3. Katy
CHAPTER THREE
katy
DISSOCIATE
If I breathe too hard, I might throw up.
Or cry. Or both.
Declan’s driving slower than my grandma.
He’s probably getting premature gray hairs from dealing with his trainwreck of a little sister.
I fully concede I’ve been a nightmare. After going through this by myself for so long, I turned bratty the second I had Declan around.
Demanding muffins every day, not lifting a finger around the house.
“Everything will be okay,” he says softly. “You’re not sick, just pregnant.”
“Wow,” I mutter, “you’re so great at pep talks.”
He glances over, smiles reassuringly, then goes quiet again. The silence between us hums with all the things we’re both pretending not to think about, mostly the fact that I’m barely twenty, single, and haven’t told our parents that there’s a baby baking in me.
A baby whose father might be Ben.
Or not.
Please God, let it be Ben. Our baby would be so freaking cute. Not that I’ve ever pictured our babies.
Okay, fine. Maybe I have. Once or twice.
We pull into the parking lot of the hospital where the fancy OB office is. Declan parks carefully, like sudden movement might somehow hurt me.
Inside, the nurse explains what today’s appointment will cover, and then Dr. Meier comes in, calm and confident.
“We’re running a study on nutrition and pregnancy, and I believe Katy would be an excellent candidate. It includes a personalized meal plan developed by our top nutritionist and her team. If needed, we’ll coordinate a meal delivery service to help you stick to the plan.”
That sounds great. I don’t want to keep being such a burden to Declan.
“I do want to disclose that the person assigned to your case for this study is someone you know. Ella Winters. She’s only on the research arm.
She’d be here to observe and collect data, not to give medical advice or official recommendations.
Would you be comfortable with her joining us today?
We can assign someone else if you’re not. It’s not a problem.”
The room tilts.
Ella. Ben’s cousin, and my brother’s ex-girlfriend. They were together literally since kindergarten. She was basically an older sister to me.
I haven't seen her in years, not since they broke up, when I was stupid and picked sides. I've missed her every day but never had the guts to reach out. She texted me a few times over the years, but me, queen of petty, I never answered.
Suddenly I’m crying. Like, ugly crying. “Yes,” I choke out. “I’m comfortable.”
Declan’s hand lands on my shoulder, awkward and gentle. I can’t even look at him because I know he’s trying really hard not to freak out, and I don’t need to see that.
“Okay. And if at any point either of you is uncomfortable, just say the word and Ella will be reassigned.”
“I only want Ella.”
Dr. Meier nods and leaves to grab her.
I wipe my face with the tissues Declan gives me.
The door opens, and there she is.
Ella.
Still all sunshine and warmth, like someone bottled comfort and gave it freckles. The second she sees me, she crosses the room and wraps me up in this warm, impossible hug, and the tension I’ve been carrying for months finally eases.
“Hi, Katy. I got you,” she murmurs against my hair. “I’ll do anything you need, okay? This is a good thing. I promise.”
Something in me unclenches. My people are here. I’m okay now.
I don’t look at Declan right now. I know if I do, I’ll see everything he’s trying not to feel standing three feet behind me.
“My parents still don’t know,” I mumble. “Declan is the only one who does. I plan to keep it that way for a few more weeks.”
I still have to tell Grandma Patty, though I have a feeling she already knows. She always does.
Ella doesn’t even blink. “Of course. It’s your choice. I’m just here to support you.”
Support. From the girl I abandoned.
The guilt is immediate and ugly. I squeeze her hand tighter, so I don’t have to say sorry.
We talk. Well, they talk. I just sit there, clutching Ella’s hand like a child while the doctor says words like preeclampsia and restricted growth. I hear “high risk,” and suddenly all the oxygen leaves the room.
A fear I’ve never known before has frozen my brain.
My baby suddenly feels fragile. Like one wrong breath could make it disappear.
How can I be pregnant and already be a terrible mom?
How is this my life? Not only do I not know who the father of my baby is, but now I’m not even good at keeping him or her healthy?
Dr. Meier starts talking about diet, exercise, and stress management. I laugh to myself thinking about how, for once, I’m thankful that my parents are always traveling. If they were in town, there would be no chance of managing my stress.
