I grimace and push my plate away, my appetite as lacking as it has been since I’d turned up on their doorstep and begged for some time to get myself sorted while I think about the poor savings still left in my account and the huge amount of stuff I need to buy for the baby.
I hadn’t once thought about it since I’d foolishly assumed Devon would come around and take me back and now I have nothing-well till yesterday when mama had taken me shopping and gone full hog on the baby store.
“I can’t.” I whisper, feeling the ever-present tears fill my eyes. “I just need some time so I can hold my head high when I talk to him. Please daddy.”
Of course he’s not too compassionate about my plight because I haven’t told anyone about my humiliation and the fact that I’ve become nothing more than dead weight. An incubator for the next generation of Baxter’s.
“Aw honey, you know this isn’t doing anyone any good. You’re about to have that baby Beck and no matter what’s going on with you and Devon you know you can’t avoid him forever. He has a right to be involved with his baby.”
I know that, I just can’t face him right now. I’d spent a sleepless night staring at the ceiling while junior rolled around, pummelling my ribs and I’d come up with a few very unpalatable truths.
I’m not meant to be with my dream guy. I messed up my one chance. And I left that pathetic damn letter on the dining room table.
Shit.
“He knows what’s going on dad. I called Day yesterday and spoke to him about what Doc Brewer said. I also told him to call Devon and let him know that I might give birth early.”
Day had tried to talk about Devon and about my leaving but I’d cut him off and made him promise to text me the date and times for his practice days and the upcoming game.
That’s coming in four weeks and he’s promising to come and get me on a day Devon’s not around so I can watch him practice.
So yeah, we’re doing the divorced parent thing now.
“Sugar-”
“Daaaad. I’m not running or hiding or anything that you’re thinking. I promise. I just need a few more days to get over the loss and then I’ll go see him and give him those papers my lawyer drew up.”
Thank God for Logan and his support. He’d taken one look at my veiny eyes-something that happens when I refuse to cry-and given me a hug and the promise that he’d help me with whatever I need.
My first need had been a lawyer to draw up visitation agreements and some parental rights things that I don’t understand but am willing to go with. I don’t want to deprive him of his kid after all.
“That’s bullshit getting sharks involved. You’re the kid’s parents, you should be adult enough to sit down and hash things out over a cup of coffee. Or something.”
Have I mentioned that dad and Devon have spoken and are right back to being buddies and that since they no longer want to deck each other dad has taken Devon’s corner and tries to set us up all the time.
Thank God for mama and her bra burning stance on my rights for privacy. She’d tipped me off twice and helped me sneak out before Devon turned up.
“I tried that remember? He’s the one who insistedon making things legal like. Now stop harassing me and eat your vegetables old man.”
“Beck.”
“Nope, not listening. I’m done feeling like shit because I made a mistake and ran away. I came back. I tried to apologize and explain. It’s done dad.”
“Brandon. Leave my daughter alone before I go get you an extra helping of greens and shove it down your goddamned throat. She’s hurt and needs your love, not a freaking matchmaker!”
I smile and wink at mama when dad shuts his mouth and goes back to hiding his vegetables under his potato.
***
“You’re going to have to push Becky.”
“I am goddammit!” I yell, screeching through the pain and baring down with a fight.
I’ve been in labour for close on thirteen hours now and despite the fact that I’d threatened the hospital staff with death and or disembowelment I’m currently drug free and attempting to squeeze a giant out of my vagina.
It hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt in my life and if excruciating were a number that’s what I’d say when asked what my pain scale is. Mama has been a rock through it all and I will never be able to repay her for the way she’d ordered everyone to sit in the waiting room and shut up.
She’d ensured that I didn’t have to spend my labour reassuring people-my family is acting as if I’m at death’s door-and that Devon only got in to see me for ten minutes before he’d been booted out with the rest of them.