Chapter 11
Lydia
SOMEHOW I MAKE it through the rest of the wedding weekend, but I’m so relieved to be home in my own bed that I collapse without changing into my pajamas. I do make sure to take my Unisom and B6 though, because tomorrow I have to go to work, and I absolutely do not want to throw up there. Sure, the Unisom made me sleepy, but it also took the edge off the nausea. That and the orange juice Cole brought. It took me completely by surprise that he noticed something like that, and I was once again forced to confront that he may not be all bad. I should see this as a good thing considering he’s the father of my baby. I mean, I don’t want to give birth to Enemy Number 1 Junior. But truthfully, it just makes me feel all sorts of nervous. I can’t afford to like him. It’s too dangerous.
After he kept his promise to make sure I didn’t fall asleep at brunch, we exchanged phone numbers, and he told me he’d be in touch about—as he put it— “things”. This is good, because I have a lot of “things” I need to talk to him about too.
Jamie wakes me up Monday morning for our usual run, and since I haven’t told her about my pregnancy yet–nor do I know how to–I force myself to stumble through three miles before coming home and throwing up with the shower on full blast in the background to hide the noise. That’s when I decide I can’t wait for Cole to text me. I need to meet as soon as possible. The stress of hiding a pregnancy is getting to me, and I’ve only been doing it for two days. I shoot him a text telling him I want to meet today, then hop in the shower and start outlining all of the bullet points for our discussion.
When I get out of the shower he’s replied, telling me to come to his office at 6 and we’ll talk. It isn’t until I arrive at his office that evening to find a man in a suit studying me gravely, that I realize my bullet points are not the important part of today’s meeting. Nope. Today’s meeting has a political agenda.
“Lydia, hi,” Cole greets me as if it’s normal to have a third-party present for a discussion about how to handle your unplanned pregnancy.
“This is her?” the ominous-looking man says, before I can reply to Cole.
“Yes, Tom, this is Lydia Hamlin. Lydia, this is my campaign manager Tom Grant.” His campaign manager. Lovely.
“Nice to meet you, Tom.” I try to keep my tone level. “Sorry, I left my guy at home.”
“What?” Cole furrows his brow in confusion .
“I missed the memo,” I go on, “the one about how we were supposed to bring our sidekicks with us. Perhaps I can call Batman and see if he’ll lend me Robin.”
Tom sighs, clearly unamused, but Cole doesn’t blink. “Sorry, I guess I should’ve mentioned Tom would be here. When I told him the situation, he thought it would be best for us to all meet.”
I eye Tom, who nods. “Ms. Hamlin, I’m not sure you quite understand the predicament you’ve put Cole here in.”
“Excuse me?” I do not like Tom. And I like most people. “The predicament I put Cole in. I’m pretty sure it takes two to tango.”
“No need to be crass, Ms. Hamlin.”
“That was actually me not being crass,” I retort.
“Tom, Lydia,” Cole interjects, “let’s not fight. We’re all on the same team here.”
“What is it with you and teams?” I cry.
“Ms. Hamlin, this feisty attitude really isn’t going to work in your favor once you become part of Cole’s campaign. We’re going to need you to tone it down a bit. Voters like relatable people, yes, but they also like happy marriages. Do you see what I’m saying here?”
I study him with unblinking eyes for a minute, then turn to Cole. “I’m sorry, but did your campaign manager just propose to me?”
“C’mon, Lydia,” a muscle in Cole’s eye twitches. I’ve dried up his patience. I do not care.
“Ms. Hamlin,” Tom interjects once again, “you must see that this is the only path forward for you. Marriage, I mean. Cole has a political campaign to think about, one that will very likely be destroyed should this scandal come out; and you—it’s my understanding—don’t have a whole lot going for you as a future single mother. I understand you work at a Christian school.” Tom shakes his head with faux regret. “They surely won’t approve of your poor life choices.”
I wish I could argue with him, but he’s basically voicing my fears right now, like some sort of devil on my shoulder.
Tom looks over at Cole. “While we’re on that subject, I really think we ought to see what we can do with her career. Middle school running coach doesn’t have too much pizazz. Voters like candidates’ spouses to either work in the home or have jobs that show the extent of their post-secondary education. You know, doctors, professors, lawyers. That sort of thing.”
“Her parents are lawyers,” Cole offers.
