Chapter 6
I’LL STAB HIM WITH A RUSTY SPORK
SHARI
“Ok, I've got you, come and sit on the couch with me,” I say as soothingly as I can whilst slowly walking him backwards into his living room.
The backs of Brad's knees hit the cushion, and he immediately falls to sit on the sofa.
I move my grip from his biceps to his hands as I shift to sit next to him, and his grip tightens on my fingers.
“I know this is a shock. But I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you.
If you never want to see me again, if you don’t want anything to do with this baby, I get it.
You can even sign away your parental rights if you really want to wash your hands of us. I won’t hold it against you and—”
“I thought you couldn’t get pregnant,” he accuses quietly.
The look in his eyes has morphed from shock to anger.
“I distinctly remember you saying that you can’t get pregnant.
So how the fuck did this happen? Did you lie to me?
Is it even mine? What the fuck, Shari! I can’t have a kid!
” he pulls his hands from mine to slap his thighs.
I expected some anger, but his words are like a slap to the face, regardless.
“You…you think I lied to you? Why would I do that?” I feel my own ire rising in response and there is no stopping it.
“I just told you I don’t expect anything from you.
So, what exactly would I have to gain by lying to you about this, Brad?
I realise we don’t know each other very well other than the physical, but fuck you very much for thinking so little of me! ”
His jaw flexes over and over again like he's biting back his words as he stares at the wall behind me.
“Seriously? You can't even look at me?” I choke out, my throat clogging with the threat of tears. Maybe I'm being overly sensitive, I have just dropped a bomb on him, but rationality is not in the driver's seat right now.
I stand and start marching for his front door, and I don’t know why, but my heart breaks a little when he doesn’t try to stop me.
I pause with the door ajar and say over my shoulder, “I only came to let you know because that is your right. Your involvement after this point is down to you. I won’t stop you from having a relationship with our baby if that’s what you want, but I won’t let you break their heart either, so you need to decide if you’re in or out. ”
Just as I'm about to shut the door behind me, I hear his quiet, “And what about us?” I look up in time to see his furrowed brow aimed at the floor, but I can’t figure out exactly what that expression means.
“There is no us, Brad. We were a fling. An occasional hook up. We don’t even really know each other and you're just...you're so young, so don't worry, you don't need to feel obligated to try and be with me for the sake of the baby.” I pause to take a breath and try to wrangle my emotions. “But if you want to know our child, they will need to be a priority for you. You’re their father, not a fun uncle who sometimes dips in and out of their life. You have time to think about it and you’ll get no pressure from me, but I’d like to know your decision before the baby is born.”
He gives me a terse nod, still unable to look at me, and I just about manage to get to my car before I burst into tears.
When I get home from Brad's, my girls are all waiting in my living room – we all have emergency keys to each other's houses – and it just makes me dissolve into a fresh round of tears. Jaime phoned me when I was driving home, so she must have put out the SOS call to rally the troops.
Most women have one or two people in their lives that they can call a true bestie, if they're lucky.
I'm fortunate enough to have three. These ladies lift me up, keep me sane, and make me laugh like no others.
We have each other's backs, no questions asked – well, ok, that's a lie, I always have questions but I'll still help a sister out whilst I interrogate them.
So, although a tight group of four may be unusual, I'm so privileged to be part of the awesome foursome.
Elle rushes over to me and wraps me in a tight embrace whilst Max and Jaime bracket us for a group hug. Pickles hates being left out, so he jumps up and paces and whines until we let him into the circle. His derpy little face is so happy that it eases some of my turmoil.
Once I'm able to speak past the hiccuping sobs, I recount everything that happened with Brad.
My baby's father. Who clearly thinks so little of me that I must have lied to.
..what? Steal his sperm and force him into fatherhood?
Because sure, a uni student who works in a bar was the best option to trap in that way.
I'd roll my eyes if they weren't so swollen from all the crying. Stupid hormones.
Max, ever the practical one, squeezes my hand and starts planning my life.
“You don't need him. We will help you every step of the way.
We can make a rota so you're covered for all the big things, and you know you can just text or call for the smaller things too.
I'll come with you to your first scan, and we can find out if they'll allow all three of us in the birthing suite with you.”
Elle, who has retreated into the kitchen to remove what smells like chocolate cake from the oven, shouts, “I’ve got dibs if they only allow one!”
“Wait, why do you get dibs? You've been in a birthing suite of your own four times, might I remind you. I've only had one baby, so it should be me,” Jaime interjects.
“I made her godmother, which neither of you has done for any of us, remember,” Elle shoots back.
“This shit again? You can't keep pulling this card, Elle!”
Their light-hearted bickering pulls a wobbly smile from me.
Jaime turns to me when she notices, “There she is. Just know if that fuckhead makes you cry again, I'll stab him with a rusty spork.” She affirms this with a decisive nod, making a laugh splutter out from my mouth.
“A spork?”
“Yep. A really rusty one. It'll be sharp and blunt at the same time, and either way, it'll hurt.”
Well, if not a father, this baby will at least have the most protective aunties in the world, that's for sure.
Elle saunters back into the room with a tray of chocolate molten lava cakes and vanilla ice cream. She's even brought a little bowl with a scoop of ice cream for Pickles.
“Wait,” I croak, “how long have you been in my house that you've had time to bake these?”
“They only take about forty minutes, including prep, and you know I have this down to a T by now.”
Max pulls out a bottle of wine from seemingly nowhere and starts filling the glasses that I've only just noticed are on my coffee table.
“None for me, bun in the oven, remember?”
