Chapter Twenty
I knew I was pregnant the night it happened.
But one of my best, or worst, abilities is how I can pretend otherwise, ignore the painfully obvious, hope it will vanish on its own thanks to the sheer force of my will.
But I knew.
Any woman who loves a man the way I love Trent Hettinger would know. I think I knew the moment it happened.
It was the night of his horrible confessions to me, about his past. When I learned about Kayla, and how awful his life was as a little boy and young man. When we reunited, bittersweet at first, because I felt I needed to do something to comfort him, to show him how much he was loved. Then later, again, when he took over and showed me how much he wanted me back.
And how.
As I sat in my dark, chilly apartment, sipping cold water with slices of lemon for the nausea—something my nosy, yet observant mother had told me to do when she’d sent me home—I blushed and shivered and sensed myself getting aroused by the memory of that night. He’d carried me to my bed after our first go-round and a brief nap. I’d been sleepy, groggy, exhausted after weeks spent ignoring him and convincing myself it was what I wanted.
He’d lain me down and kissed me from the tips of my toes to my fingers, then down the opposite way on the other side, giving ample attention to my most sensitive parts. As I’d been panting and eager, begging him for release, he’d used the blindfold on me, forcing me to be silent and listen to only his words.
He’d said the dirtiest things to me—shocking me as I’d been expecting romance. But he’d not touched me as he spoke. He’d only whispered, first in one ear, then the other. He’d told me what he wanted to do to me. What he expected me to do to him. At one point, I’d gotten so worked up I wanted to touch myself.
“No touching, bella,” he’d reminded me as I felt the warmth of my own sex against my fingertips. “I’m want to see if I can make you come with only this.” He’d blown a puff of breath on my ear. “I want to watch you get off from the sound of my voice.”
I had. And it had been the oddest, yet most erotic thing I’d ever experienced. Some of the things he’d said still rolled around in my head at strange times. He’d never done it again, but I knew it for what it was—proof that he had the sort of power of me that I was happy to relinquish.
As I’d lain on my bed, crying out with pleasure when he’d finally given in and bit down on my earlobe which is what finally sent me over the edge without a single touch anywhere else, he’d rolled me on top of him and shoved into me with a loud groan. I remember looking down at him, staring into his eyes, taking in everything I loved about his face, his neck, the perfect roundness of his head, the smooth skin of his scalp and coming again, or maybe I just kept coming.
But he’d reveled in it, using his voice to tease me even further. He pinched my nipples as he encouraged me to yell or scream or anything I wanted. There was something in the room with us then. Something primal and urgent and raw that I loved.
He’d rolled us over, pinning my arms up over my head and pounding into me so hard it hurt. But I loved it, I welcomed it, and when he’d come inside me then, I knew what had just happened.
I put the water glass down and raced for the bathroom for the millionth time that day. I had nothing left in my stomach but water, but it made its reappearance, leaving me shaking and weak, sitting on the floor gripping the toilet.
Trent had no interest in any more children. He’d made that abundantly clear to me. And at the time, I’d had no beef with that. I’d never really considered myself the motherly type, although my nature tended toward nurture. I never got gooey-eyed over babies, that I could recall anyway. I never wanted to hold one, much less carry one in my body. Right now, of course, I wanted to die from misery. The nausea that had clamped own of me from out of the blue that morning had not released its grip, not once.
I’d run to the bar to get out of his way, so he could work and not make me confess what it was. Not that he’d think anything of the sort, of course. He’d had the operation. But I’d looked it up on my laptop in my office between bouts of throwing my guts up. It happened. It wasn’t likely but it wasn’t impossible or unheard of, either.
I’d managed to ignore the lack of my period for a month, chalking it up to stress. Which was patently ridiculous. My cycles were as regular as clockwork, rarely varying in timing or intensity. The only thing I’d noticed that was different or obviously indicative of any hormonal shift was a serious ramp up of my libido.
I mean, I was horny before. Once Trent had freed me of the old, scared, asexual Melody costume I’d been wearing for self-protection, he had woken a monster. But one I could handle. I could do my work during the day without being overcome with heavy, inappropriate rushes of raw lust. The most innocuous thoughts about him—what I might fix for dinner, or if he’d remembered to pick up more wine—would send me spinning, leaving me panting and wondering if I could get away with masturbating in the bathroom.