“Well, that’s a little bit of something.” Tom is thoughtful. “Always helps to have lawyer parents when you’re trying to get into law school. I wonder what their alma maters are.”
“Excuse me,” I burst out, “I like my job.” Not only am I outraged with the way they’re discussing me like I’m not even here, but they’re also getting dangerously close to my least favorite topic. My failure to live up to my potential. My mother’s words, not mine .
Both men look at me as though just remembering that I’m in the room. “She likes her job,” Cole says to Tom with an apologetic shrug.
Tom sighs. “One battle at a time I suppose, but let’s keep the lawyer idea on the back burner. If we could even say that she’s going to be attending law school that might be good. Of course, right now she’ll be focusing on the baby anyway.” Tom seems to be thinking out loud, and Cole is just standing there nodding along.
“Excuse me,” I say again, “but what is happening right now?”
Their eyes swivel to me once more. “Lydia.” Cole steps forward, reaching for my hand– which I do not give him. After a beat he lets his hand fall back to his side. He sighs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Lydia,” he says again, “I know this isn’t ideal, but I think us getting married is for the best.”
“Wow.” I clutch my hand to my heart. “That was so romantic. How could I refuse?”
Cole is not amused. “Hey now, we’re both in a bit of a jam here. Now I’m willing to make sacrifices for the happiness of our baby and, yes, for my career as well. I know I’m not your idea of a happily ever after, but honestly, I assumed you would be more than on board with this solution to your fear of being alone.”
I jerk my head as if I’ve been slapped, hurt that he’s throwing my moment of vulnerability with him yesterday back in my face. To his tiny credit Cole backtracks, correctly interpreting my body language. For once .
“Sorry, that was a low dig.” He sighs. “Will you at least think about it, Lydia? If we get married, a lot of our problems go away. Married couples are supposed to have babies, you know?”
I nod, my emotions too close to the surface for me to speak any sort of coherent words. “I have to go,” I mumble, then take off running.
I drive around aimlessly until my tears have run out and the redness of my face has faded. Again, I want to cry out to God, but my shame stops me. I’ve put myself in this predicament. When I finally get back to our apartment at quarter to eight, I find Jamie sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. The smell of garlic is heavy in the air, and it’s not agreeing with me.
“You’re home!” she cries, dashing up and running over to the oven. “Finally! I made dinner. Your favorite. Lasagna.” She pulls on a pair of oven mitts. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so late, but I think I managed to keep it warm.” She’s yammering like she does when she’s nervous, and I’m suddenly suspicious. Why has she gone to all this trouble to make my favorite dish?
“Did you paint something?” I accuse.
“What? No.” Jamie sets the lasagna down on the table, which, I notice for the first time, she’s set quite nicely. Wine glasses, cloth napkins, all the stops. I raise my eyebrows, staring her down. She sighs. “But there is something I need to tell you.”
Okay, now I’m getting nervous. It’s clear she’s trying to butter me up before she drops some sort of bomb.
“Something you need to tell me,” I repeat, “and let me guess, I’m not going to like it.” My mind searches for possibilities. She already said she didn’t paint anything. Did she break something then? Or put a hole in the wall? Is there any chance she could be pregnant too? My mind starts to wander down that path, cooking up imaginary scenarios. The two of us with matching bumps, giving birth at the same time. Deciding to raise our babies together as roommates. Gosh, the sitcom potential is high.
No, I shake my head. There’s no way Jamie is pregnant. She’s been dating Luke Springer, a theology teacher at Faith, for over a year now, and they are super careful. Like won’t-even-hang-out-in-our-apartment-if-I’m-not-here-supervising careful. My face flushes at the thought of having to tell her how clearly, I was not careful.
“Here’s the thing,” Jamie begins, moving her hands onto the table and drumming her fingers along the table nervously. That’s when I see it. Sparkling on her finger.
“Jamie!” I shriek. “You got engaged!”
She breaks into a smile. “Yes!” she cries. “This weekend while you were gone. He asked me.”
“Congratulations!” I rush over and pull her into a hug. “But why would you think I’d be upset about that?”
“Oh.” Her smile dips slightly. “Well, obviously that means I’ll be moving out…”
“Oh.” My shoulders fall automatically, but I force myself to smile and sound bright. “Well, that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to find–”
“In four months,” Jamie continues.
