3. Isla #2
I hold my hand up. “The father? Yeah, that’s taking a little time to process in my head, how to tell him.”
“That’s up to you.”
“Yep.” I pop the P, well aware that I can’t rely on the excuse that I was waiting to confirm with the doctor anymore.
I pace my living room, while I struggle to hit send with my thumb. Instead, I type a text then delete and do this on repeat.
Hey, long time. Is it okay if I call you?
Obvious, Isla, obvious.
Hey, Vaugh, it’s been a while. Nice goal last night.
Perhaps a good opening.
We need to talk.
Again, horrible.
Hope you’re doing well. I know we said we would leave the hurricane night as a one-night thing. But we kind of have a situation…
That will just make him freak out.
Photo of ultrasound. SURPRISE.
That will just give him a heart attack.
“Just call him,” I scold myself. In person is better, but there is no way that can logistically happen in the next few days.
My phone rings, and I see it’s my brother calling.
Briggs is in St. Louis for a game tomorrow.
Guilt hits me because I feel like I might disappoint him.
He’s my older brother, but at times we’re inseparable, and he supports me in so many ways.
I don’t want to let him down, and I know a surprise pregnancy isn’t on his list of wants for his sister.
And he will for sure kill Vaughn. Still, I answer.
“Hey, Sis, how is your cold going?” It sounds like he’s walking.
“Fine. Ready for your game?”
I’m not telling anyone until I inform Vaughn. It’s the right thing to do.
“For sure. The Spinners are playing somewhat better than last year.” He’s not afraid to be cocky.
“I know. It’s a marketing gold mine. Thanks for that.” Maybe he can hear my smile.
“Someone mentioned that you weren’t at work today. Everything good?”
“Spying on me? Damn it, why does my brother have to practice at my place of work.”
He growls in frustration. “How about you just answer me.”
“How about you tell me how your ‘operation win over your masseuse’ is going?” I counter.
He’s ridiculously hung up on his masseuse who doesn’t want to give him the time of day. But now he is going full swing trying to win her over. I had to take extra photos of him in his hockey uniform holding a puppy with a Santa hat.
“I’m going to get that date. Just you watch. Now, work?”
I’m aware that I can’t squirm my way out of this.
“Relax. I went to the doctor to check on this sinus infection. Just a virus that will pass,” I lie.
In about seven or eight months.
“Okay, take it easy. I’m going to grab some dinner with the guys. Send me your Xmas wish list, by the way. Two weeks to go, I need to figure all that stuff out.”
I already bought him his gift. I saw it in October. A remote-control car that delivers beer bottles from the kitchen. It’s simple yet him. Briggs will go all out; he always buys me expensive stuff I don’t need.
“Sure. I’ll think of something. Good luck tomorrow.”
“Love ya, Sis.”
“Love you, too.”
You’re going to be a great uncle, I think to myself. I pull up the ultrasound photos on my phone, with a smile tugging on my mouth again.
“It’s time to do this,” I say to myself.
Vaughn has a right to know. This baby deserves to have a chance to get to know their father.
I also want to be ready if Vaughn wants no part in this.
I can do it without him. I’m going to give him an out.
I just hope he doesn’t take it. I pray he doesn't take it.
I want to believe that there are good fathers in this world. Nothing like my own.
I purse my lips and blow out a breath, ready to rip the band-aid off.
My thumb hits his name and the call button. My entire body is about to burst with nerves. He didn’t have a game tonight, so hopefully he answers.
It takes three rings before his phone picks up. I could scream that this is going to happen.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice answers, she sounds my age.
Every feeling inside of me collapses to my stomach.
“Hello?” she repeats. “Hey, babe, don’t forget we’re meeting Sam for drinks in an hour,” she seems to call out to someone in the background.
Babe?
No, no, no. Tell me he isn’t seeing someone. Maybe, I guess, he could have met someone, it’s been a while since our night.
“Oh, uh, I’m looking for Vaughn,” I nearly croak out.
“He’s a bit busy, if you know what I mean.” Her voice is like a purr of a taunt. I don’t like it. No clue her name, but I already want to wipe that smug leer off her face that probably has lip gloss and overdone foundation.
“Do you… do you know when he might be available?” I nearly stutter, but I’m desperate now because he is within reach, so close to his phone, he’s there… just not alone.
“Listen, Irene, Isabel, whatever name that came up on Vaughn’s phone. A request from Vaughn, unless you’re his publicist or from the team, then he isn’t available. In fact, he will be quite occupied later, so don’t bother calling back… ever.” She hangs up on me.
I stand there speechless with my phone to my ear, unable to move. This is the worst-case scenario. Vaughn has moved on and really wants us to forget about that night.
My hand gently touches my navel. It will be hard to do that; we have a reminder.
A tightness forms in my throat and a cry is working its way toward an escape.
“It’s just you and me, kid. It’ll be okay.”
For now, I need to focus on my pregnancy. Telling Vaughn is no longer a priority, at least not any time soon. Feels like I need to recover and come up with a new plan.