I felt heavy with need, full, ripe like a fresh summer tomato. It was simultaneously irritating and exhilarating. Trent had no complaints of course. He was delighted. The night before I’d woken up with my next, most obvious symptom he had dropped over after several hours of rough play, ending with a loud climax for him and yet more skin-crawling need for me saying “uncle”.
We’d laughed it off.
But I had known then. And by noon today I had no doubts.
Another confounded tear slipped down my cheek. I got up, flushed away what little I’d managed to lose, and shuffled back into the main room. My bed was a mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The shower was growing things in the corners and the kitchen would horrify my tidy-minded employees.
With a burst of energy, I got to work and didn’t stop for a couple of hours when I looked around and smelled bleach and the pleasant violet-scented floor cleaner I recalled from my growing up years. My stomach was rumbling, which distracted me briefly from the low-lying, ever-present nausea. It was nearly nine o’clock, which surprised me, since I hadn’t heard from Trent yet.
Hoping he was spending some time talking with Kayla, I gave myself yet another mental pat on the back for tracking her down. It hadn’t been that hard once I did a little digging using her name and last known location in Kalamazoo. Say what you will about the maid mafia, the network of Hispanic cleaning staff is vast and tight knit. I’d put her description out on the vines and within days had her triangulated.
As an adult, she’d not made it any farther than Detroit, gotten busted for prostitution, held for a while and released thanks to the overcrowded court system. She made her way back to the west side of the state, she claimed, so she could check on her little brother. Keeping her distance and getting clean had kept her busy. But she’d found a job cleaning rooms at two different crappy hotels. I’d gotten her two jobs—my old diner one and behind the bar at Fitz Pub under the strict promise that she’d stay clean. The first sign of tweaking or anything else and I would cut her loose.
It had only been two weeks, but so far, so good. I’d wanted to take her straight to Trent, unwilling to hide anything from him ever again. But she’d insisted we wait. That she’d go to him when she was ready.
Today had come early in that plan, I figured. But I hadn’t expected him on Sunday and so had scheduled her for times when we were rarely around. I peered into the sorry depths of my fridge, cursing myself for playing house with Trent for the last month. I’d have to wean myself off that soon enough, since Taylor would be back.
A cramp hit me low in the belly, forcing me to bend over and take deep breaths. It faded as quickly as it appeared, leaving me reeling and dizzy. I shut the fridge and leaned against it, willing myself not pregnant.
That didn’t work. I put my hand on my stomach, trying to sort through the stew of emotions. My mother had figured me out within seconds, of course. Given me a brief lecture, then asked when the wedding was going to occur. Which had not helped one bit.
I grabbed my phone and sent Evelyn a text. I had, of course, forgiven her for not telling me that Trent was coming over that night. She’d not shown much improvement, personal-life wise, but at least she and Ross ignored each other at work. Not great, but better than loud fighting.
She didn’t reply right away. I grabbed a box of plain crackers and plunked myself on the couch, holding the box, a tissue and my phone, feeling sorry for myself.
Fucking Trent and his fucking superman sperms. This was not supposed to happen. Neither of us wanted it. I winced when another mild cramp came and went, leaving me free of nausea long enough to get up and find a can of tomato soup. But once it was heated and ready, the smell of it made me gag. I wanted Trent so badly right then I could practically feel his arms around me. But I resisted it. He needed time with Kayla. I’d drop this little bombshell on him later. A lot later.
Not much later, chica. The little shrimp won’t stay that size for long.
And that’s if I even decided to keep it.
I shivered at the thought. It was a baby. I’d always believed that, even though I would never impose my views on any other woman’s body or life.
Groaning, I choked down a few more crackers, drank more water and dropped to sleep on the couch, fully dressed, the TV blaring away into the room. I woke in a tangle of blankets, sweaty all over. When I sat up, the nausea caught up with me, slamming against the back of my throat and forcing me to half run, half crawl to the toilet again.
I took a long, hot shower, and checked the time. It was already seven, an hour after I usually woke on work days. I also noted that Trent had not sent me a single text or called. With a sigh, I dried my hair, skipped makeup since the smell of it made me dizzy, got dressed and headed for the pub. I was determined to get on with my life. Women get pregnant every day, hell, every hour. They go to work and do what has to be done. It’s not an illness. It’s a condition and one that some women would give anything to have.
I was sitting in my car, puffing out breaths to keep from throwing up before I even got into the building, when my phone buzzed with a call. I knocked it into the floor in my eagerness. But it was Evelyn.
