Alana
I TELL CRYSTAL that I’ll wait in the waiting room because it’s too painful for me to watch her baby on the ultrasound. Selfish, I know. Grabbing a WebMD magazine, I flip through it. This is the same place Charles and I had our ultrasound for Cole. My mom came with me because I was sixteen years old and needed parental consent. I had a bad case of butterflies, and my arms broke out in stress hives.
He pushes a few strands from my face as I look down at the black and white tiles. My heart hammers in my chest. So many questions race through my mind.
Is the baby going to be normal? Am I going to be a good mom? Is it too late to get an abortion?
“I hope the baby is a boy.” Charles’ hazel eyes narrow. “We can name him after my grandpa.”
I look at him, and he purses his thin lips. His calm gives me little hope that everything will be all right.
“If we have a girl, I’m naming her after my mom, Ava.”
A smile stretches across her face. Worry lines sprout at the corners of her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what you’re having, as long as she or he is healthy,” Mom says.
We both nod.
The medical assistant ushers us to a small room. The woman has on blue scrubs, and her high ponytail sways back and forth as she walks. With the room painted pink and baby pictures hanging on the wall, the room is supposed to make you feel calm and excited, but it doesn’t. My palms are sweating, and the room is spinning, and I don’t know if I want to puke or faint.
“It’s gonna be okay, sweet pea,” Charles says, squeezing my hand.
That’s a nickname Charles gave me because he always says that I am the sweetest person he ever met.
The lady ushers me to the bed, tells me to pull up my shirt above my belly, and I feel flutters in my belly. The baby kicks me and my whole stomach shifts, giving me the urge to pee. The gynecologist says it’s normal, though. I’m on the brink of tears because this is real. I’m carrying a baby. Have to grow up and be an adult. I envisioned going to art school, but that dream doesn’t look promising. Everyone is quiet, and the A/C pumps out cool air, causing my skin to break out in goose bumps. Charles grips my hands tight. The lady squirts gel on a stick.
“The gel is going to be cool against your abdomen.”
She glides the stick to different angles on my stomach, and I hear a rapid heartbeat. I break into tears—don’t know what kind of tears. Charles wipes my face, and I can’t read his expression. My mom leaves the room. She’s disappointed with me, and I let her down. I’m disappointed in myself. Hate myself for ruining my life, for thinking that it was okay to have sex without condoms. The baby is coming in four months, and our lives are gonna change. Reality hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m going to be a mom, going to be responsible for someone else. No more staying up at night playing video games, no more having freedom. Maybe I should have listened to my mom and got an abortion. Charles didn’t want one, but he told me he would support me no matter what I chose.
“Here are the legs.” She presses a button on the keyboard, turns the screen to me, and moves the stick on my belly to the left. “The arms.”
“What is the sex?” Charles asks, his eyes gleaming.
Why is he so excited? Doesn’t he understand the mistake we made, that we can’t undo what happened?
“Congrats, it’s a boy.” The screen shows a penis.
Charles runs his hands through his hair and smiles. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. “Baby Cole,” he whispers, and kisses my lips. Charles wants to name the baby after his grandfather who raised him. His grandfather died last year from a rare brain tumor.
“I love you, sweet pea.”
“I love you too.”
Crystal sashays to the lobby, her eyebrows knitted together, and I place the magazine down on the white table. She hands me a black-and-white picture.
“I’m fifteen weeks pregnant. The baby is healthy.” Tears fill her eyes. I don’t know if they’re tears of joy, but I don’t ask.
On our way to play golf, Crystal is so excited about being pregnant, she rambles on about how she can’t wait until she finds out the sex so we can decorate the room.
We cruise downtown Newark to an arcade that has mini-golf and other outdoor games. At the cashier, we order three rounds of games. I hit my club against the white ball, but I miss the tiny hole. Don’t know why I agreed to play this boring game.
“Your turn, preggo,” I tell Crystal. She hits the ball, and it rolls into the tiny hole.
“I’ve been depressed, Alana.” Her chin trembles. Crystal has suffered from clinical depression since we were teenagers. She used to get depressed about her mom’s sickness. The last time she was depressed, four years ago, she had to check into a psychiatric ward because she tried to commit suicide. I hope that she doesn’t do that again because I can’t lose her as a friend. With me not having a sister, I love her like one, and I will do anything for her.
“Have you thought about suicide?” The words are out faster than I intend.
“No. Had to stop my antidepressants when I got pregnant. I swear I won’t have a repeat of what happened.” Her shoulders droop as she says, “With Clarence leaving, I never thought I would be a single mom.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “I’m going to get that son of a bitch back for leaving me. Mark my words, Alana.”
A bunch of teenagers speak loud and skateboard on the wood ramps. I pull her into a hug and let her cry. This has been an emotional day for both of us. “How about we go home, look up hot guys on Pinterest, and make some hot chocolate?”
“And watch Magic Mike,” she adds, smiling and wiping the tears from her eyes.
