Chapter 14
Summer
The week of July Fourth is always busy. There are festivals, street fairs, and the town always shuts down for fireworks, so I’ve been working double shifts all weekend and it makes sense that I’m exhausted.
What I didn’t expect was to wake up puking my guts out.
I’ve never had a sour stomach like this—and today is the third day in a row.
I’m getting a bad feeling in my gut and though I’m trying to push the thought away, I have to find out for sure. I bought the two-pack of pregnancy tests last night on my way home, telling myself I wouldn’t wake up sick again, but I’m heaving into the toilet, so now I have to do it.
It takes a while for me to feel like sitting up, and it takes even longer for me to pee, but I finally manage. Then I just sit there on the toilet waiting to find out what fuckery fate has waiting for me this time.
I’ve wracked my brain since yesterday trying to think of a time that Tate and I didn’t use a condom, but we always did. He was vigilant about it. And we did a lot of oral, so I can’t imagine how this happened.
Did one break? And if it did, would he have mentioned it?
I rest my face in my hands, waiting for the nausea to pass—it’ll be gone by noon—as the seconds tick by.
Please let this be some weird stomach virus.
Please please please.
Not that there’s some higher power listening to me—I gave up on that a long time ago.
Right around the time my dad left us. That’s when I knew that faith or no faith, the only person who was going to actively take care of us was us.
Mom and me. She did what she had to do to make sure I’ve always had everything I need, and I’ve been working my ass off to make up the difference since I was sixteen.
I stare at the two lines on the test and tears blur my vision.
Pregnant.
Two lines means pregnant.
Fucking pregnant.
Two days with the man of my dreams and this is the result. It’s not enough that I’m ruined for all other men, but now I have to deal with this. A baby. I can barely take care of myself and my mother—how the hell am I going to take care of a baby? And who would watch it while I work?
This is a complete clusterfuck.
Despite the nausea and how tired I am, I grab my purse and keys, put the top down in the Mustang—and drive. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m going to do, but I couldn’t stay in the house another minute.
Hands gripping the wheel tightly, I get on the highway and head south. I’m not going anywhere in particular, but having the wind in my face helps the nausea and I’m always calmer when I’m driving.
Fuck fuck fuck.
How could this have happened?
I know the biology, the mechanics of how it happened, but I can’t believe my bad luck.
Tate won’t be happy.
Talk about kids never came up, but I don’t think he’s any more prepared to become a parent at this stage of his life than I am.
He would probably rather I just get rid of it, do the best thing for all of us.
Neither of us can take care of a baby right now.
Somehow, I find myself sitting outside the women’s clinic.
From what I understand, it’s nothing more than a cocktail of pills at this point. Then there’s some cramping, some bleeding, and the cells pass.
Cells.
It’s a baby.
My baby.
And Tate’s.
Dammit.
I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the steering wheel so hard it hurts.
Even if this would make things easier, it’s not a decision I can make on my own. Tate may not want it, but what if he does? What if…I can’t even formulate coherent thoughts at this point, it’s just one long stream of consciousness in my head.
I’m going to go crazy if I don’t talk to somebody, and before I know it, I’ve put the car in gear and headed north again.
Back to town. To the nursing home. To my mom.
Pulling in a deep breath and brushing the tears from my eyes, I square my shoulders and walk inside.
“Hey, Summer.” The woman at the front desk smiles. “Here to see your mom? I think she’s napping.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just sit with her a while.” I make my way to my mother’s room and gently close the door behind me.
She’s snoring softly on the bed and I sink down in a chair beside her.
I always miss her but never more so than times like this, when I desperately need her advice.
Need to hear soft, thoughtful responses to questions I can’t ask anyone else.
She was always my rock, which is why I’ve been trying so hard to be hers, but I’ve never felt more alone.
“Mom, I screwed up,” I whisper, resting my head in my hands. “And I’m so scared. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Tears come again, and I do my best to fight them but I’m an emotional wreck.
Warm fingers caress my hair, my forehead, and then my arm.
“Why are you crying, sweetie?”
“Mom?” I lift my head in surprise.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, eyes completely in focus as she looks at me.
I don’t have a lot of time. She could be present for two minutes or two hours—there’s no rhyme or reason to when she has her moments of cognition.
“Mom, I’m pregnant,” I whisper, biting back more tears.
“Oh.” Her eyes widen a bit. “Tate?”
She remembers Tate?
I nod. “And he’s going to be upset.”
“You have to talk to him.”
“I’m scared. He won’t be happy. He’s on tour—we couldn’t even figure out a way for us to see each other again. How is he going to be a father?”
“Sometimes you just do the things you have to, even if it seems impossible. Kind of like me raising you after your father left. But we made it, right?”
“Should I get an abortion?” My voice is a harsh whisper, as if just saying the word is difficult.
“That’s up to you.” She cocks her head slightly. “Do you want to?”
“I don’t want to have to make that decision.”
“But you do have to. And that’s why you have to talk to Tate.”
“What if he wants nothing to do with it? Or with me?”
“Well, you’re smart and independent. You’re going to be a great mother. Whether it’s now or at a later date.”
“How can you say that? I barely keep my head above water between the house, insurance and maintenance on the car, and your medicine.”
“I know.” She continues stroking my hair and I let her because it’s been a long time since she did it.
“You really think I should tell Tate?”
“I think you know the answer.”
“I drove by the women’s clinic but I couldn’t get out of the car. I don’t know why.”
“You know why.”
“Mom, it’s not that simple!” I cry in frustration, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“No. Having a baby is never simple, and I hate that I won’t be here for you.” She pauses. “When was the last time I was…myself?”
“It’s been a few weeks.” I swipe at my tears and sniffle.
“How long has it been since my diagnosis?”
“Six years.”
She makes a face. “Christ. That long. And you’ve been taking care of me all this time?”
“You’re in a nursing home. I have to work, and you were a danger to yourself when you were alone.”
She nods. “And yet you’ve managed everything, all this time. I imagine you’re going to be just as resilient when it comes to the baby.”
“I’m broke,” I whisper.
“Well, even if he doesn’t want to be part of the baby’s life, he still has to give you money.” She meets my eyes. “But I think he’s going to surprise you. I can’t explain it, it’s just a feeling I have. He’s not going to abandon you. I feel it—here.” She touches her chest.
Exactly like he and I did that morning as he pulled away.
“Call him,” she whispers. “I don’t know if I’ll still be here after you do, but even when my brain betrays me, know that my heart never will.”
With that, she holds out her arms and I fall into them.
Having my mom even for a few minutes is better than none at all. And maybe, by the time I leave here, I’ll be ready to make the hardest phone call of my life.