Chapter 5
Alyssia
“We’ll have a delivery service come by tomorrow afternoon to pick up your company laptop,” my now-former boss explains. Her voice is eerily chipper for a woman who’s just laid me off.
The boulder that sits in my throat prevents me from doing anything besides nodding into the screen of said laptop.
“Great. Well, I’m sorry things worked out this way. Please feel free to use me as a reference in your job search.”
I believe I thank her but can’t be too sure. Minutes later, I’m standing alone in my tiny, two-bedroom, New York City apartment, pacing. The one thing I’m grateful for right now is that my roommate isn’t home.
As if my head isn’t swirling enough, an accusing silence welcomes me when I push my bedroom door open.
My heart kicks against my chest for an entirely separate reason.
There, sitting on the bed, on top of the journal I write in every morning, is an unopened pregnancy test. My hands drop to my stomach, as if I could determine any type of change by touch alone.
I’ve put off taking the test for days, hoping and praying that my typically punctual period would arrive any moment now.
Four weeks since my Las Vegas trip and it has not.
With nothing else to do, I grab the box, but hesitate. My free hand reaches for my phone on the nightstand, dialing before I’m even aware of my actions.
“Hey,” Kandace answers on the second ring.
“Are you still working? I know it’s almost the end of your shift.”
“I’m walking out of the hospital doors as we speak. What’s wrong?”
I push out a breath, my eyelids dropping. The comfort of my best friend’s question soothes the vibrating anxiousness coursing through me in ways I didn’t know I needed.
Or, maybe I did, which is why I called her.
I quickly explain to Kandace what just happened with my job.
“They can’t do that. You’re the best damn employee—”
“Kandace, there’s more …”
After a deep breath, I tell her about the box I hold in my hand.
“You need to take that test,” she says after a moment of silence.
“You’ll stay on the phone with me?” I bite the inside of my cheek, waiting for her reply.
“Either that or I book the first flight I can find to New York.”
A heavy breath passes through my lips. I hesitated asking because I don’t like asking for help, emotional or otherwise. Even from someone as loving and patient as Kandace.
“I’ll be right back.”
I follow the instructions on the test and then place the stick on the sink before retrieving my phone.
“Explain to me like I’m two how this happened,” Kandace insists while we wait the five minutes.
“You’re a nurse,” I reply.
To which she sucks her teeth. “Don’t think I won’t hop on that plane just to curse you out to your face. I can’t put my hands on a pregnant woman.”
“We’re not sure if I’m pregnant,” I not-so-gently remind her.
“We’ll know soon. How many minutes?”
I glance at the timer on my phone. “Two and a half.”
“Enough time for you to explain. This happened in Vegas?”
“The night I stayed at the Palazzo.”
“I knew that fancy ass hotel was going to get you into trouble.” Kandace had stayed with Patrick, her husband, at the hotel provided for him during his conference.
Groaning, I flop back on the bed. “The one time I decided to splurge.”
“Splurging isn’t the only thing you did, apparently. Who was he?”
My stomach muscles contract. An image of Travis’ golden skin, incredible seafoam eyes, and that perfect mouth pops into my head.
Memories play like a slideshow, all the way from the moment I spotted the instant he took a seat at the bar, before Kandace pointed him out, to the elevator, eating together, and his strong, lean body pressed against mine in his hotel suite.
“He’s not important,” I say, sitting up as the final memory of waking up alone in his bed plays out.
Kandace starts to say something but my phone’s timer interrupts.
“Time to check.” My voice sounds like what I imagine an executioner would say to a prisoner they’re taking on their final walk.
Kandace tells me encouraging words as I walk all of ten steps from my bedroom to the bathroom. My eyes land on the pink and white stick as soon as I push the door open.
My mouth falls ajar, eyes go wide, and the consequences of my one-night stand slap me in the face.
“What does it say?” Kandace’s voice blends in with my own spiraling questions.
How could I let this happen?
What am I going to do?
How am I supposed to support a kid? I just lost my job!
Where’s the father?
I wag my head and step out of the bathroom again. My left shoulder starts tingling, and I reach up, absentmindedly rubbing it.
The urge to hide underneath the covers until all of this goes away overcomes me.
“I’m going to be a mom,” I blurt out.
On the other end, Kandace gasps. I barely hear it because I’m too busy asking myself how can I be a mom when I don’t even have one?
Or a dad, for that matter.
Both of my parents are gone.
I rub my shoulder harder.
One night of fun landed me in the biggest mess of my adult life.
“You know you’re not alone.”
Kandace’s comment reaches me but doesn’t stick. It gets lost in the uncertainty that hovers like a cloud that swallows up the peak of a mountain. Similar to that mountain peak I’m out on my own, left to fend for myself. Now, I have a whole other life growing inside of me to think about.
“I used to joke,” I finally say, “that I was one of the unluckiest people in the world.”
“I hated when you would say that,” my best friend replies.
A laugh, dry and brittle pierces my lips.
She’s one of the reasons I stopped telling that joke. That, and I’d read a book on manifestation four years ago, when I was twenty-two, that convinced me to stop ‘claiming’ bad luck.
Though, moments like right now, it’s hard not to do.
“What if it wasn’t a joke?” I ask. “Who else loses their job and finds out they’re pregnant on the same damn day?”
“Don’t even go there. You’re not alone,” she repeats. “You have me.”
I bite my lip to keep from reminding her that she lives across the country.
“And your uncles.”
Also, I restrain myself from telling her they’re out at sea, closer to Mexico than New York.
“We’ll figure this out.”
The use of ‘we’ jolts me out of my thoughts. This isn’t Kandace or my uncles’ problem to solve. It’s mine.
I left my uncles’ home at eighteen, and for the past eight years, I’ve figured things out without having to run back and beg them for help. I can get through this now, too.
“I think I’m going to lay down for a while,” I tell Kandace.
She doesn’t respond right away. I know she doesn’t want to hang up.
“I’ll call you tonight.” There’s no room for pushback in her voice. “Once I get up to get ready for my shift.” She works nights, which means she sleeps most of the day.
While she’s getting up to get ready for work, I’m usually settling in for the night to work in the morning.
I used to anyway.
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice coming out hoarse.
I yank my journal off the bed and open the top drawer of my nightstand, but stop before tossing it inside. The stack of graduate school brochures innocently stares back at me.
My gaze lingers on the picture of a young woman with curly, brunette hair gleefully looking toward the sky after tossing her graduation cap into the air. Her smile is vibrant as if she stares into the brightness of her future.
The letters Ph.D. are written directly above her head.
I slam the drawer shut. There’s no time to think about that right now.
“What am I going to do?” I murmur as I crawl into bed.