“Oh wow, that’s soon.” I continue to force my smile to remain intact. Four months. I’ll be almost six months pregnant in four months. Who’s going to want to live with me? And I definitely can’t afford this place on my own. Especially if I get fired for being an unwed mother.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie moans. “I know it’s so fast, but we want a summer wedding and neither of us wants to wait until next summer, because you know...” She eyes me meaningfully. Oh yes, I do know. Thanks to Enemy Number 1, I really do know.
“Right.” I nod, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans. “That makes total sense. I’m so happy for you guys, Jamie. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
She peers at me, trying to tell if I’m lying. “I promise I’ll help you look–” she starts.
“Jamie,” I put my hand up to stop her, “enough worrying about me. We should be celebrating you!”
Jamie gives me a tentative smile. “Okay then!” She jumps up and pulls open the cabinet doors. “I got us some red wine to celebrate. Thought it would pair well with the lasagna.” She takes out our corkscrew and unscrews the cork. This is it. The point at which I should tell her my news. After all, she’s just told me she’s moving out, so she can’t be too mad at her pathetic pregnant friend. Right?
“Uh, you know what,” I cover my glass, “I think I’ll pass on the wine. I, uh, had a lot to drink this weekend with the wedding.”
“Oh, okay.” Jamie’s face falls ever so slightly, and I feel a pang of guilt. I should tell her. But it’s so hard. “Lasagna then.” She takes out a spatula. As soon as the pile of noodles and sauce hits my plate it sends its garlicky aroma straight to my nose, which then transmits it directly to my pregnancy hormones. I’m up out of my chair like a shot.
“I’ll be right back,” I call to her as I hustle out of there. “Just need to use the bathroom.” I close the bathroom door and promptly vomit.
When I’ve fully collected myself, meaning used mouthwash, wiped off my sweaty brow, and flushed the toilet, I head back out to the kitchen. Before I reach it though, I spot Jamie standing in our front entryway, frozen in place her eyes focused on something clutched in her hand. As I move closer, dread fills me. She’s holding my pregnancy test.
Jamie hears me coming and lifts her gaze to mine. “Y-you’re pregnant?”
“Where did you get that?” I say stupidly.
“You got a delivery while you were in the bathroom.” She gestures to a bouquet of flowers and what looks like a few bottles of orange juice. Cole . “So I went in your bag to show him some ID, and I found this.” She holds up the white stick. “Is it true, Lydia? Are you pregnant?”
Tears spring to my eyes. I nod, unable to speak.
There’s a beat of silence. “How?”
“Um,” I begin uncertainly, because that’s sort of an awkward question.
“No, I don’t mean like the actual process.” She waves this away. “I mean, how on earth did you get pregnant when you don’t even have a boyfriend! More importantly, you definitely don’t have a husband!” Her voice is a tad hysterical. “Oh my gosh, Lydia! What are you going to do? This is bad. This is so bad.”
For some reason the fact that she’s freaking out keeps me calm. “I know this is bad, Jamie,” I tell her, “but I’ve got it under control.” A lie. A total lie.
“Oh yeah?” She's understandably incredulous. “How do you have it figured out? Who even is the father?” She gestures to the flowers. “The guy who sent these?” She swoops down and picks them up, reading the card aloud. “Sorry about tonight. Please can we talk again soon? Cole. Who the heck is Cole!” She tosses the card at me.
“Jamie,” I begin, but she keeps railing. I glance down at the printed card in my hand, rereading the words.
“What is the school going to say, Lydia? Principal Henry is not going to like this, and then you’re going to be out of a job. Out of a job right when I’m supposed to be moving out! Now I can’t move out, can I? But I really want to get married!” She’s started pacing now. “I guess Luke is just going to have to move in then, and, and we’ll support you.” She nods, cottoning onto this idea. “I can paint the baby’s room. Which will also be your room, since this is only a two-bedroom, but I think I can probably convince Luke.”
“Jamie!” I shout and she finally shuts up, turning to face me, her chest heaving from the exertion of not breathing between sentences. “You are going to marry Luke and the two of you are going to live together somewhere else,” I say slowly as I run my fingers over Cole’s words. “I have this all figured out.”
“How? How do you have this figured out?”
I picture Cole’s face as he tells me it’s for the best. “Simple,” I shrug, “I’m getting married too.”