Anabelle
“Sup Anabelle Donnelly. No offense, but you look like shit.”
I recognize that voice.
Glance up to see Rex Gunderson walking up the aisle toward me and groan—he is the last person I want walking into my class, the last person I want to spend another entire semester with.
Thanks, karma, for piling more crap onto my already shitty day.
“What are you doing in this class, Rex? I thought I’d gotten rid of you.”
His grin is mischievous. “I’m like a fungus—that’s why they call me a fun guy.”
“I would bet no one has ever called you that.”
He laughs good-naturedly, gesturing toward the seat beside me. “Mind if I sit here?”
“You really want to?” Is this guy a sadist? “There are plenty of open seats.”
We haven’t spoken since that night in the stadium, the night where I humiliated him in front of the entire wrestling team, my father, and the coaching staff, when I was the driving force behind him getting fired from his management position.
“We social pariahs can’t be too choosy these days,” he jokes, plunking his bag down.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize—my knee-jerk reaction as a kind and caring human being—but I stop myself because I’m not sorry.
He didn’t deserve to have the position he held when he abused it, and it was about time he was removed.
“How’s life treating you otherwise?” I ask, genuinely curious, sincerely wanting to know how someone moves on after spending three years of their life committed to the same team.
“Boring as fuck.”
“What about Johnson?”
“He’s gone. Went back home, transferred to a community college.”
“Why?”
“He was here on a partial athletic scholarship and out-of-state tuition is fucking expensive, so when he got suspended, his parents made him move home.” Rex shrugs.
“Sure. Makes sense.”
“You’re stone cold, do you realize that?”
“I am? How so?”
“Most girls would be embarrassed to be sitting with me, and they sure as shit wouldn’t want to be talking about it. You humiliated me.”
“You had it coming.”
“You’re right.”
I stare. “Did you have a come to Jesus moment this summer?”
“Something like that.” He laughs, stretching his legs out in front of him, slouching in the desk.
I eyeball his jeans and raise my brows. “No more khakis?”
“No more khakis,” he confirms.
“Wow, Gunderson, you really have changed.”
“That’s pitiful.”
“What is?”
“That the main thing you’ve noticed about me is that I’m not wearing beige-colored pants anymore.”
He sounds so disgruntled.
It has me laughing all over again. “Sorry, but they were kind of your trademark.”
“Guess I’m giving up a lot of shit I used to be down with.”
“Has it been a rough few months?”
“At first. I was getting paid to be the team manager, and since basically being fired, I had to get a job off campus, which—whatever, it’s not a big deal. Then obviously this summer I had to break the news to my parents. They were real proud of my position, you know?”
“I’m sure they were.”
“Summer was hell, if you want to know the truth, not that I expect you to care since that whole bet thing exploded in my face.” He studies me anew, studies my face and eyes, the set of my mouth. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Anabelle, but you don’t look good.”
“I…have a lot on my mind. It’s been a really rough week.”
“Looks like it. What a pair we make.”
I smile because he’s right. We really do make an odd pair: a wrestling team reject and the knocked-up coach’s daughter. It’s almost like a friendship with Rex Gunderson was destined.
“Did you hear?
“Hear what?”
“That dickhead Zeke Daniels is getting engaged.”
“How did you hear that?”
“I heard the buzz before getting kicked off the team. Elliot had to have told you.”
“Elliot is gone.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Grad school. Michigan.”
“Oh. Well. I won’t complain if I have you to myself without him wanting to punch my lights out.” When I blanch, he reaches an arm around me with a laugh. “Relax, I’m kidding. At least you weren’t dating him or anything—long distance sucks.”
If that wasn’t the understatement of the year, I don’t know what is.
“Wait, rewind.” I gape at him. “When did Elliot threaten to punch your lights out?”
“That night we went on our date. You left to go to the bathroom and he got all up in my face and told me to keep my hands off you. I thought it was extremely over the top considering you were just roommates.”
“You thought he was being over the top?”
“He was definitely acting jealous, that’s for sure.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“Were the two of you dating before he left?”
I feel a blush creeping up my chest, splotchy on my neck and staining my cheeks. “You could say that.”
