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I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t that what got me in this situation?”
The nurse knocked and handed me a printout of the sonogram. I tucked it into my wallet without looking—knowing it would break me down—and Miranda and I hurried out as soon as we could.
“No. Love is what got you here. Not fucking.” She handed me back the doctor’s card and I stuffed it in my wallet.
Sex, fucking, making love; that was what got me here.
Love got me a shattered heart.
“Who wants to fuck a pregnant lady, anyway? Especially when the baby isn’t theirs?” I pulled my hair into a ponytail and slid into Miranda’s waiting car. “Plus, I’d feel like a whore.”
“He certainly looked like he wanted to fuck you,” she said, ignoring my last statement. “Or maybe he wanted to fuck me. Let me see that card again.” She had her designer purse in her hands and her hair was perfect, of course.
I burst into tears.
“I forgot how emotional you get when you’re pregnant. Except you’ve been broken-hearted both times, so maybe that’s a factor. Don’t cry, darling. I won’t fuck your doctor.”
I laughed, unable to stem the flow of emotions that were going every which way. “Fuck him all you want, Miranda. I’m crying because I only want to sleep with one person, and he wants nothing to do with me.” I sniffled as the car slid into the slow-moving traffic.
“You don’t know that. Go. Find him. You have free time. Your project is nearly finished, and I refuse to let you work too hard during this pregnancy. Go.” Miranda reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze.
“I booked a flight. It leaves this afternoon.” I shook my head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“My dear,” Miranda started, placing her hand on my cheek, “I find it best to always start with the truth.”
* * *
The airport wasn’t asbusy as I expected. I boarded the flight, settling into business-class because I was pregnant and didn’t want some giant of a man in my lap. I wanted first-class, but I decided it wasn’t just me anymore and that any extra money—no matter how much I saved or invested—could be used for my little one.
I’d only brought a carry-on bag, convinced I could do what I needed to in twenty-four hours or less. After all, it only took one point three-six seconds to tell someone you were pregnant. I knew. I’d timed it. I almost timed how long it took to tell someone you still loved them. But when the plane went up, I felt my courage wane. If Dexter wanted to hear from me, he would’ve reached out to me.
No,I told myself. I hadn’t done right by him the first time, punishing him for what I knew he had to do. This time I would show him I was different—better, older.
I slept the entire way, and when I woke, I shoved all trepidation aside. I grabbed my carry-on and hailed a cab. I gave the driver Tracey’s address, and when he pulled up, I paid him. I watched as he drove off, realizing I probably should’ve told him to stick around.
I headed up the walk and rang the doorbell. When the door swung open, I half-expected whomever it was to shut the door right in my face; I deserved it. But when I saw Tracey hold her arms open for me to step into, I bawled right there on her steps.
She led me in, grabbing my bag and settling me on the couch.
“I haven’t heard from him,” I said, my tone desperate.
Tracey shook her head with a frown. “Honestly, I haven’t either. It’s a shame because Molly could be going any day now.” She sat next to me, tucking my hair away from my face. “Why didn’t you tell him, honey?”
Finally—finally—I spit out the poison. I told Tracey all the terrible things I thought. How I hated him for leaving me, how I felt he didn’t deserve to know Anna. He’d abandoned me. And when Anna died, I thought it was God’s way of punishing me for all the hateful thoughts I’d been thinking. How I blamed my alcoholism and poor decisions.
And, at the very root of it, how I blamed Dexter. Because if she hadn’t died from my actions, it was from his. A broken heart was more potent than any liquor. I couldn’t tell him once she was gone because he’d hate me for keeping her from him in the first place. But what I tried to avoid ended up happening anyway.
She sat and listened, her eyes filling.
I couldn’t tell her I was pregnant again. I wanted Dexter to hear it from me—the way it should’ve been all those years ago. “Do you know where I can find him? I really—I have to talk to him.”
“I think, if he hasn’t reached out to you, maybe he needs time to himself.” I knew she was torn.
I stood and nodded, realizing Tracey likely wouldn’t help. I knew she was fond of me, but he was her blood. I turned to leave when she stopped me.
“I’ll give you Ralph’s number. I think he’s been trying to get a hold of Dex, too. Hang on.” With that, she went upstairs.
Dan stepped into the living room, a paper in his hand. “Find that boy and make him listen.” He hugged me tightly, and when I heard Tracey step back down, I shoved the paper in my bag.
