trudge up the steps with three bags of groceries in each hand, I regret trying to stock up all at once, but knowing I hadn’t been eating well enough caused me to guilt purchase as many healthy food options as I felt I could carry. Now, I’m regretting that impulsive decision.
I hear the door open at the bottom of the stairs, and I step to the side, hoping the person behind me will just walk around me without pity in their eyes. To them, I probably just look out of shape and tired. The oversize hoodie does wonders to hide any shape.
I’m at that point in my pregnancy where I don’t quite look pregnant, just a little rounder than usual. My lack of patience lately mixed with inquisitive eyes could be a recipe for disaster.
“I’ll take those,” I hear Quintin say as he grips my left arm just above my elbow. I don’t fight as he takes the bags from me one-by-one. I try to catch his eye as he gathers them, letting my arm go, but he avoids eye contact, and I’m left watching him work.
I didn’t realize how much I could miss a shade of brown, or a crooked smile with the two front teeth slightly overlapped, the feeling of being pursued and desired.
Even through my bulky sweater, I swear I can remember the way his touch felt, calloused palms running over my soft skin.
The heat of the memory has me unable to fight him as he walks away from me.
I let out a sigh, hunching over a little before taking the rest of the steps up and making my way to my front door, where he waits for me.
We have to stop meeting like this .
I want so badly to utter the joke, but the insecurity in me can’t. We’ve kissed. He’s touched my body. He knows I’m pregnant.
I’m so exposed to him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, finally looking me in the eye. And there it is: the pang of missing the idea of someone.
Maybe it’s the hormones, or maybe I let him crack me open a little. And when he ran, it fucked me up.
I haven’t seen him or heard from him since, just the sounds of his door opening and closing as I peer into the peephole to try to catch a glimpse of him.
“I’m fine.” I feign a confident smile, unable to expose myself further. I pull my keys out and unlock my door, thanking him as he sets my bags down just inside my apartment, still outside, as if he can’t allow himself to enter.
The scene of the crime.
But I live here. I’m the one who had to debate burning my couch so that every time I pass it, the echoes of the incident don’t make me screw my eyes shut with embarrassment.
“You shouldn’t be carrying anything heavy, Daniela,” he reminds me, his voice soft. And just like that, my eyes are misty. The hole in my life that is a partner in this experience is gaping. Quintin’s concern, whether genuine or from ingrained chivalry…it soothes as much as it stings.
“I haven’t seen you around.” I let the walls of confidence crumble, knowing he’s only the second person in the world I told about my baby.
My own mother doesn’t even know yet.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his gaze flicking to my stomach before meeting my eyes again. It’s so quick, like an involuntary tick, I almost miss it.
The baby isn’t even here yet, and it’s wedged its way into my life.
Just like that, we’re over before we were able to begin.
And for a baby I don’t even know yet, I sure am feeling slighted, even as my heart surges with protectiveness.
This is the shit I tried to avoid, this feeling—this stupid fucking idea—that because I’m pregnant, life has to stop for me.
“Fine,” I answer, wanting to get the fuck away from him and the reminder that society’s archaic ideas fucking suck.
“Listen,” he starts just as I start to close the door. He kicks out his foot and places his hands on his hips before clearing his throat. “I was wondering… Are you free tomorrow night?”
I blink a few times, having already felt the tears pooling, even though the whole situation is stupid. Still, his question has my lips parting as I wonder if I heard him right.
“You want to go on a date with me?” The breathlessness with which I ask the question is in direct contradiction with the thundering of my pulse. Outwardly, I raise my brows and cross my arms.
“Well…yeah,” he answers with a chuckle. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I like the way you look at me. The way you challenge me. How I feel when I’m with you.”
His Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, now clasping his hands in front of his chest like a prayer.
I do this to him? It makes me feel powerful, which is something I’ve been lacking as of late. Truthfully, I like how I feel when I’m around him, too. Soft, desired, heard.
Not like some woman you fuck and forget. Even though I’ve always been a willing participant, it still doesn’t feel the greatest.
“I’d like to take you out. To remind you how beautiful you are. To send texts when I’m thinking of you, which is all the time lately.” He smiles like he can’t help it, and I chuckle, my eyes wandering over every detail of his nervousness. “Let me earn you, Daniela.”
I want to tell him I’d love to be earned. I’d love to give him the chance to change my opinion of men. I’d love to risk the safety of my loneliness for him. But I can’t agree until I make things very clear.
“You know I intend on having this child, right?” I utter words that still feel so new, so raw to me, words I need to practice before I tell the rest of the people in my life.
He nods before he answers, swinging his arms before clasping his hands together again. “I assumed so.”
I take a beat, waiting for a tell he regrets asking me out, for him to decide this is actually too much. It’s a lot, not a decision to be taken lightly.
He remains stoic, so I continue.
“And you’re okay with that?” I ask, grimacing slightly. I don’t fucking get it. Human instinct has me fearing it because I can’t understand it.
“It would seem so.” He’s looking at me, and for once, I can’t read him. I can’t understand what’s going on in his head, and I wonder when the hell he decided to up the ante on his poker face. All that previous nervousness is long forgotten.
Now? Nothing besides unwavering eye contact.
“Why?” Because, again, I don’t fucking get it.
