CHAPTER ELEVEN

Caleigh

I get two weeks’ maternity leave at half pay. After that I can have up to six weeks unpaid. Daycare is a problem. There’s no cheap daycare that I’d actually leave a baby at, or anything living for that matter. I’ve looked at like two dozen places and the only one I’d consider taking the baby to is expensive. It was clean and there’s a good staff to child ratio who read to the kids every day, but unless I want to leave the baby in a nasty living room with the TV on and cat hair all over the place, there’s nothing I can afford long term. I need to work as long as possible before I deliver. I need to save more money.

I gave up Netflix, and the shampoo that smells good. It’s not enough. I worry all the time. I read this Baby Center stuff and think, if I get gestational diabetes or preeclampsia, I won’t be able to work or pay rent. Amy is nice, but I’m not asking her to cover me on bills. She couldn’t even if she wanted to.

I have a list of places to look at, some more babysitters and another daycare center, but the idea of leaving my baby someplace while I go wait tables feels awful. I know most of the world does it, works and pays someone to watch the kids, but I dread it. I lay my hand on my stomach now and talk to the baby at night. I tell him about myself and about the life I want us to have, how I’ll always love him, and I want to give him the best life possible. That I’ll work hard and take care of him. But I cry a lot too.

At the checkup where I first hear the baby’s heartbeat, I wish so powerfully for Griffin to hold my hand and share this with me that I ache. I want him here, but I want to be a good memory for him, not some girl who trapped him and went after his money, who tied him down with an illegitimate child.

I do the only thing I can. I buy a notebook, and I write in it every night. I keep a pregnancy journal, but it’s addressed to Griffin. He’ll never see it so I can tell the truth.

Today I heard his heartbeat. It’s so fast you wouldn’t believe it. I know it’s a boy. I mean, I can’t have a gender scan till I’m four months along, but I can tell. I talk to him a lot. I even tried to tell him a story last night. The three little pigs. He probably can’t hear me yet. But I want him to know my voice, to feel safe with me. Just like you made me feel safe and cared for me. That was the best feeling in the world, and it’s what I want for our child.

I’ll tell him his father was a boyfriend of mine. A good, hardworking man who cared about doing what was right. Who liked French toast and Eggs Benedict and the colors red and black. I’ll tell him you saved me from a bad guy one night. That I want him to grow up and be someone who does that, who uses his strength to protect, not to do harm. When he asks what happened, I’ll tell him. We broke up, and I didn’t know for a long time I was having a baby, and when I found out, I didn’t tell you. That way, when he grows up, if he wants to meet you, he won’t have grown up thinking you were dead or some terrible person. I’ve written down everything I know about you so I can tell him. I won’t have a picture to show him of his daddy, but I’ll have some stuff to let him know who you were as a person. That you were a businessman, and I still have your blue shirt.
I sleep in it. It’s become a ritual for me. I’m happiest at night wrapped in your shirt, my hand on my belly, saying good night to our baby. It helps me worry less, I think.

I’m worried all the time about how I’ll manage this. But I’m not the first single mother in the world. I’m going to look at WIC to help with food and stuff. I’m going to do my best for our baby. I want you to know that I’ll love him and take care of him no matter what.

I’ll make sure he knows it was my choice you weren’t in his life. That you didn’t abandon us. That I chose this struggle because I wanted him. Because I wanted what was best for you—a life of following your dreams without being tied down or feeling like I trapped you. That you would have done the honorable thing if you had the chance, but I didn’t give you that chance. I’ll own that.

I made some reckless choices that got me here. I’m forever grateful to have known you. I’m forever grateful for our child. I’ll never forget you.

When the catering manager calls to ask me to work Saturday night, I’m surprised. I had to cancel a job last week, and I missed two last month because I was sick. I’ve put on a few pounds. I’m feeling better. But I don’t know how long I’ll get banquet work, considering I’ll be obviously pregnant soon. I accept the job gladly. I can use the money.

I no longer look haggard and sick. For the last week, I’ve had this dewy, glowing complexion that I assume is from the vitamins. I’ve managed to put the four pounds I’d lost back on and five more besides. The baby, it seems, is hungry all the time. I tease him that he’s going to be made of Pecan Sandies and strawberry milk, since that’s what I’m craving all the time. So, I’m looking pretty good again and last week, I got boobs. The kind I dreamed of when I was fifteen and flat as a board. I already had small ones, but these make me stare at my reflection when I have a tank top on. These are sexy boobs. I’m pretty sure I have to give them back after the baby’s born. They fill out the black shirt I have to wear for the job. The buttons are pulled tight across them like I’m Dolly Parton in a size too small. I use a safety pin to hold the front of the straining shirt together.

When I get dressed for the job though, my black pants are too tight. I have to safety pin the waist because it won’t fasten. I borrow a black belt from Amy’s closet and use it to cover the pin after my shirt’s tucked in. I pull back my hair in a ponytail that is now longer and lush. Those vitamins have made my hair grow like crazy. I put on makeup and take the bus to the address I was given. As soon as I see it, I know it’s one of his clubs since it has Rose in the name. I know it will be red and black and sexy as hell inside.

The kitchen is standard, and I see it’s the same crew I worked with that first night. My stomach flips sickly. I don’t want to relive that night—at least not the work part of it. Heather greets me. We’ve worked together quite a bit, so seeing her makes me feel a little calmer.

“Feeling okay?” she says, passing me her eyeliner out of habit. I take it and put it with her compact mirror. “You have to unbutton. How many times do I have to—whoa. Those things are gorgeous!” she says as she undoes a button on my shirt.

“Thanks. They’re a perk.”

“That makes up for all the puking I bet,” she says admiringly. I shrug.

I’m blushing. Not because she noticed my new cleavage. I’m blushing because being here this way reminds me of Griffin’s hands on me. The way he dipped his head to capture my nipple in his mouth. A tingle thrills along my skin at the memory. I remind myself to be professional tonight. It’s not like I’ll see him.