PROLOGUE #2
Our meager towels are stacked in the corner of the countertop, a chore I finished while waiting for the results. They may be cheap and old, but I pride myself on being tidy. I stuff the pregnancy test between the towels. This will have to do.
Cyrus and I are going to have a baby.
We’re having a baby…
“Fallon, I swear on everything if you don’t open this door so I can see with my own eyes that you’re okay—” I slide the pathetic plastic divider open, my cheeks hurt with the forced smile.
My boyfriend, Cyrus McCoy, stands in the doorway.
Looming over me, he’s too polished to be surrounded by our filth.
“Hi,” I breathe. Still baffled after two years that Cyrus McCoy is my boyfriend, my boyfriend! And we’re having a baby! When he asked me out, I thought it was a cruel joke, a bet he had with his friends. He had to work to gain my trust. And work he did.
“You’ve been crying,” he states the obvious. Rolling my eyes, I try for nonchalance. “It’s nothing. Those girls get to me. Once I get some rest, I will be right as rain.”
One blonde eyebrow arches. “Thought you said it wasn’t about them?”
Shoot-I had said that, hadn’t I? I stumble, grasping at something to cover my slip.
“You’re right; there’s a lot going on right now, with our state tests, Mom, and now this stunt Jo pulled.
Very overwhelming.” His sympathetic gaze brings about a sense of guilt.
I shouldn’t have lied, but I didn’t lie, not truly.
“It’s okay, Fal. We have a few more weeks, and we can blow this popsicle stand of a town and never have to look back.” His lips are warm as they meet mine. Cedar and sunshine encircle me as Cyrus kisses me; he’s bright, full of life and laughter, a sanctuary for my dark existence.
“Can you two get a room?” A voice slices through the air, intruding on our moment. My mother. Wonderful. We come apart, breathless, glowing.
“Hello, Miss Lawson.” Cyrus tugs me down the hall toward the one person on the planet I aim to avoid more than Jordan. My mom’s so humiliating when she’s drinking. Please let her be sober today. I pray to an all to quiet God.
“Cyrus, you’re still sniffing around.” Her voice, once soft, now crackles from years of abuse from smoking. I stiffen, shame coloring my cheeks.
He smiles through the discomfort her words cause. As always, he’s a perfect gentleman.
“Nowhere else I’d rather be than with my girl.”
Her face twists at his words. His affection toward me offends her. Mom is not affectionate toward me. I don’t have a single memory of her arms wrapped around anyone other than a man. I sigh. Life is exhausting, carrying the weight of being her daughter.
“Well, that’s…something. If we’re all lucky, you’ll stick around longer than her daddy did,” she mocks him.
Her worn heels echo through the cramped kitchenette as she struts past. A click, click, clicking sound trailing her.
“Go find somewhere else to fool around. I’ve got company coming and need to freshen up.
” She waves us off. Already exhausted of us in her presence.
No need to be told twice. Cyrus’s warm hand clasps mine as we bolt across the kitchen toward the front of the trailer.
Our footsteps echo as I push to keep pace with Cyrus, our laughter trailing behind us.
Following his lead is the only reprieve I get from the fleeting embarrassment coloring my cheeks as I notice the walls shaking from our footfalls.
Soon we will leave here and never look back. I can’t wait. We launch ourselves out the front door and down the unstable porch steps. We make a quick getaway before Mom’s company shows.
My mother is infamous in this town, and none of it is for anything good. So, I keep my hand tucked in Cyrus’s, and together, we run.
The next few weeks we chase that feeling—freedom, escape, us.
But something shifts in him. Small at first. Easy to ignore.
A pause where there used to be laughter. A distance where there used to be warmth. I told myself it was nothing. We’re both under so much pressure.
I was wrong. So incredibly wrong.
His words assault me. “This isn’t going to go the way you think. Our time together has ended.”
I reach for him; he steps back, out of my reach. Hurting, I try to touch him. Again, he denies me. The baby blues I fell in love with hold no warmth, his expression cutting into me with disgust.
“I don’t understand, Cyrus. Our bags are packed. We’re leaving today.”
“I’m leaving. You can always find a ride to your dorm. Consider a bus? You’re resourceful. I’m confident you’ll figure it out, not really my problem anymore.”
