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“You could write or teach.”
“You just want me to get your degree, but that’s not what I want,” I argue.
“What if there was a grant that would pay two years of tuition for getting an English degree?” he says and my brow furrows.
“Oh great. That would cover half of what my tuition would be if I wanted to switch,” I reply with sarcasm.
His mouth presses into a tight line. “You’re not listening to me.”
I cross my arms and place them on the table. “I am listening to you, but you’re not listening to me. You think because I can write a good English paper I should quit the job I love as if I owe something to the literary world for having a brain. Dr. Goode, I don’t want an English degree and I don’t want to work in a university or a library or whatever. I want to own my own club someday and I want a business degree to do it. And there’s no shame in that.”
We have a momentary stare-down after I’ve finished my rant, and I swear I notice the corner of his mouth lift just an inch.
“You and your smart mouth,” he mumbles under his breath.
For a moment, my heart beats faster. We haven’t spoken this way with each other in over a month, and I swear if he threatened to put me over this desk right now, I’d let him.
“I do have a smart mouth,” I quip back.
When he opens his book back up and reads, I stare at him for a moment longer. Were we just flirting? We haven’t fought in so long. Is it weird that I miss that too?
As I focus on the essay again, I find myself touching my stomach more. It’s nothing more than a little swollen and a little more poochy, but it’s getting harder, and I definitely don’t fit in pants the same way.
I haven’t felt any kicks or flutters yet, which is disappointing. All the books we have say it should happen around sixteen to twenty-five weeks, and I’m approaching sixteen soon, so I’m getting excited.
The more this pregnancy progresses, the more real it feels. First, a heartbeat, and next, a kick.
And yet, the more this pregnancy progresses, the more anxiety I feel. I’m still living in Luke’s house, wondering where the hell I’m going to raise this child. Who is going to help me when I have to work late? What if I can’t afford it all? What if I can’t give this child the life he or she deserves?
Those are the thoughts that keep me up at night.
What if this is all a mistake?
“It’s getting late,” he says as he sets his book down. “And you should eat.”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back to get a full stretch. I feel my shirt slide up and notice the way Luke’s eyes drift down to my belly. “Chinese? Or, ooh, pizza.”
“Pizza it is,” he says as he moves to stand.
My stomach starts growling at the prospect of melted cheese and garlic, so I hop up and start packing up my things. I see someone approaching to our right and turn to find that hot English teacher smiling at Luke.
“Dr. Goode,” she says in a polite greeting.
He turns her way, with a moment of panic, as if tutoring me in the library is somehow inappropriate. “Dr. Hanson,” he says excitedly. “I was just…tutoring my student for her final.”
She looks at me with a tight smirk. “How’s it going?”
“This is Sadie Green, the one I told you about. Her paper on Paradise Lost was phenomenal.”
The woman reaches her hand toward me, but I’m too busy trying not to blush at his words. Is he lying to cover up our secret, or does he really feel that way?
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand. Her eyes dance down to my stomach, and I wonder if she notices the way it protrudes a little more than natural.
“He’s told me so much about you,” she says.
I clutch my book to my chest, soaking in the praise. But then she takes a side step closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. There’s something intimate and infuriating about it.
As she turns to him, I feel as if I’m being excused from the conversation. I’m just a student, and they’re the faculty, and I don’t belong with them.