“Why not?” A slight upturn of his lips makes an appearance. I’m reminded of just how closely we’re standing when I notice the crinkle at the ends of his eyes, his near-invisible freckles looking like someone took a paint brush and flicked the cool brown shade on the apples of his cheeks.
His answer echoes in my mind, and I snap out of my trance.
That’s a cop out.
“That’s not an answer,” I say instead, willing this strange man to help me understand him as he stands at the threshold of my apartment, offering to sweep me off my feet.
“I like you. I think you like me. Let’s not be each other’s what if.”
There’s that confidence I’ve come to associate with him.
It sneaks up on me, making me stare at his mouth just a fraction too long.
After all, I remember what it felt like against my own, even if everything in me wished I didn’t.
But now? Now, I’m too tempted by what this could be to bother fighting anymore.
Even just the potential of… this is enough for me to tell fear to fuck off. It feels too good to bask in his desire, to think I may not have to go through life alone.
I’m in charge of everything in my life, but something about him softens me, making me feel like maybe he means what he says.
“I do like you,” I whisper quietly, like a confession. “And honestly, I’m glad you know.” I gesture toward my stomach.
“Why’s that?” His thick brows furrow for a second when he asks. While I wasn’t necessarily trying to hide it from him more than just in general, it does feel strange that he knows.
“Because it isn’t a dirty little secret, and now, you have the opportunity to make an informed decision.”
Even if the thought of him deciding a baby is too much is valid, I still don’t like the way it makes me feel in the pit of my stomach, like I’m unworthy of love because I accidentally got pregnant. Meanwhile, the father of this baby has no idea about any of this and gets to just live his life.
Fuck , that’s heavy.
“Consider the decision made,” he announces, cutting through my inner pity party.
“Oh, really?” I ask, trying not to smirk at him. But my face goes blank as he steps toward me, pressing him thumb onto my bottom lip as he grabs my chin.
I’m given a soft kiss, one to start the spark inside me I was determined to extinguish.
But today? Today, I let it incinerate me.
“Really.”
“Of course, he asked you out,” Santana says with a dramatic sigh. “You’re gorgeous, successful, and fertile. Men love fertile women.”
I stare at her, wondering what the hell she’s talking about. As if she feels me staring at her, she glances up at me.
“What? It’s the truth. Men love pregnant women.” She lowers her voice as she says the next part. “I bet those kinky fuckers would pay big money for your nudes.”
“Congratulations, you’ve managed to ruin even the sacredness of pregnancy,” I mutter, going back to browsing the tiny, adorable clothes in this boutique Santana dragged me into.
“I just happen to be aware of how gross men are.” Santana fluffs at her curly brown wig, pursing her lips. “And you know I love making money off their vices.”
My eyes land on a onesie that reads, I love Daddy , and I sniff, turning away before I can get all emotional in this store. The last thing I need is to be the pregnant chick crying my eyes out over a man who likely doesn’t even remember me.
And now, I have a lifelong souvenir of our drunken experience together.
“Are you gonna be a beige mom?” Santana asks, oblivious to my mini episode. “I don’t know if I love that vibe, or if it seems completely void of happiness.”
She glances up at me, and her brows furrow as I shake my head, smiling even as a tear spills over. Before anyone else can see them, I’m wiping them away, wishing the emotions were just as easy to get rid of as the remnants.
“I’m really doing this alone,” I whisper, running my hand down my belly. It’s prominent today, firm and full of life.
“Except you won’t really be alone anymore…” Santana looks at where my palm rests, fingers splayed. “Will you?”
She places her hand over mine, and we stand there for a second, soaking in the moment. The only two people who’ve heard this baby’s heartbeat. The only two people this baby truly has right now.
“Have you told her yet?”
My heart sinks at the thought, and I tilt my head to the side as I sigh.
“What if she hates me?” I whisper the question, knowing how hard I’ll take it if Mami’s pride in me falters, even for a second.
She didn’t work her ass off all my life for me to end up pregnant with some stranger’s baby.
“You’re her favorite person in the world,” Santi reasons, rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb before moving to continue perusing the baby section. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make her hate you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I tell her before continuing under my breath, “Maybe I just hate myself a little.”
“I’m not trying to hear that BS You’re a grown-ass woman who had some responsible fun. And you got pregnant, because sometimes, shit happens.” She’s all shoulders shrugging and hands waving, and I want to tell her this is more than shit happening . This is my life imploding.
“I can just hear it now.” I twist my lips. “‘Mommy, tell me the story of how you met my dad.’ ‘Well, I got drunk and the condom malfunctioned, and I couldn’t tell you how to find your father with a gun to my head.’”
“Pregnancy makes you dramatic.”
“Pregnancy makes me want to punch you in the teta .”
“Violence is not the answer,” she reminds me in a singsong voice, her focus back on the racks of tiny clothing made for tiny humans who grow inside of grown humans and take over their entire lives before they’ve even made an appearance.
I try to focus on what she said instead of spiraling over the adorableness of the miniature cardigan in front of me.
“Then what’s the answer?” I ask, bracing myself for an undoubtedly ridiculous response.
“Carbs. Carbs are always the answer, mujer .” She wiggles her eyebrows as she glances back at me. “And fucking your sexy neighbor.”
“Fucking is how I ended up here.” I can’t hide the exasperation in my voice.
“It’s how we all ended up here,” she says with a grimace.