Ella keeps her voice steady, her pen flying over her notes. “We’ll get this under control. I’ll order a plan for her.”
Declan’s face is going pale. Not figuratively, like actually turning the color of paper. His fingers twitch at his sides, and I swear he’s seconds from passing out.
Ella flicks her eyes at him. “Declan, the food is for Katy. You better not eat any of it. Got it?”
He blinks out of his panic and grins at her. The tension in the room breaks, and I actually laugh.
Ella is still great at defusing Declan.
And I realize in that tiny moment that she won’t let go. It’s just not who she is. Declan and I are not alone in this anymore.
Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe I can do this.
Two weeks later
“Ella, just give me the freaking muffin,” I screech.
“Katy, no! You’re stronger than this. You need to keep your blood pressure under control!” Ella pleads, genuinely distressed.
“The actual doctor called me today to say my levels are great. I was a perfect patient, and I’m now allowed a muffin per day. So, give it.”
I’ve been following the diet plan to the letter for the past two weeks and taking my medications.
I was lucky enough that my body responded right away, and the doctors are really happy with my numbers.
They said that it’s perfectly safe for me to have one freaking muffin a day, but this insane person is not having it.
“But why would you? I can make you a healthier one.”
“You’re not even a real doctor yet!”
Twenty minutes of arguing later, I sigh and decide I’ll just inhale the muffin the second she leaves. She’s become a full-time mother hen—unhinged, devoted, and somehow both annoying and precious.
I have to confess, though, I love it. I’ve missed her.
I’m also embarrassingly jealous of her new best friend, Rebecca. Ella keeps insisting I’ll love her, but I’ve refused to meet her. I know I should be happy she made close friends in the three years we weren’t talking, but I’m jealous. I made friends too, but none of them were Ella.
It makes me sad to think I could be replaced. And apparently, I process sadness as rage, which is why all my irrational hostility is currently directed at freaking Rebecca.
But for weeks now, Ella’s been a one-woman care package.
Every other day she shows up with a tote bag overflowing with gifts or unsolicited emotional support. Chicken soup, face masks, fuzzy socks, clothes. A lot of baby clothes. One time she brought a human-sized body pillow and told me it was for “maximum belly coziness.”
At this point, my living room looks like a pastel-themed baby shower threw up on it. She’s here again today, cross-legged on my couch, passing me strawberries in lieu of muffins while we scroll through baby name apps like they’re Tinder.
“What about Bella if it’s a girl?” she asks.
“Nice try. Absolutely not,” I deadpan.
She snickers. “Fine. Your loss.”
We snack and toss around names, wondering what the baby might look like.
“Probably those giant Montgomery navy-blue eyes,” Ella says almost dreamily. “Or your dark hair if we’re lucky.”
I roll my eyes because she just described my brother. “Please stop fantasizing about having my brother’s babies in front of me. It’s gross.”
She laughs but doesn’t deny it.
Then we sit in silence for a beat too long.
I groan. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asks innocently.
“You know what.”
Her grin fades to something gentler. “Katy… I would never ask. You know that.”
I pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. And then, because she’s Ella, because I trust her more than anyone, I whisper, “El… the truth is, I don’t know who the dad is.”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t blink.
“Oh. Okay,” she says softly. “Was it like a we-didn’t-exchange-names situation?”
“No, we did. There’s just… um… multiple possibilities.”
“Well… who are the frontrunners?”
“See, that’s the issue. There’s… um… five.”
She blinks once. Twice. “As in… five potential fathers?”
I bury my face in my hands. “Please stop saying it out loud.”
I wait for her to look disappointed or judgmental.
Instead, she bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Katy, I’m not judging. Honestly? I’m extremely impressed. You’re officially five times cooler than me.”
I start laughing, and it evolves to crying laughter until my face aches. Ella just hands me a tissue and pats my knee.
“Okay. Five potential dads. Do they look different at least? Or are we stealing five separate hairs for DNA testing? This is very April from Gilmore Girls. I like it.”
“Oh, shut up!” I choke out through more laughter.
