Chapter 11
N atalie
Early November
Claire spent the rest of that evening with me, mapping out a plan for how I’d tell Alex, my parents, and my brother, but I chickened out on all of them.
It didn’t help that I was more exhausted than I’d ever felt in my life, and whenever I was awake, I was nauseous or vomiting. It was a feat in itself how I’d manage to hold in my retching until I could take a break at school. It’s frowned upon to leave a class of students alone, obviously.
Knowing the exact date we had sex helped me to determine how far along I was in the pregnancy, which was helpful since I couldn’t get in to see an obstetrician until I’m almost twelve weeks along.
My appointment is next week, and I assured Claire I’d tell Alex before that so he could attend if he so desired. I’d already decided to tell Alex he didn’t have to be involved, and I expect nothing from him. Knowing him, however, I assume he’ll want to attend as many appointments as possible, and provide anything he can for the baby. I’ve caught myself referring to the baby as a tater tot, and I don’t know why.
As the days inch closer to my appointment, I’m still nowhere near ready to tell Alex. I also haven’t seen the man once around town, and I don’t have his phone number. As Ben’s teacher, I absolutely could access the school records to get it, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that for a personal call. Plus, I think this is something that needs to be done in person. I could ask Arianna, but that conversation wouldn’t go well. “Hey, bestie. Your brother knocked me up a couple months ago. Whoopsie. Can I have his digits to let him know?”
Yeah.
Arianna would blow a gasket.
Which is partially why I have a minor stroke the day before my appointment, cyber stalk Alex, somehow find his home address, and show up at his door a couple hours after dinnertime. It’s been a month since our parent-teacher conference, and I’ve run out of time. Clearly I’m not making good decisions at this stage.
Smart? No. Pregnancy hormones are pushing me to make horrible life choices. I bought a pair of leopard print leggings the other day. Leopard. I also brought in a massive bag of discounted Halloween candy for my students, then sent them all home sugared up and completely wired. Honestly, I was surprised Alex didn’t contact me to complain about that one. A hyped-up Ben is a very loud and talkative Ben.
So now I stand on his front stoop, admiring the cute, but somewhat plain, white house at the end of a road, when the door opens. Expecting Alex, I’m surprised when a young girl answers. “Can I help you?”
“Uh, hi. Abbie, right? I’m Natalie Jackson. I’m Ben’s teacher,” I blurt out, figuring this is my quickest way to get in the house. Jesus. It sounds like I’m trying to case the joint and need entry to do so.
“Oh, hi. Did you come here for Ben?” she asks, her eyes dipping to study my tee shirt and jeans. I automatically look down, noticing a huge stain on the hem. It’s brown, so I’m sure Abbie assumes the worst.
“It’s chocolate,” I announce, rubbing viciously at the stain with my fingernail. “My dinner tonight was chocolate chunk ice cream, and I knew I dropped a piece, but then I got sidetracked and forgot to check again.”
“You had ice cream for dinner?” Abbie says with disdain. “That’s incredibly unhealthy.”
Oh, now I see the attitude Alex is talking about. “Everyone is entitled to a cheat meal here or there, Abbie. It’s not like I eat ice cream every night for dinner. Last night I had grilled chicken and roasted potatoes.”
I totally didn’t. Last night I threw up four times.
“Abs, who’s at the door?” I hear called from another room, and my breath catches in my throat. Fuck. Even knowing what I have to do, I don’t want to do it.
“Um, it’s Ben’s teacher? Nancy Johnson?” Abbie shouts.
“Natalie Jackson,” I mutter. “But sure, we’ll go with Nancy Johnson.”
“Nancy Johnson?” Alex asks. “He doesn’t have a teacher named Nancy.”
Abbie shrugs one shoulder. “Who cares what her name is, Dad. She says she’s Ben’s teacher. God, just come to the door.”
I hear shuffling as Alex rounds a corner, stopping dead when he sees me. “Nancy Johnson?”
“I told her my name,” I say defensively. “Not my fault if she has teenage ears that don’t work right.”
Abbie glares at me. “Rude.”
“Oh, you can judge me, but I can’t judge you? That’s rude.”
“I wasn’t judging you, I was making a comment about your unhealthy eating habits. That’s not judgmental.”
“No, you judged me when you stared at the mark on my shirt, and you rolled your eyes when I explained my reasoning for a cheat meal. That’s the judgment I’m talking about.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Alex mutters before turning to Abbie. “Go see if your brother is done with his homework. Natalie, I mean Ms. Jackson, what can I help you with?”
“Uh, I need to talk to you for a sec,” I say as I watch Abbie walk away, seeing her head is cocked just slightly to the side as she eavesdrops. Rude.
“Do you want to come in?” he asks, his intense eyes watching me.
“Actually, can you step outside for a moment? I’d rather talk in private, and your girl there is very much listening.” It’s mid-November, but it isn’t freezing, so I call this a win. I hear Abbie scoff from around the corner, telling me my girl intuition was right on the money about her eavesdropping.