Heat flames in my cheeks at being called a problem. Each of his words land a brutal blow, shredding my heart, attacking the insecurities I’ve fought to bury. This has to be a cruel joke. My brows knit, every muscle coiling to hold back the surge of hurt.
“Believe me, your tears won’t change anything. We were fun until we weren’t. Distraction isn’t something I need at school. College will have to be taken seriously for my future to reflect my goals. Perhaps you can find another meal ticket to siphon.
Tears sting at the edges of my eyes, but I will not let them fall. Not in front of him. My emotions are a privilege that has been stripped away. No, I won’t cry. Not for him. Never again.
“Perhaps Jonah can help during your time of discomfort. After all, I hear you two have gotten close. Strange, though, one of my friends being close to my girlfriend? Someone he rarely acknowledges. Well, ex-girlfriend now.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt. His face morphs from one of cold indifference to revulsion.
“I am aware,” he spits the words out; he looks devastated. “Jonah can help you with that as well. Good luck.”
He leaves me. He walks away before I can say another damn thing. Every time I try to open my mouth, he shut me down. He turns away from the truth—and from me.
He left me behind. One very short conversation with no explanation. Not even a true goodbye.
Now I’m sitting here on the rickety front steps of Momma’s trailer, picking at a splintered board while tears slide down my cheeks. The wood is rough beneath my thighs, but I don’t move. The discomfort of the pain seems deserved somehow.
I still haven’t been able to sort out what the hell any of that meant. What does Jonah have to do with his choice to end what we have? Had. Did he think I was trying to trap him with a pregnancy? That wouldn’t be surprising. Not with whom my mother is.
My shoulders slump. No. That doesn’t make sense.
He couldn’t have found out. I haven’t gone to a clinic to find out how far along I am.
Going to the local clinic here in town isn’t a possibility for me.
Betty, Cyrus’s mother’s best friend, volunteers there.
I can’t take the chance of running into her.
And HIPAA protects people outside of small towns.
If the wrong person were to glance at my results, even a whisper… and my secret would be out.
He cut me off every time I spoke; he didn’t answer any of my questions.
He left me with nasty remarks, and choking on tire dust kicked up when he gunned it down the road.
We were supposed to get out of this shithole together.
We had plans. A future. Together. He left me like I was nothing.
A scrap of trash that blew out the window of his truck that didn’t matter once it hit the pavement.
He fucking left me.
Left us.
Something precious, innocent, even somewhat unsophisticated, crumbles inside me. He promised me an adolescent love that would grow into a mature, old love together—a love story to tell our grandchildren about, our forever.
How am I going to navigate this alone? I’ll lose my scholarship, have nothing to show for my years of endless work, and being a single mother in this town will shatter any delusions I hold of an everyday life.
Life will continue to evolve around me: school friends will go off together to get an education, build careers, start families, buy houses, and turn them into homes.
I’ll be here in this rundown trailer park, with Momma and a baby.
This can’t be what life intended for me.
The trailer door bangs open behind me, and the screech of eighties rock music spills out like smoke.
Loud and unruly. The women in the doorway haven’t noticed me yet, so I observe my future.
Momma stumbles onto the porch in spiked stilettos, tight jeans, and a low-cut tank top, my one decent push-up bra jutting out the top of the neckline.
Fantastic, that bra cost me more than I am willing to acknowledge.
I won’t get that back now. Not that I want to test my fate any more than I already have.
Who knows how many men have touched my lace while on her body.
I shudder. The women trail behind her, all of them in different states of inebriation.
This day keeps getting better and better.
The women laugh, clutching at each other’s backsides. Mom stumbles, slamming into the trailer, and her friends haul her upright, brushing dust off her chest and shoulder, ignoring the awkward impact with the metal siding.
Barb, one of my mother’s longest-standing friends and the one person in town my mother hasn’t ripped off, flips her black, box-dyed hair out of her eyes.
They helped themselves to my makeup. She steals the lit cigarette from Mom’s hand before taking a long drag.
I cringe. If this is the universe’s way of showing me my future through a crystal ball, may I never live to see it come to fruition. No, thank you.