Chloe
Eight Weeks Later
“You’ve got to be joking. Please tell me you read the test wrong.” I stare at my doctor, praying that she’s wrong, that her test was wrong. In my heart, though, I know she’s not.
“Chloe, I take it this wasn’t a planned pregnancy. Do we need to discuss options?”
I stare at her before looking at my lap. “I don’t know. God, does that sound terrible or what?” But in my heart, I know that’s not true. My eyes lift to find hers. “I’m thirty-one years old. I’m single, with no prospects in sight. This may be my only chance to be a mother.” After a dramatic pause, I whisper, “No, I guess I don’t.”
She gives me a kind smile. “Okay. We’ll get you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and I want you to get some blood work done. We’ll see you back in a month, and we’ll see if we can hear the heartbeat.”
My heart beats rapidly, and butterflies flutter around in my stomach. I’ve had no symptoms other than zero periods and my breasts being super tender—almost to the point that I’ve had a hard time wearing bras. Well, and the smell of chicken makes me queasy. Two weeks ago, I suspected that I was pregnant, but I chose to ignore it, hoping I was wrong.
I haven’t seen or heard from Joe since our night together, but I’m not surprised. I knew what I was getting when I slept with him, and that’s the way I wanted it with him. I knew it would be easy and uncomplicated, but of course now things have gotten very complicated. We used condoms—a lot of them—so I’m not sure if one was compromised or what.
Am I going to tell him that he’s going to be a father? Of course I’m going to tell him, but if he doesn’t seem interested in co-parenting with me, then that’ll be that, I guess. Oh God, I have to tell my dads. Dad will be great and excited about being a grandpa. Pops, on the other hand, will try to drive down to Beaufort so he can kick Joe’s ass, but he’ll be excited about a baby, and Carter will support me however I need him to.
I stop at reception on my way out and schedule my next appointment. They give me the lab requisition form so I can get blood work done. When I step outside, the hot sun beats down on me. I slip my shades on and head to my beautiful royal blue Chevy Camaro that I’m going to have to trade in for something with four doors. I let my hand trail over the blue paint and remember when I bought it.
It was when I turned twenty-eight and I’d just sold two really big jewelry pieces—my boss had given me a huge bonus. Before that, I’d driven a Corolla but had wanted a Camaro so bad. At least I have some time to enjoy him before I trade him in for something else.
My brother is a music teacher at the junior high we went to, so I head toward the school. He should be done by now, but I know he always hangs out afterward even when there’s no band practice. I can sing and play piano, but when he touches any instrument, it’s like he can play it immediately.
Carter’s never been much of a talker unless it’s with family, but he seems to communicate through music. During my freshman year of high school, he wrote me the most beautiful song to sing at the talent show. He was eleven at the time. Carter has a gift that so many would kill for, and I love watching him create his musical pieces.
We’re adopted, and neither of us remembers our biological parents, so we have no idea if they were musicians or what. Our pops and his brothers and our cousins are all musicians, and it was just natural for us to be involved, too.
Dad’s the only one who doesn’t play or sing. Oh sure, he tries, but it’s not pretty.
In the parking lot of the school, I pull out my phone and send Carter a quick text.
Chloe: Hey I’m outside. Do you have a minute to talk?
He answers me almost immediately.
Carter: Sure, I’ll be right down.
I stand outside the locked doors and stare out at nothing. My mind is a million miles away, and I jerk when Carter calls my name. I turn to look at him and smile. Carter has the same dark hair that looks almost black and the same cerulean blue eyes. Except his porcelain skin is covered in colorful ink. The school requires him to keep his tattoos covered; he wears a lot of dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up to where his colorful sleeves begin.
“Hey. What’s up? You looked like you were somewhere else.” I may be older, but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t always watched over me.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Are you free to talk?”
“Let’s head to my office.”
I follow him down the hall until we reach his office, which is just inside the band room. He sits behind his desk, and I smile. He’s right at home teaching music, and on the weekends we have our band. We started Beautiful Rage with our best friend/neighbor growing up, Eli. Then Kyle and Robby joined.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Picking at my thumbnail, I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widen comically. “Pregnant? Like you’re going to have a baby, pregnant?”
“I suspected it, but I found out today.” Carter gets up and comes around his desk. He grabs me out of my chair and hugs me tight.
“I’m going to be the best uncle this kid has ever seen.” He sets me back on my feet. “Who’s the father?”
