6. Angie
ANGIE
“Honestly, I never thought this moment would come.” Nadia drags me by the wrist into a moderately crowded bar. “You’re always hurrying back home after work.”
“I need to check on my mom, you know that.”
“Your mom’s a grown woman.”
“With a crippling dependency on marijuana and the uncanny ability to set literal fire to her life.”
“Both fair points, but come on. You’re young. Drinks after work is practically a God-given right!”
She steers us toward a booth in the back.
It still has old, half-empty glasses, but Nadia’s got this effortless way about her.
Instead of complaining, she stacks everything neatly for the runner to handle when he gets a chance.
The waitress comes over and Nadia asks for wine, but I stick with a Diet Coke, which earns an annoyed look from across the table.
“Come on, it’s drinks after work, not sodas.”
I smile sheepishly, heart racing. My palms are damp and I feel like I’m going to crumble to pieces.
And she’s got no idea.
Nobody does. Not even my mom, and I kept trying to tell her, but it was never the right time. Instead, I’ve been carrying around this weight like an anchor around my throat, dragging me into inky darkness.
Nadia chats amiably, carrying the conversation until our drinks arrive. I take the chance to clear my throat, sitting up straight, panic threatening to make me black out, but I have to tell her. I’m desperate to tell someone.
Holding this inside has been a living hell ever since I found out.
“I took a test,” I announce, slipping my hand into my work bag and finding the paper-towel wrapped bundle.
“Really? What kind? Is that why you’ve been so weird lately?” She brightens and raises her glass. “You got your diagnosis, didn’t you?!”
I pause, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“ADHD? Right? That’s why you’re always…” She trails off, face falling. “Oh, shit. That’s not it.”
“We’ll talk about that later.” I want to vomit but I can’t get distracted. If I let her knock me off course, I won’t ever find the courage to say it out loud.
I place the small bundle down on the table between us.
“What’s that?” She puts her glass down, all humor gone as I unwrap it. “Angie? What am I looking at right now and why do I hate it?”
“I took this a few nights ago. Actually, I took like four of them. And they all say the same thing.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m pregnant, Nadia. I’m really, really, really freaking pregnant, and I don’t know what to do.”
Silence falls on the table. The room buzzes around us. Other young professionals are out with their friends and peers, laughing, clinking glasses, talking loudly about earnings calls and reports, while in our little bubble, it’s like my world is coming to an end.
Pregnant.
I can’t believe this is happening. I shouldn’t be so stunned—but it’s like I always imagined other girls ended up in this situation, not me.
I’ve always been safe, careful, to the point of being overly strict.
Me and Brad never once had sex without a condom, not even a little bit, not even the tip, not even when he begged and acted like a total fucking baby about it.
“I have to ask, and please don’t be mad, but—“ Nadia leans closer. “Is Brad the father?”
I lower my chin, blinking away tears, and shake my head. “It’s not him.”
“Oh, thank fucking Christ.” She lets out a relieved groan and laughs awkwardly. “God, I was terrified you were carrying that halfwit moron’s child and I was going to have to pretend like the baby’s cute and smart when really it’ll probably be ugly and dumb?—“
“Nadia!”
“Okay, sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous. Just, holy shit, Angie. You’re pregnant. Do you… do you know…”
I put my face in my hands. “You won’t believe it.”
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” She comes around the table and slides onto my side of the booth. Her arms wrap around me and she hugs me tight. “I know this is hard, but you’re going to be okay, I swear.”
That finally breaks me. I sob against my friend’s shoulder, feeling like an idiot doing this in public. I hoped that telling her around people would keep me from losing my shit, but nope, clearly that was wrong.
How did this happen? That’s what I keep thinking, over and over again.
How? How? When I’ve tried so hard to do everything right.
I did my best in school, kept out of trouble, got a job, struggled to keep my mother afloat.
I’ve sacrificed so much over the years, and I make one mistake, one stupid mistake with my gorgeous, nightmare of a boss, and this happens.
“I’m going to end up like my mother,” I whisper, getting myself under control.
People are watching now and I don’t want to draw more attention than I already have.
I force myself to smile and wipe my face with a napkin, dabbing to avoid smearing my makeup.
“No, I’m going to be worse. She’s a stoned hippie. I’m a child having a baby.”
“You are nothing like your mother, Angie, and you know it. Don’t do that to yourself.” Nadia takes my hand tightly between hers. “You’re going to be okay, you know that? My cousin went through this a while back.”
I perk up. “Really? She did?”
“She was twenty, made a mistake, got pregnant. We talked a lot about it and I went to the clinic with her?—“
I jerk away as if burned. I don’t know why and I hate the way Nadia looks at me like I slapped her, but those words, the clinic, they’re seared into my brain. I shake my head rapidly, hugging myself tightly, on the edge of melting down for a second time.
“I’m not doing that.”
Nadia puts a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever you want. I’m not pressuring you into anything. I’m just saying, when she found out, she was destroyed. But the clinic was amazing, she said the procedure wasn’t a huge deal, and now?—“
“No, Nadia, I’m being serious. I’m not… I’m not going to…” I clear my throat and reach for a drink, but find only a Diet Coke. God, I wish I could have something stronger. But I can’t anymore, right? Now that I’m pregnant. “I’m going to have this baby.”
“Okay, okay, that’s your choice and I respect it. I’m just saying, there are options. You’re going to survive.”
She doesn’t understand. I don’t even know if I can explain. There’s not a religious reason to keep this baby, at least not for me. I respect anyone who holds those beliefs, but they aren’t mine.
