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)
My jaw actually dropped. I mean, I didn’t think either one of my parents could offend me more than they have with their appalling neglect of me growing up, but well…she did it. I’m shocked speechless.
“Stephanie?” she snapped into the phone when I didn’t answer. “Are you there?”
I shook my head, came out of my daze, and asked her a question in return that I’d wondered about for years. “Why didn’t you abort me, Maris?”
She let out a huff of indignation that was completely fake. “That’s a terrible question ask your parent.”
“No, it’s really not,” I said calmly. “You didn’t want me, so why even let me be born?”
“That wasn’t an option,” she scoffs.
“Well, why not?” I pushed at her. “Roe v. Wade was settled law. It was clearly legal. It was an easy solution, and you seem to think it’s good enough for me to consider. So tell me, Maris…why didn’t you abort me?”
She didn’t answer me and her silence sort of told me the truth. Oh, she’d considered it, and considered it hard.
I took a wild guess. “It was too late, wasn’t it? By the time you found out you were pregnant, you were too far along.”
“I don’t have to answer that,” she said in the most profoundly small voice I’d ever heard her use, and I knew I’d guessed correctly.
I did nothing more than quietly disconnect the call and knew I’d never answer another one from her again.
This also spurred me into action, and I shed the hopelessness and frustration over my job loss like fucking dried skin that was no longer needed.
What remained underneath was tender, vulnerable skin, so I conjured up a suit of titanium armor for protection. I was good at that.
This isn’t the first time I’ve lost a job, and I’ve always had confidence I’d bounce right back again. And I always have. The only thing different this time is I have a baby to worry about, which now means the pressure is much higher.
So I’ve been sitting here at my table for several hours, trying to figure shit out. How long can I afford to stay in this apartment? While I didn’t make a crap ton of money at the museum, I made enough to pay my bills and put a little into savings each month.
What are my chances of getting a job, especially with health insurance? I’d turned down the job in Greensboro because Lucas was my primary consideration. I didn’t think it was fair to cut him out of the pregnancy.
But now I’m not sure I can afford to take those considerations into mind when trying to come up with a game plan. I’ve got to worry about the baby first, me second, and Lucas after that.
At least I think that’s the order. It may have been different before that call from my mother, but that’s definitely the order now. I can’t afford to be sentimental.
A banging at my door startles me so badly I let out a little yip of fright. And the fear doesn’t let up either as someone is now jiggling the doorknob. My heart starts beating faster, but then I hear Lucas calling out, “Stephanie…are you in there? If so, please open the fucking door.”
I push up out of my chair quickly, my eyebrows furrowed at the panic I hear in Lucas’s voice. I run to the door and swing it open, catching a flash of the extreme worry on his face before it immediately melts away into overwhelming relief. He jerks me into his arms and mutters, “Thank God. You’re okay?”
His arms tighten and he hugs me for long moments with his lips pressing kisses into my hair. I finally collect myself and wiggle free of his hold, tilting my head back to look at him. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We were supposed to meet for dinner an hour ago,” he says, and my eyes cut over to my clock. It’s now 7:30 P.M.
Looking back to Lucas, I tell him, “We didn’t have dinner plans.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Uh…yes we did. I sent you flowers at work, told you to meet me at Evo at 6:30 P.M.”
I purse my lips and nod in understanding. “Aha. Well, it appears you sent the flowers to the wrong place.”
“What?” he asks in confusion as I step back to allow him in. He continues in a frustrated tone, “I’ve been trying to call and text you. Isn’t your phone on?”
“It probably is,” I say flatly as I turn to the kitchen. “But it’s in my purse in my room and I wouldn’t have heard it, as it’s on vibrate.”
“Jesus, Steph,” Lucas says in exasperation. “You scared the shit out of me when you didn’t show up at the restaurant and you wouldn’t answer the phone. I thought something happened to—”