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Chapter One
The Present
Carla
What do you want?
To anyone else, it would’ve been an easy enough question to answer. People state what they want all the time. They voice it when ordering food; when buying a home; when choosing which college to attend. There are simple choices, like what to wear when getting dressed. There are more serious choices, like cremation versus casket. Telling people what we want is a necessary part of life. It’s how we communicate.
I’d always considered myself someone who knows what she wants.
What do you want for dinner? Tacos.
Where do you want to go to college? Florida State.
How many kids do you want to have? Two.
Will you marry me? Yes.
I’d always communicated what I wanted and I’d always gotten it. Life was simple. Life was good. I was happy.
Two parallel lines on a pregnancy test changed everything.
Those lines shouldn’t have changed a thing though. Did they throw me a curve ball? Of course. Did they make things a little more challenging? Absolutely. Should they have caused my fiancé to break up with me and throw away our future together? I didn’t think so.
Joe and I were high school sweethearts. For four years, we planned what our lives would be like once we graduated. We’d move in together, attend the same college, and get engaged. Then we’d get married and have kids. I had it all written down on a list tacked to the corkboard in our bedroom. A list we’d made together.
After graduation, we moved into an off-campus apartment together and Joe asked me to marry him. Everything was going according to plan. Check, check, check. Our ducks waddled in a row. Getting pregnant mixed up the order of things, but it was still something we’d wanted.
Until we didn’t want the same things anymore.
My nana always said, “You can never truly know someone.” You think you do. You finish his sentences and anticipate his moves, like your favorite movie you’ve watched over and over. Until one day, you’re standing in front of him, looking at him like he’s a stranger. The words flowing from his mouth sound foreign to your ears, a language you can’t seem to decipher no matter how hard you try. The warmth from his touch is no longer a comfort, but sends you crawling out of your skin.
“I want you to get an abortion.” He said it as easily as if he’d ordered a drink at the bar. I’ll have a rum and coke, and the lady will have an abortion.
He told me to choose. It was him or the baby. Making that choice was the hardest decision I’d ever made, but it wasn’t because I didn’t know what I wanted. I knew, even then.
I chose to keep the baby.
Joe broke up with me, so I had to move back home with my parents. As devastated as I was, I knew I had to be strong for the tiny human growing in my belly.
I stopped being strong when I woke up nine weeks later to blood-stained sheets.
Nothing made sense. Nothing was right. No Joe. No baby. All the things I’d ever wanted were gone.
So, when my boss asked me what I wanted this morning, it was no surprise I didn’t have an answer.
It was a normal morning. At least, it was before Joe walked into my office.
I thought it’d be easier after not seeing him for two months. But my heart strains against my chest like it’s physically reaching out for him between the bars of its cage.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Tall and lean with blond hair and green eyes, I can’t help but think how beautiful Joe’s baby would’ve been.
“I’m fine.”
“Your mom said you haven’t been eating much lately.”
My eyes snap up to his. “You’ve been talking to my mother?”
