Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Yes, yes,” he says, the repeat also a sign that he’s nervous talking to me. “It’s wonderful news indeed. But I actually have some not so good news to tell you about.”
My stomach flips over and I know from some of the research I’ve done on pregnancy it is in no way associated with morning sickness as I’m still too early for that. I incline my head toward him and wait for him to finish.
“As you know, we’ve been seriously underfunded for the last few years, and while the gala last month raised some very nice money for us, we are still struggling to meet our budget constraints.”
“Let me guess,” I say softly. “My job is on the line.”
Mr. Wagoner’s face turns soft with empathy. “I’m sorry, Stephanie. But we’re looking to combine the director and assistant curator’s responsibilities into one job. The person we’re hiring will be doing your job as well.”
“How much time do I have?” I ask, my head already spinning with the implications of what this means to me.
“At least a month,” Mr. Wagoner says, and then he adds something that gives me a tiny ray of hope. “But we don’t want to lose you. We’re actually looking to see if we can move you laterally into another department.”
I’m not going to count on that happening, though, and I’ll immediately start looking for a new job. This ordinarily would not be something that freaked me out. I’ve moved from job to job over the years managing to take very good care of myself. But these are not normal circumstances. I’m twenty-eight years old, pregnant and have no real job security now. I need health insurance and I need money to put a roof over my head and food in my belly to ensure the baby is healthy. If I can’t find a job that meets my needs, this whole pregnancy thing is about to get a lot scarier.
“I’m really sorry,” Mr. Wagoner repeats. “This is the part of my job I hate the most. But we will work hard to see if we can find a place for you here with us. Obviously, I will give you an excellent reference letter and I’m sure you’ll find something very quickly.”
I nod at him, and even attempt a brave smile. “Thank you, Mr. Wagoner. You don’t know how much that would mean to me.”
His smile back to me is sad but relieved to have that over with and he leaves my office without shutting the door behind him. A headache starts to brew and I put my fingertips to my temples to massage the pain away. I close my eyes and let out a frustrated groan, wondering how my life could get any more complicated.
I hear a soft knock on my door and I slowly raise my head as I open my eyes. I suppress another groan as I take in a big mountain of complication standing there.
Luc Fournier at the threshold to my office.
“You okay?” he asks, his expression worried.
I put on a completely fake smile, my voice coming out not as light as I’d like it. “Yeah. Totally fine. What are you doing here?”
Luc apparently takes that as permission to come into my office and he takes a seat in the only extra chair I have across from my desk. He leans back, props one of his ankles over the opposite knee, and grips the armrest casually with his hands.
“We didn’t get a chance to talk the night before last,” Luc says quietly. “You kind of rattled me with the news.”
I nod in understanding because I’ve been rattled ever since I took that home pregnancy test.
“I was going to email you,” he continues. “But that seemed too impersonal. Then I was going to call you, but that didn’t seem right either. So I decided to come here to see you.”
“What is there to talk about?” I ask him curiously, because honestly, until he gets the paternity test back, I assumed he wouldn’t worry about this.
“Are you considering an abortion?”
This question is so unexpected I actually jerk backward from the shock of it.
He continues without waiting for my answer. “Because if you are, I would like to be involved in that consideration. If that’s what you want, I would totally respect it and would support you. That has to be your choice. But if you want to know what I would want, I would ask that you not go that route.”
He renders me speechless for a moment as I wonder if I should tell him that I had in fact considered an abortion. I am the last person in the world who knows how to raise a child properly. I have no concept of what a real family is because I don’t have one. The fear of putting my dysfunctional view on this child has given me great pause.