Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
When I finally arrive at the dorms, the snow has just started to fall in a gentle shower of delicate flakes. I hesitate for a moment in the doorway of the building. Is it snowing right now an hour away at Rick’s house? Is he watching it, too?
A tear crystallizes on my eyelashes. I bat it impatiently away. I haven’t spoken to Rick in months, not since our very last phone conversation when I ended things. After my last doctor’s appointment, I haven’t even drafted out texts to him, nor stalked his social media, nor casually asked Bailey how he’s doing. I have the baby’s health to focus on, not to mention my studies. I don’t have time to dwell on the past, even if its constant reminder is growing in my belly.
I eventually make it to my room, shutting the door heavily behind me. Thankfully, that was my last class of the day, so I’m free to relax. I hang up my winter coat, taking off my heavy boots and slipping my feet into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. After pouring some milk from the mini-fridge into my favorite mug, I stick it into the microwave. It is absolutely a night made for hot chocolate and melancholy old movies.
I pause when I pass my full-length mirror, and unable to resist, lift my t-shirt to marvel at my belly. The bump is definitely noticeable now, without layers of fabric to conceal it. I press both palms to my stomach.
“Hello, sweetie,” I say, rubbing my hands on my belly. “I love you so much. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be just fine.”
“Kara?”
I whirl around at the sound of a familiar voice, but thankfully, my door is still closed and locked. Bailey’s voice on the other side sings, “Girl, I brought you cookies!”
I seize an oversized flannel shirt and button it up, surveying myself in the mirror to make sure my baby bump is no longer visible. Only then do I answer the door.
“Hi, Bails! Yay, cookies!” I enthuse, trying to sound more energetic than I currently feel. Snowflakes dot Bailey’s dark curly hair, and her cheeks are pink from the cold. “Do you want to come in for a bit?”
“Sure,” she says. “Can I hold onto you while I take off my boots? I feel like I am going to topple over at any minute.”
Bailey is only a few weeks away from giving birth now, and has the impressive bump to prove it. I grab the Tupperware container of cookies and stick out my arm; she holds onto it tightly, struggling to peel off her boots with her other hand. We laugh at the effort this takes her, but I can’t help but linger on the sight of her baby bump. What will happen when I start to get that big? I won’t be able to hide forever, after all.
I snap out of my thoughts and close the door behind us. Bailey settles herself on my bed as I heat up another mug of hot chocolate for her. Furtively, I glance in the mirror again when I pass it, but my own bump seems to still be carefully concealed.
“What’s up, lady?” Bailey asks as I give her her mug. “You seem quiet, and we all know that’s unusual for you.”
“Wow, thanks,” I laugh as I take a sip of hot chocolate. “Didn’t know I was such a loudmouth. But nothing, really. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Still? Why?”
Bailey’s dark gaze is uncharacteristically direct, and her brows are furrowed. I take another sip, wondering if she suspects something.
“Uh, I don’t know,” I respond, as casually as I can. “I’m not sure what’s up. I should probably go see a doctor. But how are you feeling? You’re the one who’s the pregnant lady!”
“No, you don’t get to change the subject like that,” Bailey says. “I love you, Kara, so much. And you know I’d never call you a liar. But I’m also not afraid to call you on your shit, and something is definitely up.” As I stare at her, she continues, “Your face is fuller. Your clothes are baggier. You’re not sleeping. You cried about a cheeseburger that one time. Kara, are you pregnant?”
She’s hit the nail on the head, and I immediately burst into tears.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry!” Bailey gets to her feet, puts down her cocoa, and throws her arms around me. I sob into her masses of curly hair, like I’ve done so many times before. This time feels different, though. This time, my tears are motivated by so many different emotions: happiness, sadness, fear, grief, panic, not to mention unspeakable joy. I am beyond overwhelmed by this maelstrom that threatens to blow me over. Here, in my best friend’s arms, I at least know that I am no longer alone in the storm.