“Ahh, okay. Now I see how it is.”
Somehow, after class, I let Gunderson take me to the university’s small coffee shop, huddle in a corner booth. I’m just not ready to go home yet and instead drown my sorrows in a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream.
Laugh at all Rex’s stupid jokes (and they’re all stupid), letting him make me forget all my troubles, even if just for a little while.
“I have a confession to make,” he’s saying now over his iced coffee or latte, or whatever drink it was he ordered. “I’m shocked as hell you came here with me. I thought for sure you’d shoot me down when I suggested it.”
“As weird as it sounds, I actually don’t mind your company.”
“That sounds oddly like a compliment.”
Laughing, I snort. “It was…I think. Do you not get those much?”
“Not very often.” He grins, biting down on his straw, a big toothy smile that has me smiling, too. “I’ve spent the last year getting my ass handed to me.”
In another life, under better circumstances, Rex Gunderson might have been someone redeemable enough to date.
But they’re not better circumstances; they’re worse than they were yesterday.
I am pregnant.
I am single.
I am a broke college student.
My small circle of friends in Iowa includes Madison, who is barely around and only wants to party, Elliot, who moved to Michigan, and Rex Gunderson, who had a bounty on my vagina last semester.
Still…
I have a lot on my mind and no one to talk to, and he’s right here, sitting in front of me, watching me intently, like he knows what’s going on inside my head.
For all I know, he does.
I worry my bottom lip, suddenly thinking about my parents and what’s going to happen when I tell them about…
Oh God.
I almost said, about the baby.
What am I going to tell my parents?
My dad is going to lose his mind and my mother is going to blame my father, and the entire thing is going to be an utter disaster.
And I’ll have to do it alone.
“Earth to Anabelle.”
I look up, not realizing I’ve just been staring into space, into my half-empty mug.
“Huh?”
“You looked lost there for a second.”
“That’s because I am.”
Rex sits back in the booth, reclining back on the navy blue seat, crossing his arms. “What’s going on with you? I don’t remember you being like this last year.”
“Like what?”
He waves a hand around in front of him, at me. “You’re so preoccupied. I know you hate my guts, but—”
“I don’t hate your guts, Rex. I’m just…” I inhale, taking a deep breath. “I found out some news this week that I’m preoccupied with. Sorry, it’s nothing personal.”
One of his sandy brown brows goes up. “What kind of news?”
“I’d rather…it’s private.”
Shit, why did I say that?
“Why?” He laughs. “Are you pregnant?”
I don’t laugh.
And I don’t answer.
I stare back at him, wide-eyed, worst poker face in the history of trying to keep secrets.
“Holy shit, Anabelle.” He breathes heavily. “Are you?”
I have nothing to say.
Which is enough.
“Jesus. I don’t know what to say,” he says. “I was just joking.”
I toy with the handle of my mug, scoffing. “Yeah, well.”
We sit silently in that booth for the next ten minutes, only the sounds of the café keeping us company. Waitresses collecting mugs and saucers, the door opening and closing. The music. The chatter. Even the clanking of the dishes piling up in the kitchen can be heard. The sound of the coffee grinder.
“I can’t believe you came out in public.”
“Excuse me?”
“I just meant, if I was a chick, I’d be balled up in the corner of my room, crying.”
“Believe me, I’ve had that pity party already.”
“When did you find out?”
“This week.”
“Wow.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Does the father know?”
“No. Not yet.”
He nods slowly, accepting this answer and not probing for a name.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Shit, and here I was blabbing away about engagement parties and how shitty my summer was. At least I haven’t knocked anyone up.”
His crude honesty puts a goofy smile on my face. “It’s okay. Your babble takes my mind off it.”
“Well, it’s not the worst thing to happen.”
I gape at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, a fucking baby? Babies are the shit, dude. I can’t wait to have one.”
My brow goes up. “You wouldn’t be upset if you found out some girl you were sleeping with was pregnant?”
He shakes his head. “I doubt it. Maybe at first I’d be like What the fuck, dude! because I’d be shocked, but after I thought about it, I’d probably be chill. It’s not like we’re in high school anymore, Anabelle. We’re old enough to procreate and successfully keep a human alive.”