“Hey,” she said. “You at the brewery yet?”
“Yes.” I gathered up my stuff, determined not to let my disappointment show. “What’s up? You here yet?” She was usually one of the first ones to arrive during the week, powering up the various coffee machines and setting out bagels, fruit and yogurt in all three of the break rooms.
“No. I’m not feeling good today.”
“Oh.” I unlocked the front door of the pub instead of going through the old brewery. I could already tell that the strong smells in there were going to be unfathomable to me for a while. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”
I did the coffee making and took delivery of donuts and other stuff from the deli down the street, setting them out in the break rooms and trying to not look as pregnant as I felt. Once that was done and I’d chatted with Amy, Evelyn’s assistant, for a while over a donut that seemed to quell my nausea for the time being, I headed for my office. I was implementing a new entertainment schedule next month, once the summer was officially over, and had some calls to make and graphics to order.
At noon, with still no peep from Trent, a thrill of aggravation shot down my spine. Hormones, certainly, but more than that. He was never this stand-offish. He must really be pissed about me keeping the fact of Kayla’s existence from him.
At five-thirty, that thrill had turned into a flat-out fury, filling my chest, throat and head. I’d managed to eat a few peanuts, and was now craving, of all things, eggplant parmesan. Without thinking, I put my hand on my still flat stomach then took it off, pressing both of my palms on the desk, sweating my way through a wave of dizziness.
“Oh, jefe,” Walt, my head chef, said, sticking his head around the doorway. “Evelyn is out here, asking for you.”
“Thanks, Walt.” I ran a hand over my lips, wondering if I would ever not feel sick again. This was so all-encompassing, enveloping me in a way any other stomach illness never had. It scared me a little, to tell the truth.
“You all right? Need some more water? My Melinda claims that you should put cucumbers over your closed eyelids and lay in a totally dark room for this.” He waved his hand up and down, vaguely indicating my general condition.
“You ever think she says that so you’ll leave her alone in a dark room for a while?” I eased myself up, hoping the latest surge of nausea would fade.
“I wouldn’t put it past her.” He chuckled, then grabbed my arm when I stumbled, nearly falling off my own stupid shoes. “Whoa, there. You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Thanks.” I straightened my back and attempted to regain my dignity as we walked out into the pre-dinner kitchen.
“No problem. I need to go over the kitchen staff schedule with you real quick.”
I nodded and focused as hard as I could on the grid he put on the counter but the names and numbers swam in front of my eyes. Finally, I leaned away from the counter. “I’m sorry, Walt. I’m sure you have a handle on this. It’s why I hired you after all. I need to sit down.”
“Here, let me help you.”
“No, no, I’m not fragile. I’m just…” I sighed and bit back tears.
“Señora Josefina told me,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t say anything to anyone else but the guys who were here yesterday figured it out, I think.”
“Crap.” I leaned forward, my elbows on the stainless-steel surface, which helped alleviate some of the dizziness.
“I sure wish he’d taken it better.” He was patting my shoulder with his giant mitt of a hand. “Señora Jo was right pissed off when she got back in here. She’s kinda scary when she’s pissed off.”
I blinked, trying to make my sluggish brain comprehend this odd conversational curveball. But even as I denied it, I was taking it in, processing, and realizing that the reason I was being ignored today was not due to his general unhappiness over how I’d handled the Kayla thing.
I was being ignored because I was pregnant. My meddling mother had told him. And he’d spent the last full day in radio silence.
My heart seemed to sink straight down to my shoes. Walt’s patting was irritating me now, but I didn’t want to be rude so I stood. “Evelyn’s here, you say?”
“Yep. And she looks about as good as you do.”
“Okay. Fine. Good. Thanks, Walt.” I slapped a saccharine smile on my face to reassure him, then turned on my heel and headed for the bar. I saw her leaning forward, nursing a soda. In the weeks since I’d last seen her she had lost weight, which made her cheekbones stand out, and her eyes seemed to glow in their deep-set sockets.
“Hi,” I said, pouring myself a ginger ale—my fifth one that day since it did calm the raging need to puke everywhere.
“Hi.” She sipped but didn’t meet my eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
I choked on my soda.
“Oh,” I said, wiping my streaming eyes with a napkin. “Great. Me too.”
She narrowed her eyes. I nodded and held up the ginger ale. “And if one can die of morning sickness, I will do it.” I sipped. She sipped. We stared at each other.
