Chapter Sixteen
Caroline
I got back to Chicago a couple of days ago.
I’m getting real sick of living out of suitcases and living in limbo.
As someone who always has a plan, I feel so out of my comfort zone and vulnerable to the elements right now.
On top of that, I have felt sicker than a dog all week.
Who knew recovering from one night out in your late twenties would set you back a hundred years?
This is far different from my normal morning herbal tea and pilates ritual. I didn’t even stick to my strict skincare routine before passing out on Kate’s couch and I can feel how angry my face is at me for it. That’s why I came up to my girl Summer for a much needed hydrafacial today.
“Caroline! I’ve missed you, honey. How have you been?” Summer says in her southern twang, bringing me back to her room.
“Oh, I have definitely missed you more. My skin has been begging for your special touch,” I express to my favorite esthetician.
“Well where the heck have ya been?! I’ve had to fill your weekly spot all month. It’s not like you to go so long in between appointments,” Summer asks, sounding concerned but not angry.
I decide how lightly to tread here. I’ve kept details to a minimum with everyone else, but Summer has a way of making you feel comfortable enough to share just about anything.
And she sure knows how to gossip. Normally in a city this big, it wouldn’t matter.
But when your name is tied to someone as big as Grant Warren and everyone wants to know every detail of what you ate for lunch, the talking gets spread a little quicker.
“I know, I know. Life has been so crazy busy and I’ve been traveling a lot, so haven’t been in town much.” It’s not a lie, but vague enough right?
“Well, come on in. I have some updated paperwork for ya to fill out while we chat.”
Summer hands me a clipboard, as I grab a seat in the dimly lit room.
There’s peaceful spa music playing in the background and I set my purse down next to me.
Pulling the pen out, I glance over the sheets and start filling out information.
I check all of the boxes to agree to their procedures and prepare to mark ‘no’ on all of the diseases and conditions.
I reached the last section about pregnancy and breastfeeding.
I put an X in the box next to it, as I realize I’m not sure when my last period was.
It should be about that time. Weird, I’ve been so stressed that I haven’t even checked my cycle tracking app, but obviously this divorcee isn’t getting any action.
I make a mental note to log into my phone app when I get home and push the stress out of my mind.
Handing the clipboard back, I hop on the table and prepare to drift off to spa dreamland.
∞∞∞
When I got back to the room after my facial appointment, Chick-Fil-A bag in hand, I plopped on the white fluffy hotel bed to feed my ravenous tummy and watch some trash reality television shows.
To my surprise, I remembered to pull out my phone and update my tracking apps and calendars. But when I opened it, all I saw was ‘Late for 12 days”. TWELVE DAYS?! That can’t be right. That can’t be healthy. Surely I just forgot to log my last one, right?
I mentally retrace my steps to recall the last time I had to buy a pack of tampons and where I was physically at that time. I guess it had to be at the downtown Target when I came home thinking Grant was going to be pissed at my shopping, but I thankfully came home to an empty quiet apartment.
That had to be... what? Has it really already been almost a month since I left here? I guess time flies when you're not having fun.
Coming back to the present day and my current situation, I suddenly allow myself to realize just how real this is.
SHIT.
Shit shit shit.
This can’t seriously be happening, can it?
I sit here, staring at the cold white tile flooring of my hotel bathroom, contemplating every life decision that has led me to this very low point. My panties are still around my ankles and I haven’t even moved from the toilet since peeing on the stick. And yet, there it is. Clear as day: ‘YES+’.
No denying that shit. Thinking back over the past few weeks, I wonder how the heck I missed this. All of the signs were there, but I was so consumed by my dismay that I wasn’t paying any attention.
Never did I think the first time I'd get a positive pregnancy test while being nearly thirty years old and married, would make me feel so alone. Now, here I am. Mortified as if this is a teen pregnancy with a man I barely know. But I guess at this point, I really don’t know my ex-husband as well as I thought I did.
What on earth do I do now? I haven't spoken to that asshole since I ran into him at the law office.
I don't want to be tied to him for any longer.
However... At least I know this child would be financially supported.
Something that I'm currently unsure if I will be able to provide, given my current circumstances.
So many possibilities swirl in my mind and this is all too much to figure out right now.
Before I knew it, I completely burst out into tears.
My fear turns to straight defeat. I realize I haven't let myself cry this hard in a really long time and I have been pushing through the daily sorrows without allowing myself to feel any of it.
I have yet to stand up and I can feel my legs starting to fall asleep as I completely bawl my eyes out on the toilet, elbows digging into my thighs and suddenly my tears turn to laughter at how pathetic I must look.
Pulling up my pants, I continue to laugh cry.
I take a deep breath and tell myself that I don't have to figure this out right this second.
Wiping away my wet, but freshly moisturized cheeks in the mirror, it hits me.
I have not only gotten skincare procedures done, but I have drank way too much and definitely not been nourishing my body or staying healthy.
A sudden wave of fear and panic comes over me, that quickly turns to nausea.
I run back to the toilet and dry heave while praying I haven't completely injured the little life growing in my body.
Exhausted, I crawl under the covers and finally allow myself to rest.