Chapter 2
I woke up nauseous the next day. I hadn’t vomited yet, but it felt like I wanted to multiple times a day. Smells that I once enjoyed made me instantly queasy. The day before had gone so sideways. After Daxyn left, I moped around the house before going to bed early with Aspen.
Aspen always knew when I needed human affection. She was so in tune with me. When I felt sad, she knew it and would hug me longer. I didn’t have to say it. She held my hand until both of us fell asleep.
In the mornings, after I got Aspen dressed, I walked her to school and then went to work at the bakery.
Our family only had one car, and while my mom helped me get my driver's license when I was sixteen, there wasn’t any extra money for me to have my own car.
Paxton worked thirty minutes away in the mountains of Tennessee during the day.
When he got home, my mom left for her job.
Somehow, even though all three of us were working, it wasn’t enough.
Part of the problem was my mom’s drinking habit. She would often drink a case of beer a night, or she would hit the bar and spend copious amounts of her tip money there buying drinks for herself and others.
She wasn't always like that. Before my dad left, she barely drank at all. We played family games and went on outings. Part of her broke when he left, and it never healed.
On the walk to the bakery, a giant stray dog ran up to me—startling me.
It smelled me all over. I stood frozen, unsure what I should do.
It stood higher than my waist, and it lingered at my stomach area longer than anywhere else.
As if the dog knew I was pregnant. By the time I got to the bakery, my entire body was shaking.
“Are you okay?” Sophia asked.
“This giant dog ran up on me and was smelling me. I honestly think it was going to eat me.”
“That’s strange, are you sure it was a dog?”
“As opposed to what?”
“A wolf?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve never seen one before.”
“We’re in the mountains of Tennessee, and there are wolves. How have you not seen one before? I mean, they usually don’t approach humans.”
“Maybe just a big dog?” I really didn’t know what a wolf looked like, but maybe it could have been. It was ginormous.
“Maybe. Anyway, today I need you to run the front. I’ve gotta leave to take care of some errands,” Sophia said.
“Will do.”
Sophia was the owner of Sweet as Pie Bakery.
I’d been working there for two years, usually only for a couple of hours during the school days and the weekend.
Once I graduated, she promoted me to manager.
With the promotion, I started saving money.
I hadn’t told my mom about my savings, and I refused to dip into it if she didn’t come up with her part of the bills.
The afternoon dragged on. Heat pressed against the bakery windows. I kept wiping the same counter, pretending to be busy while my stomach rolled. The smell of buttercream used to make me hungry; instead, it made my throat tighten.
A couple of regulars came in around lunch. They talked about a wreck on Highway 441 and laughed about someone’s runaway cow. Their voices were too loud. They made my head pound harder.
Sophia arrived back right after three, and I gave her the rundown of the day. Rain clouds started to move in over the mountains. I started the walk home, one hand on the strap of my backpack, the other brushing the hot railing of the bridge that crossed the crick.
Something moved in the brush below. I froze, scanning the tree line, but it was only leaves blowing in the wind. My heart didn’t believe it. I walked faster.
Mom’s car was already in the driveway. Music thumped from inside. Aspen ran to the door when she saw me, hair wild from play.
“You’re home!” she said, and I caught her mid-jump. Her arms locked around my neck, small and warm. She smelled like crayons and peanut butter.
Mom sat on the couch with a half-empty beer; she was off this evening. The TV glowed blue across her face.
“Supper’s on the stove,” she said without looking away.
A pot of macaroni had bubbled down to a mash. I turned off the burner and scooped some for Aspen. She ate cross-legged on the floor and told me about a drawing she made of a rainbow cat. I listened until her eyelids started to droop. I took her into our room, tucking her into bed.
Once she finally fell asleep, I sat beside the window with the lights off.
The neighborhood was quiet except for the hum of cicadas.
Across the street, a motion light flickered on, then off again.
I told myself it was nothing. That everything was fine.
Neither felt true. The next day, I’d call the clinic.
I’d make a plan. For now, I let the rain tapping on the window be enough.
The next afternoon, the clouds hung low and gray. I left work a little early because Sophia said I looked pale, and I didn’t argue. My legs felt heavy. The smell of sugar still clung to my clothes, thick and sweet, and it made my stomach twist again.
Aspen came barreling out of the school doors the second she spotted me. Her backpack bounced against her small frame. She grabbed my hand and swung our arms back and forth like she was trying to lift me off the ground.
“Miss Turner read a story about a dragon,” she said. “It was blue and breathed glitter.”
“That sounds messy,” I said.
“It was magic glitter.”
“Still messy.”
She laughed and kicked a rock down the sidewalk.
For a moment, the world felt lighter, like her voice patched up the cracks inside me.
We stopped at the gas station on the corner.
We needed bread and milk. Aspen begged for a fruit punch.
Of course, I obliged her. The humming coolers buzzed in the back, filling the store with a dull vibration that rattled in my teeth.
I reached for the milk, and the cold raised goosebumps on my arms.
When I turned, a man stood at the end of the aisle.
He held a bag of chips, but he wasn’t looking at them—he looked at me.
His eyes dropped from my face to my stomach, then back up again.
Something in his stare made my breath catch.
Not recognition—something sharper. I stepped closer to Aspen and nudged her behind me.
The man blinked and moved on, chips still in his hand. Maybe I imagined it. That’s what I told myself anyway.
Outside, the air smelled like wet pavement and gasoline. Aspen chattered about a girl in her class who ate crayons. I tried to laugh, but my throat tightened. I held her hand tighter the rest of the walk home.
The family car was in the driveway. The front door was half open, and Mom’s voice spilled into the yard. She wasn’t yelling, but her voice had that sharp edge she got when she drank too early in the day.
Inside, Paxton leaned against the counter with his arms folded. Mom stood across from him with a can of beer in her hand. Another sat empty beside the sink.
“I paid what I could,” Paxton said. “You knew the bill was due.”
“I gave you money,” she said.
“You gave me twenty dollars. The bill was two hundred,” he said.
“Don’t talk to me like I can pull cash out of thin air.”
I pushed Aspen toward her room. She didn’t need to hear the rest. She ran off without asking questions. She was used to this. I stepped between them and opened the fridge. Anything to look busy. Anything to keep the peace.
Mom pointed the beer at me like it was proof. “Ask her. She knows how tight things are.”
I didn’t want to be in the middle of this again. My head throbbed. “We’ll figure it out,” I said.
Paxton sighed. He grabbed the keys and left without another word. Mom cracked open a fresh beer and slumped onto the couch. The TV flicked on, lighting her face with a flash of blue.
I heated leftovers for Aspen and sat beside her while she ate. She leaned into me, small and warm. I brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and tried to hold on to the moment.
By the time I tucked her into bed, the house had gone quiet.
The TV sounded low in the next room. I laid beside Aspen until her breathing slowed.
My own thoughts wouldn’t settle. They spun in circles around the same questions.
How would I afford supplies? How long before Mom started asking where my money went?
What if the baby wasn’t healthy because of all the partying I’d done before I knew?
I rolled onto my back and pressed a hand to my stomach. No sign that anything had changed, but it all felt different anyway. I made an appointment with our family doctor. The earliest the office had was a week out. I didn’t know how to plan for any of this, but I’d figure it out. I always did.