“Sorry! But if you wanted to know, they do have a blood test now…”
My laugh dies instantly. Because the truth is, no matter how angry I am at Ben, I want it to be him. I already picture a little boy with his messy blond hair. I can’t handle the possibility of him not being the dad.
Just like I can’t handle him suddenly texting and calling me again. I’ve wanted this for months. Now every notification just makes me want to cry.
So, instead I say, “I know, but that would involve five different DNA tests and at least one horrified medical professional. Absolutely not. Also, the whole town would probably find out. Can you imagine the horror?”
“You’re right, that doesn’t sound good for your blood pressure. We’ll just dissociate from the issue for now. I support that.”
That makes me laugh like a crazy person. Then, breathless, I add, “Can you please never tell Declan?”
She snorts. “God, no. He’d have a heart attack and die and then haunt us both. And the five candidates too. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked, though.”
“Oh, he has. I just said he doesn’t want to know. He agreed he really doesn’t.”
And suddenly the air feels lighter, like saying it out loud didn’t kill me. Like maybe it freed me a little. With Ella, even the messiest truths are accepted.
I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to since I found out I’m pregnant.
The house is quiet, but my head isn’t. Everything feels heavier in the dark.
The loneliness. The not knowing what comes next.
I curl onto my side and press a hand to my stomach, wishing Ben were here.
He was always good at making scary things feel smaller.
Like he could take something overwhelming and turn it into something manageable. Even fun.
My traitor brain immediately reminds me of my favorite memory of him. The night of my first bonfire. So, I take out my computer and do what I always do when my brain is a mess and needs to be tamed. I write it all down.
I’m sixteen and nervous enough to throw up.
I wear my best dress, curl my hair, do the whole perfect armor routine, and still feel like a fraud. I hover near the edge of the crowd, pretending my phone is suddenly fascinating, hoping no one notices how out of place I feel.
Ben finds me anyway.
“You good?” he asks, stepping directly into my line of sight, like he knows I’d avoid eye contact if he gave me the chance.
I shrug. “This is my first real party. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
He grins, easy and unbothered, like nothing in the world could intimidate him. “You’re not supposed to do anything, Katy Cat. Just do whatever you want.” He grabs my hand and twirls me.
I laugh, sharp and surprised, which I’m pretty sure is the point. With Ben, things that feel impossibly awkward suddenly don’t. He makes everything seem easy, like there’s no wrong move as long as I’m with him.
The music shifts to something slower, and before I can escape, he tugs me toward the crowd.
“Come on.”
I blink. “Where?”
“To dance. Obviously.”
“I don’t know how to dance!”
“But you’re in cheer. And you’ve done ballet forever.”
“I meant at a party. It’s a different skill set.”
His eyes soften, understanding flickering there. “Good thing I’m an excellent teacher.”
I roll my eyes but let him pull me closer, slipping my hand into his. His palm is warm, steady, and grounding. He places one hand at my waist, the other still holding mine.
“Just relax,” he murmurs. “There’s no right way to do this. There’s just Katy and Ben’s way to do this.”
I try. I really do. But it’s hard to focus when he’s looking at me like I’m the only person worth watching.
After a few songs, something loosens inside me. The self-conscious spiral quiets. I start having fun. Real fun.
Naturally, that’s when the universe intervenes.
A fat raindrop hits my cheek. Then another. Within seconds, the sky cracks open. Everyone screams and runs for their cars. I stand there, soaked, watching the bonfire hiss and sputter out.
“Perfect,” I mutter. “My first party, and it literally gets rained out.”
But Ben just laughs. “Who says it’s over?” Before I can protest, he grabs my hand again and spins me, right there in the middle of a full-blown downpour.
“You can’t waste your first bonfire!” he shouts over the rain. “Dance in the rain with me, Katy.”
We slip in the mud, laughing until our stomachs hurt. Water drips from his hair, his shirt clinging to him, and suddenly I’m certain this feeling might actually kill me.
When he finally stops, he rests his forehead against mine. We’re breathless. Soaked. Smiling like idiots.
“See?” he whispers. “Still perfect.”
The memory fades, and the loneliness comes rushing back. I stare at the ceiling, wishing my old Ben, the one who didn’t abandon me, were here to tell me everything will be okay.