“Joe Carmichael.”
“Really? Do I need to kick his ass? Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yep, and no you don’t need to kick his ass. Am I okay? I think I’m in shock right now. It almost doesn’t seem real.” I begin to cry, and my brother wraps his arms around me.
“Why are you crying?” Because I was the only girl in a house full of men, they hated it when I’d cry. The first time I had my heart broken, I thought my sweet, loving dad—not my pops, who has an even worse temper—would have to be pulled back into the house to keep him from going after the fourteen-year-old boy who dared to break up with me.
“I’m scared.” My voice is soft. “What if I become our birth mom?” Our dads wouldn’t tell us a whole lot except that our birth parents were drug addicts, and it was when Carter was born and tested positive for cocaine that Child Protective Services stepped in and took us away.
“Chloe, do you do drugs?” I shake my head. “Then you’re not going to become her.”
“What if I’m a terrible mom? I never babysat when I was younger, and sure, I’m around our cousins’ kids, but I always felt awkward around them, like I don’t have that mothering gene.”
He pulls back and looks down at me. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. When we have family get-togethers, who do the kids flock to? How many times have all of the little ones made you play and sing songs from Frozen and Tangled to them? You just don’t see how good you are with them.”
I pull away and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Sorry, I don’t know what my problem is.” I look him in the eye. “Don’t even say it’s hormones or I’ll punch you in the throat.” I’m only half serious, at least about the throat part. “I think I’m just scared about doing this, scared about telling Dad and Pops, and scared to tell him. I’m prepared to do this alone if he doesn’t want to be involved.”
“You have nothing to be scared of, and you’re not alone.” He hugs me again and then kisses my forehead. “You. Are. Never. Alone.”
He walks me out and offers to go with me when I tell our dads. “I’ll let you know if I need you there with me,” I say.
I head back to my house, and as soon as I step inside, I’m greeted by my babies. Ragnar and Lagertha are Maine Coon cats. They’re both silver tabbies with green eyes. My favorite thing about them is that they both have big bushy tails and big old ears that stand straight up.
“Hi, my babies.” I pick up Laggie first, cuddling my girl to my chest.
“Meow,” she says, cuddling into my neck.
I kiss the top of her head before putting her down and picking up my boy, who always waits patiently for me to finish loving on his sister.
“Come here, my baby.” Everyone makes fun of me for the way I talk to my cats, but I don’t care—I love them and have had them both since they were kittens. My boy is a moose, so I pick up his lard butt.
Ragnar snuggles into me and purrs, which sounds like a motorboat. “Did you miss me?”
“Meow,” he replies.
I put him down, and they follow me into the kitchen of my adorable little bungalow. My whole house is bright with its high white ceilings and glass light fixtures that illuminate the kitchen and dining room. Ceiling fans hang in the other rooms.
The flooring is made from Brazilian teak and tongue hardwood. It’s gorgeous and makes it easy to clean up the cat hair. Both cats were declawed before I got them, and honestly I wouldn’t have done it had I had them as tiny kittens. The kitchen is all white with stainless steel appliances and white marble countertops.
Ragnar is impatient as always and sits next to where I keep their treats, meowing his impatience. “I hear you, baby.” I grab the bag as Lagertha comes over to stand next to her brother. Ragnar lets his sister have the first treat, and my girl takes it right from my fingers. She prances off with her treat, and then my boy swishes his tail back and forth while I grab his. “Meow.” He inches closer to me.
After grabbing his treat, he trots off, and I shake my head. Pig. I grab a glass of iced tea and my Kindle and step out the back door onto the cute little deck I have. I set my glass and Kindle down and slip off my flip flops, placing them on the empty chair across from me.
My mind drifts off, and my hand goes to my lower abdomen. I still can’t believe there is a baby in there. How hard is it going to be to do it alone? I know I can do it, and lots of women do it alone every day.
I still need to tell my parents, and then I need to tell Joe. Picking up my glass of iced tea, I close my eyes and say a little prayer that it goes well.
***
Pulling into the driveway of the home I grew up in, I smile. I have so many great memories here. Carter and I were, and still are, lucky to have two dads that love us fiercely. Have we missed out not having a mom? Not at all, because we have a wonderful grandma and aunts who were there for me when it came to woman stuff when I was growing up.
Don’t get me wrong—sometimes we did get shit from people for having two dads. They said that we were gay too and that we were probably getting molested. Carter got it worse, but he just started kicking anyone’s ass that messed with him or me. We know families with moms and dads that are completely dysfunctional, and ours isn’t perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than others I’ve seen.