“What are you going to do?”
I shook my head and put the half empty glass down with a thunk. “Not sure.” My voice was firm as resolve rose in me. If he didn’t want to see me or talk to me about this, then I would, by God, handle it on my own. One way or another. “You?” I knew it had to be Ross’s baby, which was a complex wrinkle.
“I have no idea.” Tears rolled down her face. I patted her hand. “I mean, I’m going to have it. But…”
I sighed.
“Do you need me to come with you…anywhere? You know I will. If you want me to.”
“I know. I’ll let you know once I decide.”
“What about Tre—?”
I held up a hand to stop her from saying his name. Ice was forming around my heart and I let it. It was the only way I was going to get through this. “He knows. He hasn’t spoken to me since he found out.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. That doesn’t seem like him.”
“Well, apparently, it is.” I slammed my glass into the rack for the dishwasher, as anger covered the hurt that was forming. Which was just fine. I would be angry. But I would not allow him to hurt me. I wouldn’t allow any man to hurt me. “I’m sorry.”
Evelyn smiled at me and fiddled with her straw. “Me too,” she said. “Look at us, will you? Two grown women who should know better…”
“Knocked up like a couple of teenagers on prom night.”
She chuckled, then covered her lips. “I shouldn’t laugh at that.”
I shrugged, as the ice coating spread up my spinal column to my brain. It helped a little but by the time she’d left and I was sitting at my desk, I sobbed like a baby. The catharsis I should have felt never came so I slouched home, dropped onto my couch and fell asleep, my stomach rumbling from hunger, my eyes burning with tears.
The next few weeks were a blur. Between throwing up, crying and trying to act normal around people who had no business being affected by my poor life choices, I was asleep every night by nine, and had to drag myself out of bed every morning. Trent maintained his distance. And I met him halfway, not even allowing myself to type out texts or anything so I could stare at them before I erased them like I’d done before.
He was serious about this, it would seem. I was on my own. He’d made that clear.
Despite my best efforts—maybe in spite of them—I did think about him almost nonstop. I knew that Taylor would be back, going to school, doing her community service, playing piano and guitar. I also kept tabs on the Kalamazoo block development. He’d hosted a pre-opening opening party and the sight of him in a suit, his smile fixed and his eyes shining had sent me into a three-day tailspin.
I’d still not managed to eat much, which made my blood sugar spiral and turned me into a stark raving bitch. My mother had taken to showing up in the kitchen, to run interference between me as I sat crouched in my office, snarling, sobbing or puking, and the rattled kitchen staff. I worked some bar shifts and avoided Kayla as much as I could. Seeing her only brought it all roaring back in one giant wave of regret.
At least one thing had changed. Austin was back. Evelyn was ecstatic. Ross was somewhat less so, but I could tell he knew it was for the best. They were all back together, as three, best I could tell. But I had no energy to inquire about it, much less get any details. She looked positively radiant and I felt like I was withering away, drying up, empty even as my body was doing some truly weird things to remind me that empty was the opposite of my issue.
I’d developed a near constant craving for potato chips—something I’d never eaten before. It was as if my salt intake needed to triple to get me past the daily nausea. And I wanted a glass of dark stout every night—although wanted didn’t give the gut deep craving for it justice. I skipped it of course.
The date moved closer. I ignored it. Then one morning I realized that this was it. This was the Rubicon that I would either cross or step back from, depending on if I kept a certain appointment, made for two p.m., with Evelyn on stand-by to take me and drive me home. I sat, staring out into the cloudy fall sky. Wind whipped at the trees, stripping them of their show-off red, yellow and orange adornments. A lovely day for an abortion, I thought, allowing that word to sit in my brain, flashing neon, reminding me that I believed in a woman’s right to choose, but not at all sure that this was my choice.
I didn’t want a baby. Trent didn’t want a baby. Of course, this was the right choice.
A tear slipped from my eye and hit my hand. I stared at it as the usual morning roil of hunger for a bag of the greasiest possible chips warred with the need to throw up. I picked up my phone and made a call.
“Hi, Melody,” Evelyn answered. “Are you ready for me to pick you up?”
“No. I’m not going. I can’t do it.” I wiped my eyes and sniffled.
“All right. So, let’s get you an appointment with my OB, shall we?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. We can compare our weight gains and shit.”
I smiled, dropped back onto my bed and put my hands over my stomach. “We’ve got this, kid,” I whispered. “You and me.”