She keeps on pouring, “Oh, I remember. This is non-alcoholic wine. We're forgoing alcohol with you in solidarity.”
“But only for tonight. Just to be clear. Don't want you thinking I'm not drinking for the next seven months. That would be crazy talk!” Jaime interjects. We dissolve into laughter and I thank my lucky stars again for gifting me such wonderful sisters.
The next three hours are spent watching car crash TV, drinking fun-free wine, and eating cake and ice cream. We may or may not also spend some time vilifying my baby daddy whilst we're at it, because we are but human and my emotions are still very raw.
Just as we start cleaning up for the girls to go home to their own children, there's a knock at the door triggering Pickles' howling bark – which is as adorable as it is annoying.
Who knocks on the door at ten o’clock at night?? Psychos, that's who.
Jaime The Brave takes one for the team and answers, and when she turns around her eyebrows are so far up her forehead, I swear they might disappear into her hairline. I see why when Brad steps through the door a second later.
The backs of my eyes sting and I don't fucking want to cry anymore today! But also emotions. And hormones. And really hot, remorseful-looking manboy who knocked me up and is now crouched down to pet my first baby behind the ears. Damn it.
The girls are all just glaring silently at Brad, who looks like he'd rather have his dick stuck in a vice than be under this scrutiny. “Hey, Shari. Can we, uh, talk? Please?”
Sweet, soft, Elle takes pity on him first and turns to hug me. “If it gets to be too much, call me. I'll come and stay over and leave the kids with my parents.”
Max and Jaime hug me and Jaime deadpans, “Rusty. Spork,” and just before they all walk out together, she turns to Brad and quietly utters, “Just know that I've already planned how and where I'd dispose of a body.”
The door closes behind them and I can hear Max's muffled, “Wait, where and how would you dispose of a body?”
“The less you know, the better, my friend.” Jaime's reply trails off as they walk to their cars.
And with that sinister statement, Brad and I are left alone.
brAD
“So, your friends are more intense than I remember.”
Understatement. The one with the bob is terrifying. Her icy blue eyes look like they could pierce a man’s soul with one look.
For some reason, this only makes Shari smile. It's small but definitely there, so I use the moment to really take her in. Her face looks pale, her hair is a mess, and her eyes are red and swollen. She's still beautiful, just...sad. And it guts me to realise that I'm the cause.
I clear my throat and try again. “I’m so sorry, Shari. I was just in shock and I reacted badly—”
“Ya think?” she interrupts, arms crossed.
“—and I hate that I hurt you. Of course I don't think that you lied to me or tried to trap me or whatever else I insinuated. I'm just...I don't know. Confused? How did this happen?”
“Well, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much, they have a special hug—”
The sarcasm is real with this one.
“Blaze. You know what I mean. I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm really not. But I thought you said you can't get pregnant?”
Her shoulders deflate with her heaved sigh, and she uncrosses her arms.
“Come and sit, I'm too tired to keep standing there with you.” She moves over to the couch and pats the cushion next to her.
“I really didn't think I could get pregnant.
My ex-husband and I tried for ten years to have a baby.
We spent an exorbitant amount of money on IVF, only for it to fail time and again.
I managed to get pregnant once in seven cycles, but I miscarried after only five weeks and just never caught again.
I won't bore you with the details but basically I have almost no eggs so…” she shrugs.
“I just assumed it wasn't in the cards for me.
And now I'm forty and almost definitely going through perimenopause, I never in a million years would have thought this was possible.”
I take her hand as she chokes on her words; she lets me thread our fingers together and I rub my thumb back and forth over her knuckles. Her skin is so soft, just like her heart.
“I’m so sorry, love. I had no idea, that must have been so hard.” I hesitate on my next question, but if we're going to do this, I need to know everything. “Can I ask what happened between you and your ex?”
“It was hard. So, so hard. Yes, all the injections and blood tests and internal scans and pills and pessaries and steroids and blood thinners and just everything that comes with it takes a physical toll.
But the emotional rollercoaster is not for the faint of heart.
I truly believe that this amount of IVF will either make or break a couple and, unfortunately, it broke us.
I think we just grieved too much of it separately and didn't grow from it together. We ended amicably, as divorces go, but we ended nonetheless.”
“Are you friends? Do you still see him at all?” The thought makes my stomach clench for some reason.
“No, we don't see each other. He still lives in Nottingham. I only moved to Bristol to be closer to the girls when we divorced. I imagine if we bumped into each we'd be friendly but...we don't actively keep in touch.”
The tension in my middle eases, but I don't really know what to say to any of that, so I just use my free hand to rub small circles on her back.
After a moment, she continues, “I really didn't know we could have created a little life in any of the times we were together, Brad.
But this baby is a miracle to me, and I will do everything I can to protect it.
Which is why I need to know if you're in or out of the baby's life, because I can't have you changing your mind and breaking their heart.”
I look at her beautiful face and picture a little boy with those mesmerising hazel eyes and my light brown hair. Or maybe a little girl with her dark hair and my greenish blue eyes. And I melt.
“I’m in, but what does it mean for us?”
Her expression softens as she squeezes my hand.
“I meant what I said, Brad. You're so very young and you should be free to live your life and enjoy your twenties.
God knows, I did. Have fun, make mistakes, sow your wild oats!
You're under no obligation to be with me.
As long as you're here for our baby and we can be the best co-parents who ever co-parented in the history of all co-parenting, I'm more than happy.”
My stomach sinks a little, because I really do like this woman. But I can see she's made up her mind, so I won't push it. For now.