Sabrina
Sweaty and thirsty, I forced my eyes open and leaned over to sip my water, willing my heart to stop racing.
Chest tight, I pushed the blankets off and reached for the edges of the dream I’d just woken up from.
It was so real. And so strange. I clenched my eyes shut, clinging to the pieces of it.
A little girl. Unruly dark hair and eyes, playing and laughing.
“Mommy,” she said, hands on her hips. “I need a blazer for preschool graduation. You said I should dress to make everyone else fear me.”
She tilted her head for effect, the move eerie.
She talked a mile a minute, her vocabulary exceptional, if what I knew about kids—because of Meg and no one else—was correct. The rest of her diatribe faded, but she’d been there. Sassy and opinionated. Looking and sounding a lot like me.
A strange, impossible familiarity settled in.
I knew this child. Deeply. In my soul. She didn’t have a name, but she was my daughter.
The daughter I was destined to have.
As the thought hit me like a ton of bricks, I snapped my eyes open and pressed a hand to my still flat stomach, searching for evidence that any of what my mind had conjured could be real.
“No,” I whispered into the dark, kept company by only the familiar rumble of nausea.
It reared up quickly. So quickly, in fact, I barely made it to the toilet before I wretched.
When my stomach had stopped spasming, I sat on the cold tile floor, sweaty and gasping.
The dream had been so vivid, so clear.
The voice. The mannerisms. And the crooked smile. Fuck. It was reminiscent of a certain mayor I’d been avoiding.
I splashed cold water on my pale, splotchy face, and as I studied my reflection, I focused on breathing evenly.
What if this wasn’t an epic fuck-up after all, but actual destiny? The shit I’d been through, the years and years of fighting for the life I’d built, pushing and cranking and surviving? Maybe it had all been for a reason.
I thought about that child again. The hair, a stack of bracelets on one wrist. The hip cock and head tilt. Just like so many photos of me from my childhood. The insistence on a killer outfit at five years old.
I laughed.
Wildly, head thrown back. Quickly, though, I dissolved into hiccuping sobs.
This was real.
I put my hand on my stomach again, peering down at it.
How had I not realized?
It was strange, how when Doctor Storrow showed me the ultrasound, a lightbulb had clicked on in my head.
Of course I was pregnant. I’d felt like shit for weeks. Everything hurt, my boobs were huge, and I’d puked daily.
Of course any child of mine would be a complete pain in the ass in utero.
“That’s okay, baby,” I said, patting my stomach. “Make Mama work for it. Don’t dim your shine for anyone’s comfort.”
I crept to the kitchen, half laughing, half crying, to refill my water.
As I stood at the sink, a deep ache settled inside me. I needed my mom.
By the time I reached her door, I was sobbing again, with tears streaming down my face and dampening my T-shirt. This wasn’t the graceful kind of crying I allowed every now and then. No, this was the blubbering kind I hadn’t done in years.
“Mom?” I pushed the door open.
She shot upright and flipped the bedside lamp on, concern creasing her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Mom.” I hiccuped from the doorway, needing her but so unused to being vulnerable like this.
She patted the bed, urging me to join her, so I sat, my shoulders shaking.
Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around me, holding me as I let go completely. As I released all the anger, sadness, and disappointment my body could no longer hold.
I let her cradle me, curling up against her and closing my eyes while she stroked my hair. It was like I was eleven again. Like I was that scared kid who’d just lost her dad rather than a grown woman who had negotiated peace treaties and dismantled billion-dollar mergers.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Tell me, baby. I’m here,” she whispered against my forehead.
“This is bad. Really bad. And I can’t fix it.”
“I’ve got time.” She held me a little tighter. “Remember what we used to say when you were little? The quote from Mister Rogers?”
I smiled through my tears.
“If it’s mentionable, it’s manageable,” we said together.
Pulling back, she brushed a tear from my cheek.
“Sweetheart, you are everything and anything. There is nothing you cannot do. I learned early on never to underestimate you.”
I sighed, inhaling deeply so I could get the words out.
“I’m here. I can help. Lean on me,” she urged. “God knows I’ve leaned on you more than I should.”
“Where should I start?” I sniffled. “At the part where my life imploded? Where I finally hit my limit and did something I couldn’t undo?”
She handed me a box of tissues, and I blew my nose.
“Part of me thinks I did it on purpose. Like I sabotaged my career and my friendships and the entire life I’d built. The anger became too much.” I sighed. “The greed, the indifference to truth and fairness.” I trailed off, my tears falling once more.
My mom knew little about Eastgate. Just that I’d had some career difficulties. She was in the dark about how I was officially radioactive to any client or potential employer in the western hemisphere. That I’d been the architect of my own success and my own fall from grace.
“Or perhaps we should skip ahead, to the part where I’m pregnant,” I rushed out. “Yup. Accidentally knocked up at the ripe old age of thirty-five. I’m the kind of small-town statistic you raised me to avoid.”
