That’s true.
I’m twenty-one years old and a senior in college, and Elliot is…
How old is Elliot? I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it.
I quietly do the math.
If he graduated at eighteen, spent four years doing undergrad, that would make him…holy crap, Elliot is almost twenty-three? Can that be right?
“What are you so worried about?”
“Everything,” I answer honestly.
How is Rex Gunderson not absolutely appalled by discussing this?
“Are you more worried about how people are going to react, or are you worried about actually having a baby?”
I’m deafened by my own silence.
His hands fold on the tabletop. “Okay, let me ask you this: are you worried the baby’s dad is going to freak out and disappear on you?”
I consider the question: am I concerned Elliot is going to ghost me when he finds out I’m expecting a child?
“Not really.”
“Are you worried your parents are going to disown you?”
I snort. “They’d never do that.”
“Are you scared you’re going to be cast out into the street, cold and alone, and you and your baby are going to starve?”
“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“No I’m not, Anabelle—these are legitimate concerns people have.”
“How would you know?”
“Haven’t you ever watched Teen Mom?”
“I’m not a teen mom!” I shout indignantly.
“My point exactly.” He pops a stick of gum, chomping down on it. “So what the hell are you freaking out about?”
“I never said I was freaking out.”
“Maybe not, but when I saw you in class today, you looked like you were about to barf all over my shoes.”
“I did not!”
“No lie. Pale as Casper the Friendly Ghost.” He’s back to leaning back in the booth. “You hungry? You should try eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re eating for two now.” He is such a know-it-all.
“Haha, very funny.”
“Have you been sick at all? My friend Adam knocked up his girlfriend our freshman year, and she tossed her cookies every morning like clockwork.”
Seriously? His questions and concern are making me want to cry. He’s being so sweet—so freaking sweet—and the fact that he isn’t judging me is an enormous relief.
It gives me hope that my other friends will be as supportive…my other friends from back home, who will have mixed reviews on my unexpected pregnancy.
It also gives me hope that I can do this, with or without Elliot in my life.
“I haven’t been sick—that’s why I didn’t know until now that I’m…” The word gets lodged in my throat. “Pregnant.”
“How far along are you, anyway?”
“Twelve weeks.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Damn Anabelle, pretty soon you’ll be able to find out if it’s a girl or a boy.” Pause. “Are you going to find out? I would.” He laughs.
“I don’t know.”
I don’t know anything.
“If you need me to come to any of your doctor’s appointments, let me know. I have so much fucking spare time these days, it’s stupid.”
“You do not want to come to my appointments.” I laugh, the thought of the whole thing making me almost hysterical.
“I’ll hold the diaper bag.”
“I don’t have a diaper bag.” I’m grinning like a fool though, imagining it—imagining Rex Gunderson trailing along beside me with a pink diaper bag strapped to his body.
Pink.
Girl.
I shake my head, banishing the thought.
“Not yet you don’t.” He winks at me, flipping his phone to check the time. “Shit, I have to go—I work in an hour.”
“Thanks for the hot chocolate, Rex.”
“Hey, no problem. You look like you needed it.”
“I did. It was just what I needed.”
“I probably needed it, too.”
I smile and it feels…
Good.
I can’t actually share my thoughts with Elliot.
Can’t call him on the phone and break the news. Doing it over the phone feels wrong. He deserves to find out in person.
I have so much on my mind, so many things to tell him—but if I do, will that weigh him down?
I sit down at the kitchen table with a journal, one I’ve had for ages that has never been completely filled, used to record my thoughts.
I crack it open, glancing through a few pages I haven’t looked at in months, the last entry from two years ago. I was dating this guy, Will, from college. We were in the same town, at different universities—and I scan a passage about him that I wrote after we broke up. “Will is someone I will definitely get over…not worth the tears, Anabelle. Chin up and move on.”
My mouth curves at the memory of those weeks following. I did more soul searching than crying, and I realized I wouldn’t ever need a guy to fulfill me. Dating and falling in love were great, but they wouldn’t make me whole.
Only I could do that.
Just like I could have and raise this baby on my own, without Elliot’s involvement, but at some point, I would have to tell him, just like I’ll have to tell my parents and other friends.
I grab a pen, hovering the tip over a clean page in my journal. Press down, hesitating.
I’ll never send this letter I’m writing, but there is far too much to get off my chest. If I don’t, I’ll break inside. Burst.
I write:
Dear Elliot,
This is one letter I’m never going to send you, but I’m going to write it anyway, locked away in a diary no one but me will read or see. I have so much on my mind that’s been keeping me awake the past few days.
There is no good way to tell you this. I’m just going to say it.
I’m pregnant.
God, I thought it would be easier to write the words, but it’s not, because now they’re in ink, forever, scrolled across these pages for me to read anytime I open this notebook.
I’m pregnant. Pregnant.
I have a really small baby bump that people are going to start noticing at some point, but thank goodness for yoga pants and sweatshirts. I wonder what you’d think about the bump. Would you freak out, or would you be as levelheaded as I think you would?
Want to hear something crazy? I’m not as upset as I thought I’d be. I’m getting used to the idea of being a mom. A mom. I’m staring at that sentence, reading it over and over again. Crazy. Life is crazy, don’t you think?
What’s even crazier than us being parents is Rex Gunderson. We’ve been spending all kinds of time together, believe it or not. He’s been great, considering he’s the first person who found out—not because I told him, but because he guessed. I always figured he was smarter than he let on, and he is.
He’s also turning into an amazing friend, Elliot. We talk all the time and go to the café a lot. Last week we went for pedicures—he said it was practice for when my feet start to swell up. He’s such a nag, always on me about eating healthy. In a way, I think he needs a project now that he’s been fired from the team and could only find part-time work, but he genuinely likes me, too, and we’ve put the past behind us.
You would absolutely hate it, LOL.
My dad certainly does.
I finally broke the news to Dad a few days ago about befriending Gunderson, and he was so mad, but I know he’ll come around. He’s going to have to. Madison has been really supportive, but Rex…I think I’m going to take him with me when I tell Dad and Linda about the baby. Our baby.
I wish you were here.
You were so easy to fall in love with, do you realize that?
It’s killing me not telling you my news—our news—but I refuse to do it over the phone. You deserve to hear it in person, but now is not the time, and I cannot come there.
I love you, and I’m proud of you.
Love, Anabelle.
AKA Your baby mama.
Kidding, omg. But I have always wanted to say that. Haha.
Elliot
It’s been a shitty week, and the only thing getting me through is the countdown to winter break.
I think about Anabelle nonstop, wondering if she thinks about me as much as I think about her. Today in class, I caught myself staring off at the wall twice, daydreaming instead of taking notes.
Doodling on a loose-leaf sheet of paper, then finally, hand writing her a note in small, tidy penmanship.
Ana. Annie. Anabelle.
Guess what? I’m coming home for a family event soon, a banquet for my dad. Remember I told you about him? He’s a lawyer and every year, his firm hosts a big to-do. So, I’m coming home!
I’m not going to tell you, I want it to be a surprise—I want to see the look on your face when I show up on your doorstep Friday night. I’m flying and get in late, so my ass will be seriously dragging.
Dead on my feet will never have been more worth it.
If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be coming back at all. I would skip the awards dinner altogether and give my parents an excuse about being busy, but they’re buying me a plane ticket and I’d be stupid to pass up the chance to see you.
Michigan isn’t the same without my friends here, without you. Jesus, I lie in bed every night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I made the right decision. Logically, I know it is—my professors are incredible, and this internship is going to set me up after I graduate.