Autumn is the most beautiful time of the year. Brown, orange, and red leaves coat the ground that you want to dive into. The air is crisp and dry, and you get to decorate your house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But it can be one of the most depressing times of the year, especially since I lost Cole. When Cole was a baby, I dressed him up in the cutest Thanksgiving onesies that said, “Gobble, I’m a cute turkey.” I missed the way he used to call me “sweet pea” because his dad used to do it. Most of the time, I miss being a mother—it was one of the hardest and sweetest jobs I ever had to do. Can’t imagine doing it again. Don’t want to feel like I’m trying to replace Cole.
Darien and I jog through the park together. My calves burn as my feet hit the pavement. Darien wants to race me, but little does he know that I’m a natural runner. I stop as we pass a giant blossom tree with pale-pink petals scattered on the green grass. I sag down on the black metal bench, and Darien stops and sits next to me, breathing heavy.
He kisses my forehead. “We’re having Thanksgiving dinner at your folks’ house or mine?”
“What?” I ask, grabbing my water bottle from my Justice League backpack, unscrewing the lid and gulping it down. Man, my throat is dry. Hope I’m not getting sick.
“Thanksgiving, Red.”
“Oh, yeah. At your folks’,” I say.
A lady and her white poodle jog past us. The sun is out, but the cold wind is cooling off my skin, and it feels nice. I’m burning up in my long-sleeved fleece and my pink sweatpants, despite the cold weather.
“I’m taking you to the movies. We are going on another date.”
“Dating is not our thing, Darien.” He hasn’t taken me out since the gala, and I’m okay with that. Never been the type to date.
“It is now. I’m tired of us doing the random hookups and only staying inside. I’m a traditional man.”
“You weren’t that traditional when you came after me to fuck,” I say, tossing the empty bottle into the trash can.
I’m expecting him to threaten to take me over his knee, but he rolls his eyes and says, “We are going to see Suicide Squad.”
“Fine.”
We begin jogging towards his car, and two women jog in our direction. Immediately, I recognize the brunette with the azure eyes and her messy ponytail sways back and forth. I should snatch her by the hair. Our eyes connect, and her face turns white as snow. We both stop at the same time. My hand connects with her face.
Stupid bitch. Rebecca rubs her pink cheek.
“Thanks for fucking my husband and getting knocked up.”
She doesn’t even look pregnant, unless she already had her baby. My pulse elevates, and adrenaline spikes my blood.
“I’m sorry, I didn’—”
“Eat shit!” I don’t want her stupid apology. Like that’s going to help. Darien grabs my ass and drags me to the car. Rebecca and I spit cuss words at each other like venom. Her friend with the ugly haircut looks at Rebecca in shock. Where is Crystal when I need her? We both can kick their asses. Stupid bitches.
I hate that woman. Hope karma bites her in the ass.
In the car, Darien breaks the silence and says, “That was the woman he left you for?”
I nod and swallow the huge lump in the back of my throat and continue to look out the window. The tall buildings pass in a blur. Darien places his hand on my thigh and squeezes.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“For?”
“Acting the way I did,” I whisper. Often, I would envision what I would do to Rebecca. How can a woman know that a man is married and still sleep with him? She doesn’t have any morals. All the bitterness that I feel for Charles is coming back. My heartache. He gave Cole another sibling and we just lost him two years ago. How can he give her something that was taken away from me? He just can’t keep his dick in his pants. The pain in my chest from losing Charles and Cole is too fresh, my heart can’t take any more heartache.
“No problem. At least I know you can take care of yourself when I’m not around.”
I meet his eyes and his smile.
“Was Charles the guy you flipped off when you were in front of the Bistro?”
“What did you say?” I ask, sucking in a breath.
“Bistro, you flipped off a guy at the restaurant.”
“How’d you know about that?” I study his facial expression and he continues to look ahead. Can’t recall us having a conversation about that.
“You asked me for my phone, remember?”
“That was you? And you didn’t say anything?” I ask, turning my head sideways.
“What was I supposed to say? Remember me, the guy you asked to used his phone while you were crying?”
I shake my head at his answer and turn my view to the window.
“He broke up with me that day.” I murmur as the day plays vivid in my mind. “He told me about Rebecca and her pregnancy.”
When will I have a day where I don’t think about the situation, without being on the verge of tears? Warm air pumps out of the air conditioner.
“Do you still love him?” The concern in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed. He laces his fingers with mine, brings my hand to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles. Honestly, I don’t know if I still love Charles. I was married to him, and we did share a child together, and he was my first love.
“If this is your way of asking would I go back to him, then the answer is no. I’m yours.”
“Mine,” he says.
I’m his more than he knows.
“Alana?” He has a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes?”
“I’m not fucking you anytime soon.”
I cock my head to the side. He can’t be serious. “Why not?” I ask, frowning.
“I’m not gonna be your rebound guy.”