Chapter Twenty
Drowning in Your Sleep
Eric
She won’t answer her phone or any of the messages that I’ve sent her. I know that I should probably give her some time, but I just don’t want to see things with Jessica end like this.
As if the situation wasn’t already awkward, to put it very lightly, I still don’t have Linda’s number and I sure as hell don’t want Jessica to have to be on the other end of one of those phone calls again.
I honestly wasn’t trying to hide it from her. Up until last night, it was all ancient history as far as I was concerned.
Yeah, I knew it was stupid going without a condom, but I figured the chances of conception after pulling out with so much time before… but that doesn’t matter. The fact is that Linda’s pregnant with my baby.
She’d gotten back with her boyfriend very soon after she and I hooked up, but apparently, the two wanted to get to know one another again before they brought the relationship back to the bedroom.
I asked her if she’d been with anyone else during the period of time—but she wasn’t. It’s definitely mine.
Linda told me that she wasn’t asking for anything, but she just wanted to let me know. Still, the fact of the matter is that it’s my child, and I’m going to make sure he or she is supported, whether or not I go for any kind of custody.
Custody.
Jesus.
Part of me has always wanted to have a kid, but this has to be the furthest thing from the way I imagined it happening.
The store should be opening up, and I’m not sure if Jessica’s at work or not. Regardless, I need to get Linda’s phone number. The fact that I didn’t get it before now seems so ridiculous, but it really was just a one-time thing.
Wasn’t there something about a boyfriend?
Isn’t that why she called it off after that first time?
Part of me wants to think that she’s lying about being pregnant or lying about being mine, but the rest of me hates myself for even hoping for something like that.
Yeah, I’ll ask her about the boyfriend, but I’m not going to try to get out of the responsibility if it is, indeed, mine.
I look up the phone number for Lady Bits online—the only number I had for it before was Jessica’s personal line.
Come to think of it, I haven’t checked my work phone since before I met up with José, Ian, and what’s his name that bailed halfway through the meeting.
That doesn’t matter right now.
I call the number and pray for a friendly voice on the other end of the line, though I don’t expect one.
“You’ve reached Lady Bits, home of—”
“Linda?” I ask. It sounds like her voice, but I’m really not keen on taking that kind of chance right now. As much as I’d love to talk to Jessica, this is not the context.
“Yes?” she asks. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Eric,” I tell her. “I don’t have your phone number, and I wanted to make sure that we could keep in contact.”
“Oh,” she says. “Can I call you back in a few minutes? I’ve got a customer coming up to the front.”
“You don’t have my number,” I tell her.
“That’s all right,” she says. “I’ll just get it from Jessica.”
“No, wait!”
She’s already hung up.
I start to write Jessica another text, but decide against it. Instead, I press redial.
“You’ve reached Lady Bits, home of—”
“Linda, it’s Eric,” I tell her. “Take down this number.”
She sighs. “All right,” she says. “Go ahead.”
“All right,” I tell her, “it’s 555-2625. Did you get that?”
“Yeah,” she says, “555-2625. I really have to go now. I’ve got a customer waiting.”
She hangs up the phone and I feel like I’ve dodged a bullet. Okay, maybe not a bullet, but at least one BB from the shotgun blast.
The rest of it, it seems, is headed straight for me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I have no idea what to do here. There doesn’t seem to be anything left that I can do except for wait and hope for the best.
I’ve never been so good at waiting.
I pull my phone back out of my pocket and dial the number.
“Hello?”
“Hey Irene,” I say, “I don’t suppose Alec’s around, is he?”
“No, he’s out,” Irene says. “They’re just finishing up in Jersey. He should be back tonight, though, can I take a message for you, Eric?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, “no. I don’t know. I’m kind of gotten myself into a mess here, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
“Ooh,” she says, “lady problems?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, “but make that plural.”
“You sly dog,” she says. “What’s going on?”
“I really don’t know if you want to hear about it,” I tell her. “It has to do with one of your friends.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you got things going with Jessica and then decided to sneak around with that sister of hers,” Irene says. “She really needs to stop doing that shit. I mean, she’s pregnant for fuck’s—”
“Everybody’s pregnant,” I mutter.
“What was that?” she asks.
“No, it doesn’t have anything to do with Kristin,” I tell her.
“Then what’s going on?” she asks.
“I really don’t know if I want to talk about it,” I tell her. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Are you home?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Why?”
“I’m on my way,” she says.
“You really don’t have to do that,” I tell her.
“Oh come off it,” she giggles. “I love giving advice. You should really know this by now. Besides, you’re one of my friends, too.”
There really doesn’t seem to be any better option on the horizon, so I say, “All right. I’ll be here.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Irene does love giving advice. How useful it is, though, generally depends on how much she’s had to drink that day, and from the sound of things, she’s already had a couple.
Before I set my phone down, I send Irene a text, saying, “You’re not driving, are you?”
I wait a few seconds and then pull up her number to call, but I get a text back, just one word: “Cab.”
Well, this should be embarrassing.