Chapter Six Layla
Chapter Six
Layla
Five weeks later
“This . . . can’t . . . be.”
The positive pregnancy test stared back at me defiantly. I was the first to blink.
“No. No, no, no, no, no.” I shook my head. “No,” I said more sternly, scowling at the small pee stick.
I stood up from the toilet seat and kicked aside a few pregnancy tests that were scattered on the floor.
They all had two dark-blue lines. But since I couldn’t be pregnant, and this was all a big, fat misunderstanding, I had gone back down to Duane Reade and bought one of those tests that clearly stated “Pregnant” or “Not pregnant.” I’d read on the internet that sometimes the blue-dye tests were unreliable, especially if you left them out too long.
Well, this test left no place for error.
It said Pregnant.
In bold.
All that was missing were three exclamation points and a middle finger emoji.
As I paced back and forth in my shoebox-size bathroom, I rummaged in my memory box to five weeks ago. I was with Grant. We didn’t use a condom. We always had in the past, but not this time. I was raw from seeing Connor again. But I was on the pill. I hadn’t missed one in at least three years.
A strong déjà vu feeling wrapped around my neck, squeezing tightly.
No. This was wrong. I wasn’t pregnant. I couldn’t be. For one thing, I didn’t want any children. At all. Ever.
Ah, yes. An unwanted pregnancy, a voice inside me said, clucking its tongue. What a weird, new concept.
But I didn’t even have any symptoms. No nausea. No weakness. No exhaustion. None of the issues that had plagued Maddie the second Chase’s sperm had caught one of her eggs in a game of tag. My period was just abnormally late, so I’d decided to take a test.
Speaking of my best friend, I needed to see her. Now.
I took an Uber to Mad’s Upper East Side penthouse, which was about the size of the Museum of Natural History, and marginally more extravagant.
It was Saturday morning, so I expected everyone to be home—including Chase, their son Ronan, and the hot Italian au pair, whom she swore she’d chosen because she needed someone to tumble around with her energetic toddler, not because he looked like Michele Morrone.
“Layla!” Maddie greeted me with a warm hug, pulling me into her vast loft. “What a pleasant surprise. I’m so happy to see you. You look—”
“Like hell,” her husband, Chase, finished for her, draping a protective arm over his wife’s shoulder as he kissed her temple. He was as rude as he was gorgeous. Which was very. But he wasn’t wrong in his assessment.
“Have you been crying?” He squinted.
“Oh, only since about six a.m.” I breezed past them, straight to the open-plan kitchen, where I opened the fridge and poured myself a glass of OJ. “I have some very disturbing news, actually.”
“CPS finally revoked your teaching license after searching your web history?” Chase deadpanned. We normally ping-ponged insults, but I really wasn’t in the mood today.
“Okay, Chase, I’m gonna need a temporary truce over here. This is serious.” I raised my palms in surrender.
He elevated an eyebrow, obviously skeptical. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be better when Maddie and I have some privacy, though.”
“All right. I’ll make myself scarce. Let me know if you need me, I’ll be in my office.” He kissed his wife one more time, this time on the crown of her head, then left.
I took a seat on the stool at the kitchen island opposite to Maddie.
Even though my best friend felt horrible, she looked more radiant than ever, with her pretty, soft features, glossy chestnut hair cut trendily to shoulder length, and glittering eyes.
I would’ve felt personally attacked by her beauty if not for the fact that I knew she was just as gorgeous on the inside.
“What’s going on?” Maddie frowned, palming her mug of green tea with both hands.
“I’m pregnant,” I announced.
Maddie cupped her mouth, gasping. “Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“Does Grant know?”
“I . . . wait, why do you assume it’s Grant’s?”
She rolled her eyes. “You sleep with each other exclusively. Have been for years. Only he has the decency to admit it, and you pretend to scroll through Tinder every week just to act disappointed with the selection.”
“The selection is disappointing.”
“Sure. When you compare it to a tall, chisel-jawed doctor with his own Manhattan apartment who gives you three orgasms a night.”
“This is not the time to hit me with the truth stick.” I pointed a finger at her. “How did it happen, Mads? I haven’t missed one pill in three years. Not even one.”
“Well, it is only ninety-three percent effective. And weren’t you drinking that night?”
I gave her a look.
I brought a glass of orange juice to my lips.
“Probably shouldn’t drink that.” Maddie winced. “It’s unpasteurized. Plus, pregnancy heartburn is the work of the devil.”
Fantastic. Not three hours had passed since my pregnancy revelation, and already I was being denied my favorite juice. I put the glass back down.
“Please don’t act like I’m going to keep it.” I parked my elbows on the island, then grabbed the back of my neck and pressed my forehead to the cool marble surface.
“Aren’t you?” Maddie’s voice was carefully toneless.
“No!” I tossed my arms in the air. “You know how I feel about having children.”
She just stared at me. A look that told me that all of this had been said and done before I became pregnant. When a child of my own was an abstract idea.
“I love children, but I also know what it means to take care of them, and I think doing it alone would stretch me beyond my limits.”
“Isn’t there a small part of you that wants to keep it?” Maddie asked quietly.
I stared at her through bloodshot eyes, feeling my entire existence sagging with resignation. Yes, there was.
God, there was a huge part of me that wanted to meet this now-grain-size fetus. That same part also suspected this was kismet.
I was thirty-three. I adored kids. I just didn’t like the idea of making them with someone else, someone whose destiny I had to tie with mine.
I had secretly toyed with the idea of a sperm donor or adoption along the years.
I’d always put it on hold, though, because I didn’t have enough time, enough money, enough help. But Grant . . .
Grant was a really great guy. If there ever was a man I could coparent with, it would be him.
