Chapter 26
CHAPTER
I NEEDED TO FIND a way to connect with Savannah. And what could be better to bond over than impending motherhood?
The thought of faking a pregnancy gave me a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach.
But it wasn’t really a lie—after all, I had been pregnant.
In a sick kind of way, it kind of felt like my body was suspended in time; like I would forever be ten weeks pregnant with Max’s child.
It was strangely comforting to think of my baby that way.
He or she would always be a part of me. In the end, whether sick or not, deluded or not, I had to find out more about Savannah Mitchell and her relationship to Max and Madison.
So, really, the fake pregnancy was a necessity.
I had to find a way to meet her organically.
At first, I thought about staking out her obstetrician’s office, maybe bump into her in the parking lot, like we were both there for checkups on the same day.
But I’d heard her telling her bartender friend that she’d just had her twelve-week checkup, so I knew she wouldn’t have one for at least another month.
I couldn’t wait that long. And maybe it was better to meet her somewhere in public. Perhaps on a weekend errand?
The opportunity presented itself the following Sunday.
As I lurked across the street from her fourplex, I saw Bartender Friend arrive—Ellie, if I recalled.
About fifteen minutes later, the two women emerged from the building and took off on foot.
I followed them to a farmer’s market in a large, open lot next to a multilevel parking garage.
Savannah looked happy and healthy, which only fueled the flames of my resentment even more.
I followed her and her friend as they wandered the produce stands, nibbling on samples and adding fruits and veggies to their shopping bags.
I eyed the piles of produce, thinking about how Old Jenna would have loved shopping for fresh fruits and veggies and cooking up something delicious, the way I used to with my dad.
But ever since I’d lost my baby, the thought of eating repulsed me.
I knew I was losing too much weight, but found it impossible to care.
After all, who was I trying to nourish, to keep alive?
Not my baby, not any longer. And my grief left me not caring about myself.
I was lingering at a stand just behind them when I heard Savannah say she needed to use the restroom.
This was my chance. I turned and walked quickly around the perimeter of the market and into the parking garage behind it, where I knew the closest public restrooms were located, across from the elevator.
I stood behind a parked car and waited for Savannah.
As she approached, I heard a ping, and watched as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, then fumbled and dropped it.
It bounced on the pavement and landed a few paces in front of her.
Now! I popped out from behind the car, picked her phone up and forced a smile as I held it out for her.
I was about to say hello when a wave of dizziness overcame me.
I grabbed my stomach in shock. My arm shot out and reached for the wall to brace myself.
I guess I really should eat something, no matter how disgusting the idea feels.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Savannah asked. She darted forward and grabbed my elbow to help steady me.
“Whew! Sorry, yeah, I’m fine—just nauseous. I think I stood up too fast.” I tried to laugh, like it happened to me all the time, and rubbed my stomach. “I’m still in my first trimester. I hate how it can just hit you out of nowhere like that.”
“Oh, you’re pregnant! So am I.” She gave me a friendly smile.
Bile rose in my throat, helping me to look even more green. Hearing about her pregnancy was going to be tough—but I had to do it.
“It was like that for me too. But there’s hope—I’m just starting my second trimester and it’s already gotten so much better. I’m Savannah.” She gave me a little wave.
I bit the inside of my mouth, forcing myself to smile back. “I’m Jenna.”
“Hey, why don’t you sit down for a minute, catch your breath.” She gestured toward the nearby staircase. “I just need to use the restroom and I’ll be right back.”
I sat, my mind racing. So far, so good. Now to get her talking. My nausea faded as I rested my legs. I really should get something to eat, I thought for a second time.
A couple of minutes later, Savannah emerged from the restroom with a smile. “How are you feeling?”
“A little bit better, thanks. So … how far along are you?” I tried to keep my voice light. We’re just two moms-to-be. How great to meet a fellow preggo, right?
“I’ve just hit twelve weeks. And you?”
“I’m coming up on ten weeks.” I swallowed a lump in my throat, tasting the lie on my tongue. Keep it up. You can do this.
We walked back into the thick of the farmer’s market together, chatting.
Savannah Mitchell just seemed so happy, so comfortable in her own skin.
It left me feeling both irritated and envious.
It forced me to remember how happy I had been to be pregnant, how much I had been looking forward to the future, to being a mom.
My feelings were at war with each other.
Half of me screamed, she is the enemy! She’s having the baby that should have been mine!
Mine and Max’s. The other half realized how much I probably would have liked her if we’d met under different circumstances.
She was sweet and friendly, full of nice tips and tricks to help make my fictional pregnancy go more smoothly.
