Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper. “Surprise.”
“Oh, god, sweetie. I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay though, I’m here for you, whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I say and laugh once. “God, what a mess. I’m in this thing with Baptist and I’ve got Max back at home, and by the way, dealing with a teenager isn’t easy, and you can throw my asshole piece of garbage Dad into the mix—”
“Slow down,” she says, hugging me. “You’ve got a lot going on, but this is important.”
“I know. I know. And before you ask, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, I’m not going to—you know.”
“Right. You’re not going to take care of it.”
“Fucked up that we have to talk around it, right? But yeah, no, I’m not having an abortion. I just can’t.”
“It’s okay, honey. Everyone makes their own choices.” She leans her head on my shoulder. “What then? Adoption? Raise him or her yourself? Will the father be in the picture?”
I sob once and have to bite my lip to stop myself from crying more. God, all these questions, and I hadn’t even thought about any of it. She’s right though, there are a million things to take care of, all of them logistical nightmares, and then there’s Baptist.
How am I going to tell him the truth?
Can I tell him the truth without ruining everything we’re building together?
“I really don’t know yet,” I finally manage to say. “I’m figuring it out. Right now, I just want to get through the day.”
“Look, I’m going to make an appointment for you. You’ll see a doctor—” She must see the horrified look on my face, because she quickly adds, “Just for a routine checkup. You have to start having regular appointments if you plan on going to term.”
“Right. Shit. Doctor. Okay.”
“You’ll need prenatal vitamins. No more drinking. A lot less caffeine. No smoking, although I don’t think you smoke—”
“Marie.”
“Yes?”
“Stop it.”
“Okay.” She sighs and tugs at her hair anxiously. “I plan when I’m scared.”
“I know.” I kiss her head. “Can you promise not to tell anyone? Especially not Ansell? I don’t want Baptist to find out.”
She looks at me, frowning, but nods. “I promise, although I don’t like keeping anything from him.”
“You can tell him eventually, but not yet. It’s important.”
“Okay, I promise.”
“What a mess. If I thought my life couldn’t get more complicated—” I’m interrupted by my phone ringing. I frown at the screen: it’s a number I don’t recognize. Normally I’d send it straight to voicemail, but since I’m in a vulnerable state, I extract myself from Marie with an apology and answer.
“Hello?”
“Blair Webb.” The voice is male, harsh, and vaguely familiar. “You’re the production girl, right?”
It clicks into place and my jaw falls open. I’m stunned for a split second before I gather myself. “Mr. Cowan. What can I do for you?”
“Cowan. Just fucking Cowan. Where are you?”
“I’m, uh, at a friend’s house. Is something wrong?”
“I need you now. I’ll text you an address. Bring money.”
“I’m sorry, but why—”
The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, not sure what the hell to do, when a text arrives with an address deep in South Philly. I look up at Marie and shake my head.
“Work,” I say with an apologetic shrug.
“That was Tony Cowan?” She gets to her feet. “What’s he like?”
“Absolutely insane. I got to go though. I have a feeling I’m going to get a lot of calls like this one for the foreseeable future.” I give her a tight hug and she holds me a second longer than she needs to.
“I’m here for you,” she whispers and I nod back, unable to speak, because I’m pretty sure I’ll cry again.
This is not how I pictured becoming a mom.
I hurry downstairs, through the mess of contractors, and out to my car. I hop in and head to the address, head spinning.
My mother was a lovely woman growing up. She was the perfect contrast to my father: kind, caring, warm, loving. When my father screamed and raged, she bore the brunt and calmed us down when it was over. When my father belittled me, she tried to build me back up.
She cleaned up his messes for years.
And it wore her down.
As I got older, she withdrew further and further into her own life, until she finally disappeared.
Leaving poor Max to fend for himself.
I want to be understanding, especially now that I’m pregnant myself and looking forward at a future where I realistically might be taking care of a child alone and without any support. I want to feel bad for her because being with my father must’ve been hard.
Except she abandoned my brother when he needed it most. I can get over her disappearing on me—but not on him.
I finally reach the address Cowan sent and drive past twice before I’m sure it’s the right place. The building is deep in South Philly, the part of the city where I’m pretty sure everyone standing around outside is in the mob. The address belongs to a hole-in-the-wall bar, a real piece-of-trash dive with no sign and no indication that it’s anything but a doorway aside from a Coors advertisement plastered over the front.