Eyes widening, she squeezed my hand. “Let’s start with that part. Pregnant?”
I nodded. “Confirmed it today. I have a photo of a tiny speck in my uterus. It’s apparently the size of a pea.”
She squeezed again, her face softening. She wasn’t alarmed, and while she was probably surprised, she kept calm and remained present. “I have a lot of questions. But that can wait. What’s most important is how you’re feeling.”
“I’m upset. And terrified,” I said through sniffles. “I’m everything. Literally every thought, emotion, hormone, and fear all rolling downhill like an avalanche.”
I stood, needing to move. “I can’t do this. Everything is a disaster. I have no job and no home. I’m a disgraced political operative who’s hiding out in Vermont, and now, I’m apparently reproducing?”
I stared at her, hoping she had an answer that would make everything better.
“Q1 has been a real shitshow, huh?” she said.
I came to an abrupt stop and turned to her. This moment continued to become more and more surreal.
“Sorry. I was trying to use your corporate speak,” she mumbled.
Then I burst out laughing. I dove back onto the bed, tears rolling down my face as I lay there, caught somewhere between devastation and elation and mild hysteria.
Mom rubbed my back and chuckled. “I don’t know what to say. This situation isn’t in any of the parenting books I read at the library.”
That made me laugh even harder.
“I don’t know how to start over.” The confession landed heavier than I’d anticipated. Like a weight on my chest. But I couldn’t wrap my mind around the thought. What I’d done up to this moment hadn’t worked. It hadn’t gotten me where I wanted to go.
“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
“But I do. Because if I continue the pregnancy, nothing will ever be the same.” I stopped and swallowed hard. “Any chance of rebuilding what I had is gone.”
“Do you want to rebuild that?”
“Fuck no,” I admitted. “But what if I don’t know how to do anything else? What if I don’t know how to do this?” Hiccuping, I looked down at my stomach.
“Sabrina Monroe, I did not raise you to give up so easily. Where is my girl who looks every challenge in the face and laughs?”
“I had a dream,” I whispered, a shiver running through me. “A little girl. She was sassing me about clothes, and she just looked…” I roughly dragged a hand over my face. “I knew her, Mom.” My throat tightened. “She was my daughter.”
Humming, she wrapped both arms around me and squeezed.
“I shouldn’t want this,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t even be considering it.”
That got a scoff out of her. “Why not?”
“Because it’s complicated,” I snapped. “Impractical.”
“All true. So what do you want?”
I studied my hands, considering the life I’d built for myself out of sheer willpower and hard work. “I’ve always known what I wanted.”
Another hum and a pat on my knee. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Rude,” I snapped back.
“Accurate,” she said gently. “Don’t tell me I raised a woman who suddenly lies to herself. Any fresh start requires one key element, honesty.”
I let out a shuddering breath. Damn my mother and her reasonableness and wisdom.
“But that’s the hardest part,” I admitted.
“I know, kid. Trust me.” She squeezed me again. “But I’m with you. Always. Whatever you decide. Whatever you need.”
“I know,” I cried, more tears falling. Not once had I doubted that. Not once had I been afraid to tell her my news.
We sat and cried together. I let her hold me and stroke my hair and tell me it was going to be all right.
As I bawled in her arms, it hit me. I’d spent years bemoaning my lack of privilege. Focusing on all the difficulties that had come with my childhood.
But what if I’d had the secret weapon all this time?
What if a badass mom who loved me wildly and unconditionally every day of my life was enough?
“Mom,” I said through sniffles. “I love you so much. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For loving me so hard and so much every day.” I wiped at my damp cheeks.
“I’ve woken up every day of my life feeling completely certain of your love for me.
You show up every time. There is nothing you won’t do.
I could call you in the middle of the night and ask to borrow money, bake a cake, or hide a body, and you’d instantly say yes. ”
“Of course I would. You’re my girl. The day I gave birth to you, I looked into your eyes and finally understood my purpose.
The greatest thing I was supposed to do with this life.
I had to be your mom and do the best I could.
I didn’t always succeed.” She ducked, fiddling with the comforter.
“And there were some low points, but regardless of how old you are, I’m your mom, and that will never change. ”
I cried harder. Things hadn’t been easy or simple. But she’d loved me with everything she had. “You gave me possibility,” I explained. “Confidence and courage. And support for my wildest dreams. I think that’s why I’ve accomplished all the things I have.”
“You did it all on your own,” she said. “But I’ve never doubted you. And whatever you decide about this baby, you’ll be okay. You will succeed.”
“You know not to wave a red flag in front of a type-A bull.” I giggled.
“I’d never ask you to raise a child you didn’t want. But…” She sighed. “I also know what my daughter is like when she sets her mind to something.”
“And you’ll be with me every minute.”
“Damn right I will, kid.”
Lying back, I stared out the window where the sun was beginning to rise.
And I knew. I was keeping this baby.
Fuck, that meant I had to talk to Gabe.