Did she deserve my hate? Maybe, maybe not—but I needed information.
So when Savannah invited me to join her at Ellie’s bistro for lunch, I was thrilled. “That sounds great.”
I forced myself to eat a little bit of salad as Savannah and I sat at the bar. Time to get her talking about Max.
“So … have your fingers been swelling up lately too?”
“Oh … I’m not married,” Savannah said.
“Me either—no judgment here. So, what’s your situation?” I took a sip of my water. Keep it casual. Don’t come on too strong.
“Well … it’s a long and complicated story.”
Bingo. “Oh? Tell me.”
I listened as she described meeting Max—all the details I remembered from spying on them that first night at the bistro, when Max had singled her out as a lone woman, eating dinner with a glass of wine at the bar.
She told me about how she and Max had gone on to have a casual fling for a few weeks, before it had fizzled out. Then she found out she was pregnant.
I hung on her every word as she described how she had wrestled with the decision, but had finally gotten in touch and broken the news to Max—only for him to tell her he’d just gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend.
“He said he has a girlfriend?” I choked out with wide eyes. She doesn’t know Max and Madison are actually married. I felt a tiny twinge of guilt, knowing what I knew. Something that would undoubtedly hurt her. But I had to keep my cover intact.
“Yeah, just my luck, right?” she said.
This was very different from how things had gone when I had told Max I was pregnant.
He had been shocked, but then he had picked me up and whirled me around, as if we were in a rom-com.
He had whooped and hollered and hugged me tightly.
I faked a sneeze to cover up the tears welling in my eyes as I remembered how happy I’d been in that moment.
And he had been happy about it too—or so it had seemed.
But Max never mentioned anyone else to me.
He told her about Madison right away. Why?
“Wow.” I continued asking what I hoped seemed like casual questions—just a new friend, wanting to get to know her. The story she wove was incredible.
Apparently, Max had come back days later to say that he had confessed the pregnancy to his girlfriend, and that she was trying to be understanding.
He convinced her to meet Madison to “get all the weirdness out of the way from the start,” so that they could form a friendly co-parenting relationship.
“What? That’s crazy,” I said, playing along.
“You’re telling me. I should have known it would be a mistake.” She shook her head, frowning.
“What happened? Did you meet her?”
She described the day of their coffee shop meeting. I remembered how shocked I had been when I saw Savannah sitting inside, and how Max and Madison walked right up to her.
She described how Madison insisted on spending time with her but started to get overbearing.
My mind was racing. Madison couldn’t have her own child; I would have thought she’d be furious that her husband was having a child with another woman.
Why did it sound like she was on board? Trying to be helpful, albeit in a pushy and controlling way?
And what about Max? If his plan is to leave Madison to be with Savannah, then why would he encourage the two of them to meet?
I had no idea what to think. But the food in my belly—the first meal I’d eaten in days—and the feeling that I’d made significant progress in my quest for information was sustaining me. I have to keep going. There’s more to this—I know there is.
And then she turned the spotlight on me.
“So … what about your situation?”
Shit.
“Oh …” I froze. I had been so hell-bent on asking her questions, I hadn’t prepared a believable backstory for myself. Idiot! “Uh … to be honest, I’m not really sure.”
Savannah’s expression was sympathetic. “Are things not good with the father? I mean—if you feel like talking about it, of course.”
“Things have been … strained lately. I’m not sure how interested he is anymore, to tell the truth.”
“Oh … I’m so sorry.”
I realized, maybe I could use this to my advantage.
It could be yet another thing me and my “new friend” could bond over—uncertain relationships with our baby daddies, or daddy, as it were.
“We hadn’t been dating long either, when I found out I was pregnant.
I’m not really sure how he feels about the baby these days—or me. ”
Savannah’s eyes filled with emotion. Wow, that really worked, I thought. Then she reached out and touched my hand.
“Well … what I’ve come to realize these last few months is that there are all sorts of crazy ways babies come into the world. Some planned, some not. And there are all kinds of mothers, and all kinds of fathers …”
I was conflicted. I was inclined to be touched as I listened to her kind, supportive words. Here she was, trying to stay strong and prepare for single motherhood, not knowing if Max would be there for her or what to expect from Madison. And yet she was trying to be a friend to me.
All of a sudden, I felt completely overwhelmed. Time for me to get going. I couldn’t bear another second of her compassion.
That night, I replayed my conversation with Savannah over and over, until I finally felt myself get sleepy.
There’s still so much I need to know. This story just isn’t adding up.