Maddie reached to put her hand on mine across the granite island. “What would Dear Desiree say?”
“Oh, I know exactly what she’d say. People write to her about things like this all the time.” I massaged my temples. “Probably to have it and bleed Grant dry in child support. She’s a bit combative when it comes to this subject. I would never do that to him.”
How would that even work? Having a baby with Grant? He was always so busy with work. And he’d just taken a position in Minnesota. He wouldn’t even be here.
His words from the last time we’d hooked up echoed in my head.
“I’m too busy finding the cure to cancer to have a life.”
A child would monopolize his time, resources, and mental capacity. I knew, because I worked with fifteen of them every day in close quarters. Was it fair to spring this on him?
Is it fair to give this up only because he might not want to be involved with the child’s life?
“Am I crazy to want this?” I asked my friend. “Because you’re right. A part of me does want to keep it. And I actually have the privilege to make this work, with or without Grant.”
My parents lived in a good-size house in Hoboken.
I could move in with them for the first couple of years.
They could help me. I could take my maternity leave for six months.
Maybe even stretch it into a year. I’d worked at my current preschool for five years now and had a decent salary and health insurance.
I could move back home, commute from Jersey, save up to buy myself a small house.
I mean, logistically, it was doable.
“No, you’re not crazy.” Mad’s eyes were glistening with tears. “Heck, you coparent Ronan, and he’s not even yours. I think you’ve wanted this for a long time subconsciously. You love children too much to not have one of your own. You just didn’t want to do this with someone else because of Connor.”
I nodded. Maddie knew the whole story with my ex. Including the part about our disastrous reunion five weeks ago.
“It’s going to be so hard.”
“You love hard things,” Maddie pointed out with a grin. We both snorted. “Besides, the universe never gives you more than you can handle.”
“Well, that’s a load of bologna. Hey, universe”—I looked around the lavish penthouse, addressing the air—“thanks for the vote of confidence, but you totally miscalculated.”
“You need to tell Grant.” She leaned in to put a hand on my shoulder. “He has the right to know.”
I moaned into my palms. “I’m so embarrassed. This all sounds like a bad 16 and Pregnant episode.”
“Those things do happen, even to levelheaded people,” Maddie said conversationally. “I agree, it’s not going to be the most comfortable conversation. Still, he needs to know.”
“He is going to hate me.”
“Pretty sure he’s incapable of doing that.” Maddie patted my hand reassuringly. “He adores you.”
Yes. Of course he did. I was an easy lay and a good companion to pass the time with, someone who didn’t require him to put in any kind of effort.
He didn’t have to take me out on dates, buy me gifts, or invest any time, emotions, or money in me.
It was one thing to have casual sex. I was positive he didn’t want more than that, though.
“Uh-huh. What’s going on inside that head of yours?” Maddie’s eyes tapered. “I can tell you’re overthinking.”
“Maybe I’m just having FOMO.” I tucked my hair behind my ear.
“Maybe having a kid is a bad idea after all. I mean, I’ll have to give up my apartment, because a baby won’t fit in there.
It’s a great location. Move back in with my parents .
. . and those long, sleepless nights.” I munched on my lower lip.
“I wish God could give me a sign. Or, you know, a million dollars to make the decision easier.”
Maddie was opening her mouth to say something just as my godson careened out of the foyer, chased by the tall, dark, and handsome male au pair. Ronan jumped into my arms in a fit of giggles, his laughter trickling straight into the pit of my stomach.
“Auntie Layla, Auntie Layla, look, I stole Vinnie’s nose.
It’s in my fist.” He held his curled hand up to my face.
It was pinched tight, his thumb poking out.
I gently stroked strings of dark hair away from his forehead, beaming down at him.
He was so precious and sweet. So faultless. He grinned and added, “I missed you!”
Something inside me ached and unfurled.
Ronan was my sign.
I wanted this. I wanted someone to call my own. Someone to pour all my love and devotion into. Someone to watch grow. To take vacations with. To spend the holidays with. A family of my own.
Jesus. I was really going to do it.
“Mommy, why is Auntie Layla crying?” Ronan poked his bottom lip out, thinking he’d done something wrong. I wiped my face quickly and put on a smile.
Maddie stood up and rounded the kitchen island, scooped him into her arms, and gave him a hug. “She’s having big emotions, but they are good ones. Just because you’re crying doesn’t mean you’re hurting. Sometimes you’re just letting yourself feel.”
I waited until I was in my Uber back home before I sent Grant a text.
Layla: Hi. You still in NYC?
Grant: Yeah. My new position doesn’t start until September. And I’ll still keep my apartment.
Grant: What’s up?
Layla: We need to talk.
A minute passed. Then two. I stared at the screen. He wasn’t typing anything. Had he guessed? Was he mad? Fat chance. Five weeks had passed since our last hookup, which meant it was around the time one of us usually reached out to the other.
Still. Anxiety and fear swirled inside my gut. Finally, the three dancing dots appeared.
Grant: Okay. I have an opening Monday, 11:00 a.m.
Cold. Impersonal. Apathetic. But hey, I was going to spring something sudden and life-changing on him, and he’d probably guessed it.
Layla: I have a fifty-minute lunch break, so that should work.
Grant: Can it be at the hospital cafeteria? I’ll be on call.
That was only a ten-minute walk from the preschool where I worked.
Layla: Sure.
He “liked” my response.
I blinked, waiting for more of his words, for an invitation, for a sign I wasn’t more than a nuisance, but they never came.
It was a good reminder that while Grant and I were great in bed, our worlds were still oceans apart. I didn’t belong in his life, and vice versa. He was a world-renowned oncologist—and I was a preschool teacher.
I was a booty call.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.