That’s true.
I’m twenty-one years old and a senior in college, and Elliot is…
How old is Elliot? I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it.
I quietly do the math.
If he graduated at eighteen, spent four years doing undergrad, that would make him…holy crap, Elliot is almost twenty-three? Can that be right?
“What are you so worried about?”
“Everything,” I answer honestly.
How is Rex Gunderson not absolutely appalled by discussing this?
“Are you more worried about how people are going to react, or are you worried about actually having a baby?”
I’m deafened by my own silence.
His hands fold on the tabletop. “Okay, let me ask you this: are you worried the baby’s dad is going to freak out and disappear on you?”
I consider the question: am I concerned Elliot is going to ghost me when he finds out I’m expecting a child?
“Not really.”
“Are you worried your parents are going to disown you?”
I snort. “They’d never do that.”
“Are you scared you’re going to be cast out into the street, cold and alone, and you and your baby are going to starve?”
“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“No I’m not, Anabelle—these are legitimate concerns people have.”
“How would you know?”
“Haven’t you ever watched Teen Mom?”
“I’m not a teen mom!” I shout indignantly.
“My point exactly.” He pops a stick of gum, chomping down on it. “So what the hell are you freaking out about?”
“I never said I was freaking out.”
“Maybe not, but when I saw you in class today, you looked like you were about to barf all over my shoes.”
“I did not!”
“No lie. Pale as Casper the Friendly Ghost.” He’s back to leaning back in the booth. “You hungry? You should try eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re eating for two now.” He is such a know-it-all.
“Haha, very funny.”
“Have you been sick at all? My friend Adam knocked up his girlfriend our freshman year, and she tossed her cookies every morning like clockwork.”
Seriously? His questions and concern are making me want to cry. He’s being so sweet—so freaking sweet—and the fact that he isn’t judging me is an enormous relief.
It gives me hope that my other friends will be as supportive…my other friends from back home, who will have mixed reviews on my unexpected pregnancy.
It also gives me hope that I can do this, with or without Elliot in my life.
“I haven’t been sick—that’s why I didn’t know until now that I’m…” The word gets lodged in my throat. “Pregnant.”
“How far along are you, anyway?”
“Twelve weeks.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Damn Anabelle, pretty soon you’ll be able to find out if it’s a girl or a boy.” Pause. “Are you going to find out? I would.” He laughs.
“I don’t know.”
I don’t know anything.
“If you need me to come to any of your doctor’s appointments, let me know. I have so much fucking spare time these days, it’s stupid.”
“You do not want to come to my appointments.” I laugh, the thought of the whole thing making me almost hysterical.
“I’ll hold the diaper bag.”
“I don’t have a diaper bag.” I’m grinning like a fool though, imagining it—imagining Rex Gunderson trailing along beside me with a pink diaper bag strapped to his body.
Pink.
Girl.
I shake my head, banishing the thought.
“Not yet you don’t.” He winks at me, flipping his phone to check the time. “Shit, I have to go—I work in an hour.”
“Thanks for the hot chocolate, Rex.”
“Hey, no problem. You look like you needed it.”
“I did. It was just what I needed.”
“I probably needed it, too.”
I smile and it feels…
Good.
I can’t actually share my thoughts with Elliot.
Can’t call him on the phone and break the news. Doing it over the phone feels wrong. He deserves to find out in person.
I have so much on my mind, so many things to tell him—but if I do, will that weigh him down?
I sit down at the kitchen table with a journal, one I’ve had for ages that has never been completely filled, used to record my thoughts.
I crack it open, glancing through a few pages I haven’t looked at in months, the last entry from two years ago. I was dating this guy, Will, from college. We were in the same town, at different universities—and I scan a passage about him that I wrote after we broke up. “Will is someone I will definitely get over…not worth the tears, Anabelle. Chin up and move on.”
My mouth curves at the memory of those weeks following. I did more soul searching than crying, and I realized I wouldn’t ever need a guy to fulfill me. Dating and falling in love were great, but they wouldn’t make me whole.
Only I could do that.
Just like I could have and raise this baby on my own, without Elliot’s involvement, but at some point, I would have to tell him, just like I’ll have to tell my parents and other friends.