“I want to believe that,” I say quietly, eyes on the table, looking anywhere but at my friend. “It’s just, I’m not going to change my mind. I’m not going to take care of this baby. I mean, I’m going to take care of them, but I mean?—“
“I know what you’re saying.”
I bite my lip to keep from crying. “I don’t want to be like my mother.
And somehow that makes me want to be a better person, you know?
Part of that means owning up to my mistakes, and yeah, this baby is a mistake, I’m not ready to be a mother, I’m not financially stable or with a partner or anything like that, but this is my baby.
It’s also a chance to prove to myself that I’m not just a slower-cooking version of Dawn. Is that insane?”
“I don’t think it’s insane at all.” Nadia sits close and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “But listen, you don’t have to have this baby just to prove to yourself that you’re not an asshole.”
I nod miserably, because I know she’s right, but it’s so much more than that.
I’ve been let down by my mother my whole life.
She’s barely been a part of it, even though she’s always been there.
I’ve always resented her for being such a bad parent to me, so how could I justify being the worst parent imaginable to my own child?
“Mostly I don’t know how I’m going to afford anything. I mean, I’ll have to get another job?—“
“Slow down. You’re so far away from that stage. But you know you have options, right? I mean… there’s the father…” She trails off, studying me.
I rub my face with both hands. “I don’t think that’s happening.”
“You didn’t get yourself pregnant, you know. He’s got responsibility here too.”
“Right, but seriously, Nadia, if I go to him, it’s going to ruin everything.”
“How? You don’t know that. He might step up and do the right thing.”
“Like what, marry me?”
“No, like be in this baby’s life, help pay for things, take two weeks of every month, that sort of shit. You don’t have to be in love to be good co-parents, right? People make it work all the time. You can do that too.”
That’s the first thing she’s said so far that helps. Because she’s right, people really do make this situation work.
“I’d have to tell him first, but I don’t think I can.”
“Who is it? I’ll help, I swear.”
“Nadia…”
“There’s no judgement. You just got out of a serious relationship. A little rebound sex is practically mandatory.” She hesitates, nudging me with her hip. “You do know his name, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know his name.”
“And you can contact him?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Then tell him. You have to tell him. Because maybe he can help, and maybe?—“
“Nadia, it’s Connor Maguire.”
She stops talking. Her jaw drops and she pulls away from me, her eyes wide with shock. A smile starts to cross her lips. “Big Boss? You’re joking, right? Seriously, Angie?—“
I lower my head to the table and groan. “I’m not joking,” I say, and I tell her the whole story, from the email to getting called into his office, but I leave out most of the steamy details. When I’m finished, she’s chugging her drink and looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” she says, fanning herself.
“It’s not funny!”
“I’m not kidding either. Our sexy as hell boss got you pregnant with one blast of his massive?—“
“Stop it!”
“Okay, okay, but wow, Angie, Connor Maguire?! Holy shit.” She rests her head back against the booth and cradles her drink in both hands. “I can see why you don’t want to tell him.”
“Right?!” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. “I can already hear how he’ll react. I bet he’ll try to drive me to the clinic himself.”
“I don’t know. Big Boss is grumpy and mysterious, but he doesn’t come off like an asshole, does he?”
I waggle my hand in the air. “A little bit.”
“Look, okay, I admit it’s a crazy situation, but you still have to tell him. Mr. Maguire’s a grown man. He can handle this. Hell, he can run WashCo, what’s a baby matter? The man has resources that can help you.”
“I do not want his money.”
“But you do want his help and his support. Come on, I know he’s terrifying, but you’re carrying his child. You have to tell him.”
“You make it sound so easy.” I squirm in my seat, recalling the way he fucked me that day, how beautiful I felt, how wanted. The idea of being anywhere near that man again… “He hasn’t spoken to me since it happened.”
Though I think I saw him stalking me.
“Have you tried initiating? And can you blame him? The guy probably thinks you’re going to sue his ass for sexual harassment.”
“I would never!”
“I know that, but he doesn’t.” Nadia hugs me one more time before returning to her side of the booth. She sits with her back straight and gives me a hard look. “You have to tell him. There’s no other option.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Damn it, Angie.” She smacks her hand on the table. “This isn’t the time to be unsure, okay? Tell him the truth. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t.”
We keep talking for a while after that. Nadia has another drink and I sip my soda, intermittently reminded that, yes, there’s a baby growing inside me, which is wild to think about. Before we leave, Nadia gives me an extra-long hug, and promises to help me with anything I need, and I believe her.
The apartment stinks like weed when I get home.
I sigh, kicking off my shoes. Is second-hand marijuana bad for unborn children?
Probably, and I have no idea what I can do about it, short of telling my mother, which feels even harder than telling Connor.
I toss my keys in the tray and find Dawn lying on the couch, that reality show about expensive yachts on TV, a still-burning joint between her limp fingers, the end dangling dangerously.
Her eyes are closed. She clearly passed out. I hurry over and snatch the joint away, stubbing it out in an ashtray. I keep telling her to switch to vapes or gummies but she refuses to change. I step back and take her in, my mother, her messy hair, her chest rising and falling, and that’s me.
Or it could be me. One day, sometime in the future, after years of raising a child all alone. Miserable, with nothing and nobody, broken and confused and failed, all because I screwed up.
How can I be my best self for this baby? If I have nothing, no future, no prospects?
A hard determination floods me. I’ve never been more sure of something in my life, but standing here in our rent-controlled apartment, looking at the mess of my mother, I’m positive about one thing.
I will never become like her.
I won’t be a wreck of a single mother.
I’ll be the best damn mom in the world, even if it kills me.
And that means making some hard choices and having some impossible conversations.