Chapter 8
HEY JUDE
LYDIA
My phone on the coffee table taunts me. I have to reach out to Jude, I know that, but something inside me is holding me back. He probably won’t want to be a part of this, but I have to give him the option. If I had a child roaming around the world, I’d want to know.
I groan, grab my phone, and look at the last messages I sent Jude.
Me
Hey, I had a great time last night. Would you like to get together again tomorrow?
Doing my best not to look at the pitiful message I sent, I type out a new one.
Me
Hey, Jude, it’s Lydia. Can we get coffee soon? There’s something important I need to talk to you about.
There. Easy enough.
Now, I just have to hit send.
Nausea roils in my gut, and it’s not from the baby. I have to put on my big girl panties and do this.
I click the little blue button, and the message goes off with a whoosh. There. I did it. I set my phone back on the coffee table upside down as I take a few deep breaths.
Now, the inevitable waiting period. If he doesn't reply, I can say I tried, right? It’s not like I’m going to creepily find his address and show up at his doorstep. That’d be way too much.
My phone vibrates against the table, only it’s a call. I flip it over, expecting to see Jude’s name, but surprise—my mom’s contact is on the screen. I rub my temples, a headache already forming from the thought of talking to her. But if I don’t answer, she’ll keep calling.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer with a tight smile.
“Lydia, how are you?” I must wait a second too long to answer, since she continues. “Wonderful. Your father and I are coming to town the weekend of the twenty-fifth, and we’d like to get lunch with you. Tell me when you’d like to meet.”
“Um.” I swallow the continued nausea. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to look at my schedule. I think Fletcher has a game that Saturday afternoon. Would you want to go?”
“You know your father hates loud crowds.” She sounds almost accusatory.
“Right.” I glare at the phone, willing this conversation to come to a swift end. “Sunday might work better then.”
She sniffs. “You don’t have to go to every game.”
“I know I don’t, but I already have plans with a few friends, which is why I thought you’d like to go, since we have the suite.
” The one and only time I took them to a game of Fletcher’s, they were in a mood the entire time, and they left between the second and third period, stating hockey had no decorum.
It was a pretty physical game, but clearly, they don’t get the same thrill out of watching fights.
Calvin is more of a fighter than Fletcher, but every so often, he gets into one, and even though I’m always worried about him getting hurt, it makes things extra exciting.
Losing a few teeth comes with the territory when you play hockey.
“Fine,” she says in a clipped tone. “Sunday it is. We’ll make reservations for eleven. I will text you with the location.”
“How long are you in town?”
I suppose if I have to tell them I’m pregnant with their first grandchild, there could be worse ways to do it.
“Friday evening through Sunday afternoon. We decided to detour and pay you a visit before our trip to Spain.”
“Oh, Spain?”
Considering my mother’s love of travel and her expensive taste, the trip doesn’t surprise me. Spain is one of her favorite places to be.
“Yes, Spain. Your father gifted me a month-long trip there for our anniversary.”
“That was nice of him.”
It would have been nice to know sooner, but oh well. My parents have never been fond of communicating—or rather, they don’t seem to care about communicating with me. Usually, I get around thirty-six hours’ notice before they arrive in town. This much time is pretty good for them.
“It was.” She hums. “We’ll see you then, darling. Wear something flattering.”
Without waiting for me to say ‘I love you,’ or even goodbye, she hangs up. No shock there. She’s been like this since I was a kid. Mom shows me what would be considered the appropriate amount of attention before leaving me alone again.
As little as I want to see them, it really is good timing.
Part of me knows my parents will have less-than-enthusiastic reactions to the news that I’m having a baby when I’m not married, but there’s also a small part that hopes they’ll be happy and supportive.
I want them to be excited to be grandparents, but I can’t say I’d be surprised if the lunch turns into a mess.
When I set my phone back down, a new message pops up.
Jude
Lydia, nice to hear from you. I’m in town, want to grab lunch today?
Nice to hear from me? Did he forget that I messaged him after our date, asking if he’d want to get together again soon?
Might as well get it over with.
Me
That works. Did you have a place in mind?
Jude
The Forester at noon?
Me
Okay.
Today is my day off, which is lucky. This wouldn’t have worked otherwise. I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly.
I can do this.
An hour later, I’m standing outside The Forester. The restaurant is much nicer than my usual, which is another reason why Jude and I would never work. As much as my parents love their fancy restaurants, I’m more of a bar and grill type of person.
I walk up to the hostess station, smiling gently. The hostess is tall, and she doesn’t hide the way she looks up and down my body in displeasure. I withhold my irritation because I know I don’t look like I belong in a place like this, but I’m here for a reason.
“Hi, I’m meeting Jude Freeman. He said he placed a reservation.”
She looks down at her tablet, her brows raising. “Oh, yes. He’s already been seated. I can take you to him.”
“Thank you,” I mutter under my breath.
She leads me through the restaurant to the back, where Jude sits in his work suit and tie at a table for two. He’s focused solely on his phone as we walk up to the table.
The hostess extends her arm and says, “Mr. Freeman, your friend has arrived.”
Jude looks up from his phone, looking me up and down.
“Lydia, hi.” He gestures for me to sit.
“Your waitress will be with you in a moment,” the hostess says as she leaves.
Jude leans back in his chair, taking a sip of brown liquor out of the crystal glass he has in front of him. He smiles coyly. “I was surprised to hear from you.”
“Right,” I say slowly.
Before I can say more, the waitress steps up to the table.