I grab a pen, hovering the tip over a clean page in my journal. Press down, hesitating.
I’ll never send this letter I’m writing, but there is far too much to get off my chest. If I don’t, I’ll break inside. Burst.
I write:
Dear Elliot,
This is one letter I’m never going to send you, but I’m going to write it anyway, locked away in a diary no one but me will read or see. I have so much on my mind that’s been keeping me awake the past few days.
There is no good way to tell you this. I’m just going to say it.
I’m pregnant.
God, I thought it would be easier to write the words, but it’s not, because now they’re in ink, forever, scrolled across these pages for me to read anytime I open this notebook.
I’m pregnant. Pregnant.
I have a really small baby bump that people are going to start noticing at some point, but thank goodness for yoga pants and sweatshirts. I wonder what you’d think about the bump. Would you freak out, or would you be as levelheaded as I think you would?
Want to hear something crazy? I’m not as upset as I thought I’d be. I’m getting used to the idea of being a mom. A mom. I’m staring at that sentence, reading it over and over again. Crazy. Life is crazy, don’t you think?
What’s even crazier than us being parents is Rex Gunderson. We’ve been spending all kinds of time together, believe it or not. He’s been great, considering he’s the first person who found out—not because I told him, but because he guessed. I always figured he was smarter than he let on, and he is.
He’s also turning into an amazing friend, Elliot. We talk all the time and go to the café a lot. Last week we went for pedicures—he said it was practice for when my feet start to swell up. He’s such a nag, always on me about eating healthy. In a way, I think he needs a project now that he’s been fired from the team and could only find part-time work, but he genuinely likes me, too, and we’ve put the past behind us.
You would absolutely hate it, LOL.
My dad certainly does.
I finally broke the news to Dad a few days ago about befriending Gunderson, and he was so mad, but I know he’ll come around. He’s going to have to. Madison has been really supportive, but Rex…I think I’m going to take him with me when I tell Dad and Linda about the baby. Our baby.
I wish you were here.
You were so easy to fall in love with, do you realize that?
It’s killing me not telling you my news—our news—but I refuse to do it over the phone. You deserve to hear it in person, but now is not the time, and I cannot come there.
I love you, and I’m proud of you.
Love, Anabelle.
AKA Your baby mama.
Kidding, omg. But I have always wanted to say that. Haha.
Elliot
It’s been a shitty week, and the only thing getting me through is the countdown to winter break.
I think about Anabelle nonstop, wondering if she thinks about me as much as I think about her. Today in class, I caught myself staring off at the wall twice, daydreaming instead of taking notes.
Doodling on a loose-leaf sheet of paper, then finally, hand writing her a note in small, tidy penmanship.
Ana. Annie. Anabelle.
Guess what? I’m coming home for a family event soon, a banquet for my dad. Remember I told you about him? He’s a lawyer and every year, his firm hosts a big to-do. So, I’m coming home!
I’m not going to tell you, I want it to be a surprise—I want to see the look on your face when I show up on your doorstep Friday night. I’m flying and get in late, so my ass will be seriously dragging.
Dead on my feet will never have been more worth it.
If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be coming back at all. I would skip the awards dinner altogether and give my parents an excuse about being busy, but they’re buying me a plane ticket and I’d be stupid to pass up the chance to see you.
Michigan isn’t the same without my friends here, without you. Jesus, I lie in bed every night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I made the right decision. Logically, I know it is—my professors are incredible, and this internship is going to set me up after I graduate.
Still, I have my doubts.
That’s why I can’t wait to see you. I’m going to spoon the shit out of you in that big bed—I didn’t book a hotel, so I hope you don’t mind me crashing at your place. I just want to hold you.
I hope you’ll let me.
I miss the smell of your skin and the taste of your lips, and the way you back up into me in bed when you’re sleeping.
Not to sound like a total pussy, but whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder wasn’t fucking around.
I miss you like crazy.
I love you.
When class is over, I rise from the desk, crushing the letter I just wrote in the palm of my hand, wadding it into a ball. Toss it in the trash can in the corner.
It goes in easy, the perfect basket.
Score!