“Abbie!” Alex shouts. “We’ve talked about this!”
“God!” Abbie whines. “Why won’t you let me do anything?”
Alex steps out the door, shutting it behind him.
“You weren’t kidding about the sass,” I comment.
“I may take you up on your offer to deal with her. I’m losing my mind,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Is something going on with Ben? How did you find out where we live?”
“Nothing is going on with Ben, and I did a simple internet search. You should probably try to lock down the info available online. It was way too easy to find your address,” I stammer, trying to force my heart rate to slow down.
“Home sales are public. Anyone can find my address. Why are you here, Natalie? Are you in trouble?”
“Yes,” I blurt out. Alex’s eyes narrow.
“Is it your ex? Is he stalking you or something?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Alex, I don’t know how to say this. Shit,” I mutter. My chin drops to my chest.
“Rip off the Band-Aid,” he murmurs. Lifting my head, my eyes meet his. He’s looking at me with a hint of a smile on his gorgeous face, a couple days of stubble covering his jawline. He doesn’t motion for me to get to the point, or roll his eyes impatiently. He just waits me out.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, watching his eyes widen. “Shit. I’m sorry. You said rip the Band-Aid off, but I could have been a little more tactful. But yeah, I’m preggers. With child. Knocked up. And, uh, I know this is last minute, but my first appointment is tomorrow, so I thought you should know, in case you wanted to go. But you don’t have to. I don’t expect anything. I can do this alone, if that’s what you’d rather do. No expectations here.”
As I rambled, Alex’s face drains of all its color. Shock evident, he stares at me without speaking. I handled this so poorly. “Fuck, Alex. I’m doing a really shitty job. Um, I should go.”
“You’re pregnant,” he states .
“Yes,” I nod.
His eyes don’t leave mine, barely blinking as he seems to digest the information. “And you’re sure it’s mine? You just got out of a relationship, Natalie. How can you be sure it’s mine?”
I take a couple of deep breaths, willing myself not to snap at him like I want to. “I’d had my cycle a couple weeks before we were together. And I hadn’t been with Rob in quite some time.”
Alex continues to stare at me, saying nothing.
“So anyway, my appointment tomorrow is at a clinic in western Denver, if you want to go,” I say with hesitancy clear in my voice.
“I have to work. Why Denver?” Alex asks, crushing my spirit slightly.
“Small town. Didn’t want to get the vultures into an uproar until absolutely necessary. And if you don’t want anything to do with the baby, then I’ll move somewhere else anyway.”
“Why?”
I stare at him incredulously. “Seriously? Why would I stay here? I doubt you’d want to see a constant reminder of our night, and I certainly won’t want to see you and know you don’t want to be in his or her life.”
“I never said that,” he says suddenly.
I sigh, realizing we’re getting nowhere. “Well, now you know. You can take some time to think it over. I’m, um, I’m having the baby, in case that wasn’t obvious. So the ball is in your court, I guess.”
“What is your end game here, Natalie?” Alex asks angrily, as he reaches out to grip my wrist.
“I don’t have an end game, Alex. I’ll honor your wishes, whatever they are. Unless you tell me to get rid of the baby. That I’m not doing.”
“I’d never tell you that. Christ, Natalie. I’d never say that,” Alex responds passionately, then drags one hand through his hair. “I can’t — this is my fault.”
“It’s no one’s fault,” I say gently. “It happened. It doesn’t matter how things transpired. I’m a glass-half-full kind of girl, and I try to find the positives in everything. I’m not going to point fingers at you. ”
“Well, my glass is fucking empty, so there’s that,” he says bitterly. “This isn’t how this should happen. I can’t — I can’t fucking believe this. I’m not equipped to deal with this.”
I struggle to maintain my composure as I watch Alex fall apart in front of me. I know what he’s thinking. It shouldn’t happen because I’m not his wife. He should only have children with her. I get it. Really, I do. But it still hurts my heart. I didn’t ask for any of this either. I certainly never thought I’d conceive a child with a man who is still desperately in love with his dead wife.
Knowing I’m only a few moments away from breaking into sobs, I shakily pull a ripped piece of paper from my pocket and push it toward Alex. “Here’s the address for my appointment tomorrow. If you don’t want to go, I understand. Please believe me, okay? I’m not forcing you to do anything. At the bottom is my phone number. If you want to talk or anything. I’m gonna go now.”
Alex reluctantly takes the paper from my outstretched fingers, barely holding it between his thumb and forefinger, as if it’s tainted. I turn away as the first tear falls, quickly walking to my car. I keep my head bowed so Alex can’t see the tears streaming down my cheeks as I slide into my car. I cast a quick glance toward his house, finding him sitting on the stoop, head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He’s crying, and I hate that I’m partially responsible for his anguish.
Driving away, I try to reconcile the feeling that I’ll be attending my appointment alone, and I wonder if Alex will even want to be part of this baby’s life. I thought he’d surely want to take part, but now I don’t know.