“Hi, can I get you something to drink?” she asks, pulling out her pad and paper.
Jude cuts in before I can even ask for a glass of water. “I’m ready to order. I’ll have the steak, medium with grilled mushrooms on top. As for the sides, I’ll do the grilled prosciutto asparagus and tropical quinoa salad. Lydia?”
Panicked, I glance at the menu, which has way too many options in a font way too small. “Uh, what soups do you have?”
“Today we have split pea and clam chowder.”
Ew.
Never mind then. I swallow the gag in the back of my throat.
“Um. Okay.” I know there’s no way Jude will want to pay for my meal after he learns that instead of asking for a quick hookup, I am, in fact, here to tell him some life-changing news. “Can I have a Caesar salad?”
“Absolutely. And to drink?”
“Water, please.”
She promises to bring the water right away and steps aside, leaving me alone with Jude. Hopefully, she comes quickly. My mouth is as dry as cotton.
“So, how have you been?” Jude asks, taking another sip of his drink.
“Fine,” I croak. I clear my throat. “Um, fine.”
Mercifully, the waitress comes back with a tall glass of water with lemon for me.
“Thank you.” I take a long sip, wetting my dry throat.
“What made you reach out?” Jude questions, his eyes narrowing on mine. “I didn’t think you were interested after our last date.”
Is he serious? He ghosted me.
“What are you talking about? I texted you the next day, and you never replied.”
“You weren’t exactly an enthusiastic fuck.” Jude shrugs. “Like I said, I didn’t think you were interested.”
“Oh, my god.” I rest my head in my palms. Mind you, the man didn’t even make me orgasm. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.”
Jude narrows his eyes. “I’m confused.”
“Jude, I’m pregnant,” I blurt.
Might as well get it all out there in the open.
The hand holding his drink stops halfway to his mouth. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”
“I think you must be mistaken,” he says in an eerily firm tone.
“I’m not. You are the only person I’ve slept with in the last six months, and I’m nine weeks pregnant. Do the math.”
If he wants to pretend he ghosted me because I wasn’t enthusiastic enough, fine, but I will not sugarcoat this for him.
Jude’s face shifts to a deep shade of red. “Do you think you’re going to get some hush money out of me? Because that’s the last thing that’ll happen. I’ll prove that fucking bastard inside of you isn’t mine. You’re a lying, gold-digging bitch.”
His words slice through my skin like blades.
“You know, not everything is about money. I’m here because I wanted to give you a chance to be in your child’s life, but I can see that’s the last thing you want, so I’ll go.” I move to stand.
“Sit down,” Jude replies sternly.
I freeze in my seat, my mind whirring.
“Are you keeping it?”
“Yes, I’m keeping it. I know you might not want it, but I do. I want this baby.”
“No. Let me rephrase that. It’s not a question. You’re not keeping it.”
I flinch, narrowing my eyes at his cold expression.
“I am keeping it. I’ll sign whatever you want, saying I won’t come after you for money, child support, or anything.
I won’t even put your fucking name on the birth certificate, but I thought I was doing the nice thing by giving you the chance to know your child.
This child is mine, and mine alone.” This time, I stand successfully.
“I want it in writing.”
“Fine,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Right now.” He points at the chair.
He’s seriously about to make me do this here?
“Are you kidding me?”
“Sit.”
I scoff, narrowing my eyes. Who does he think he is, ordering me around like this?
He wasn't this big an asshole on those three dates. Apparently, news like this changes a person, and not always for the better. I never expected him to want anything to do with me, but I thought maybe he might have some interest in being a father. Apparently not.
I sit, throwing my hands up. “I need paper if you want it in writing.”
Jude whistles for the waitress. “I need a pen and paper now.”
Fucking rude asshole.
The waitress’s eyes widen, and she scurries off.
“I don’t want your money,” I say. “I didn’t even know you had money.”
Why can’t I stop talking? Maybe I’m trying to make it better. Who knows?
He rolls his eyes and taps his fingers against the table. “Right. As if you didn’t look me up.”
“I didn’t!”
I’d look him up now, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not worth any more time than necessary. The waitress rushes back to the table with a pen and a blank sheet of white paper.
Jude snatches it from her, scrambling to write. I apologize to her, and before she can dart away, I stop her. “Can you get me my check and put my food in a to-go box, please?”
“Of course,” she sweetly replies.
Jude doesn’t acknowledge me for the next few minutes. When he’s finished, he thrusts the paper and pen across the table. “Sign it.”
I take my time reading through his terms, making sure there’s no hidden bullshit. He really just wants nothing to do with the baby or me. I guess it is what it is.
I sign my name and date it. “I need a copy.”
That’s the responsible thing to do, but I’ll ensure my child never sees it. They’ll never know the lengths their sperm donor went to in the hopes of erasing them from existence.
Jude waves, and when none of the servers acknowledge him, he leaves the table. Five minutes later, he comes back with a copy for me. The waitress is back with my food and bill, and I pay her in cash, leaving a decent tip since she has to deal with this asshole for the rest of his meal.
I face him one last time. “Have the life you deserve.”
And I walk away, taking a deep breath and feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. Some part of me knew Jude wouldn’t want this baby, but I never guessed he would have reacted like this.
It’s for the better. I can do this. I can be an amazing single mom all on my own. My mom practically raised me alone, and I turned out okay-ish. But I’ll be much better to my baby than my parents ever were to me.
I walk out of the restaurant and into the cool late fall air, more determined than ever. I’m making the right choice.