Our best friend, Eli, grew up in the house right next door. His parents still live there. It was my dads that helped Eli come out to his parents when he was sixteen. It wasn’t easy, and Eli and his mom didn’t talk for a while, but thankfully she came around.
I reach the front door and give a knock before I open the door. “Dad? Pops?” My dad comes out of the kitchen.
“Hi, baby girl.” He wraps me in a hug and squeezes me tight. “You look gorgeous as always.” I wrap my arm around his waist as he leads me through the living room and into the kitchen. My dad has a heavy sprinkling of silver hair mixed in with his blond. He and Pops seem to get more and more handsome with age.
Speaking of my pops, we find him at the stove stirring something in a big pot. He gives me a huge smile. “Hi, honey.” I move toward him and give him a quick squeeze and a kiss. His gray, shaggy hair is in desperate need of a cut, and he’s wearing torn jeans and an old, faded AC/DC t-shirt.
“Hey, Daddy.” He’s always been able to read me, because he gives me a quizzical look.
“What’s wrong?”
Dad comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, okay? Can we eat, and then we can talk?”
My dad kisses my temple. “Whatever you want.”
The three of us make chitchat while Pops finishes dinner and Dad sets the table. Dad tries to offer me wine, but I tell him I have to design some pieces so I need to be clearheaded.
“Is Hailey still giving you grief?” Pops asks from his place by the stove.
“Sometimes she’s fine, but then sometimes she’s the devil. I don’t get it; she’s really talented, and her pieces are sought after too.” It’s true: Hailey in my eyes is really talented…she’s just got a shitty attitude.
“Well, Mr. Harmon better do something if she starts shit with you again, or I’ll come down there and have a talk with her,” Pops says as he and Dad carry bowls and a plate to the table.
I grab a marinated chicken breast and some rice and vegetables. I haven’t had chicken in a while. The last time I tried to eat chicken, the smell made me nauseated. I really hope it doesn’t happen now. I take a couple bites of my rice and vegetables. My chicken taunts me, and I feel my stomach turn a little bit.
“Chloe?” I look up at my dad, who has a look of concern written all over his face. “Honey, you’re green. Are you feeling okay?”
My eyes begin to fill with tears, yet again. I’m such a mess right now. “I-I’m fine, but there is something I need to tell you guys.” I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
Silence fills the room, and neither of them says anything. They’re both staring at me with looks that I don’t recognize. My hands twist nervously in my lap, and my stomach turns violently, but I swallow it down. I haven’t puked yet, and I don’t plan on starting now.
“Well, okay. Who is the father?” This comes from my pops.
“I’d rather not say until I tell him, which I plan on doing soon.” I’m surprised he seems so calm—I figured if anyone was going to lose it, it’d be him.
“How could you be so irresponsible?” My eyes fly to my dad. I honestly thought he’d be happy or at least take it better than Pops.
“Ian,” my pops says with a hand on his arm.
“You’re thirty-one years old. Shouldn’t you know better than to let this happen? It’s Stacy’s nephew, isn’t it? For God’s sake, he’s a fucking kid.” I jerk as if he’s slapped me.
Pops gets up. “Ian, you need to lay off. We need to talk about this.” He comes around until he’s next to me and grabs my hand. “When are you due, baby girl?”
“J-January thirtieth.” My voice trembles, and my body jerks when I hear a door slam. Tears roll down my face. “He’s so mad at me.”
“No, baby girl. He’s just in shock. You know he’s going to love being a grandpa. Just give us time to get used to the idea.” He hugs me tight before leaning back and kissing both my cheeks. “I’m going to be a grandpa.” I burst into more tears and wrap my arms tight around him.
“I love you, Dad.”
I leave shortly after that because I’m tired and Dad still isn’t back from wherever he went. Just as long as it was away from me, I guess.
My cats greet me at the door and follow me as I move into the living room. I sit down on my blue, red, and cream checkered chaise lounge. Ragnar and Lagertha jump up and rub against me. “Mommy had a bad night. Your grandpa is mad at me.” Again, the stupid tears begin to fall. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I think I just need to get a good night’s sleep.”
I go through my nightly routine and change into my nightgown. As I stare at the ceiling, I plan when and how I’m going to tell Joe, and hopefully it’ll go better than when I told my dads.