Incredulous, I stare at her, unflinching. She probably assumes it’s the impression her story has had on me. Instead, I’m suspicious of why she would lie about my father being imprisoned.
“Does Noah know about him?”
“Yes.” Her voice falters. “That’s why we’re both super cautious about this pregnancy.” She takes a napkin and blots her face, eyes bloodshot and smeared with mascara. “I know this is an overwhelming life change for you, Elle.” Charlotte gives me a sad smile. “But children are a blessing. Have you talked to Justin about what you want to do?”
I sigh. “I’m not sure I’m going to keep it.”
When I hear myself say this, I feel like a horrible person for verbalizing this after Charlotte’s own heartbreaking miscarriage. That is, until I remind myself that she’s a fantastic liar and this is a tear-jerking story, but that’s exactly what it is, a fictitious story. It’s nothing but a ploy for her to play the victim.
But my own guilt is a powerful emotion, and as I rest my arms on my expanding stomach, I start to sob. “Justin doesn’t want me to have it.” Balling my hands, I prepare for her outrage. Her hypocritical, holier-than-thou judgment. It doesn’t come.
Instead, her face registers surprise, but not anger. “Oh, Elle, it’s a huge decision. I get it. And I know you don’t have the most stable homelife, and you and your boyfriend just split.” She touches a hand to her cross necklace as if issuing a silent prayer. “Just think about all your options. There are a lot of families that can’t have children and would love to adopt. Let it be a last resort instead of your first.”
“Deal.”
“Have you at least seen the doctor?”
“I haven’t made an appointment yet.” I blush. “I only have state-run insurance, and I think I’d have to tell Diane. She’s got the information.”
“Elle,” Charlotte says, “you’re going to need a lot of help and assistance navigating this.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you want to tell her?” Charlotte asks. “Is it because you’re scared of her reaction?”
I tap my fingers on the scratched tabletop. “I’m worried she’ll kick me out of the house.”
Charlotte looks horrified, and her water glass splatters as she accidentally elbows it.
“She can’t, can she?”
“Not for a couple more months, at least until I turn eighteen.”
“Don’t worry about that for right now. That’s down the road. You have to go to the obstetrician. I’m going to make you an appointment. I’ll try and get you into the same clinic that I go to.”
“Okay,” I agree.
We make small talk, but it eventually dies down, both of us lost in our own potential dilemmas.
I have Charlotte drop me off at the library, a few blocks from the apartment. As I trudge up the stairs, my steps are slow, my energy lagging. A male voice is loudly talking inside, and I assume it’s a gentleman caller for Diane.
It’s not.
My backpack slides to the floor as I secretly watch Justin play a game with the boys, and before anyone notices I’m home, pieces of my heart splinter and shatter in my chest.
“So this is what a broken heart feels like,” I sigh out loud.
Disbelief clouds my face as I blink, wondering if I’ve finally lost it.
I can’t stay concealed for long. In a matter of minutes I’ve been spotted, and the boys run to give me a hug.
“What’re you doing here?” I mouth to Justin over their heads as I tuck them into the crook of each arm.
He doesn’t answer, instead telling the boys to brush their teeth and get ready for bed. Amazed that neither one is arguing about their bedtime, I watch them both disappear into the bathroom while I settle on the couch, as far away from Justin as I can.
“So why are you here?” Then I joke, “You decided you missed the good old domestic life I can offer you?” Speaking in an announcer’s voice, I say, “It comes with a baby of your own and two additional children, but no additional baggage in the form of luxury goods!”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Elizabeth.” Justin’s green eyes glint with a flash of anger. “You didn’t sign up for this life—it was inherited.”
“And now that you feel tied down, you’re doing what everyone else has done to me in my life,” I jeer. “You leave.”
“I was harsh about it.” He tugs on a strand of his dirty-blond hair. “I didn’t handle things right. That’s why I’m here. I’m sorry.”
Ignoring his apology for now, I ask, “How did everyone find out I was pregnant?”
“What do you mean?” Justin points to my protruding belly. “I’d say you gave it away on your own.”
“Normally, I’d agree, except it never was a rumor until after I told you.” He looks down at an ugly metal ring he made from a steel pipe at the scrapyard. “So, who did you tell?”
“About the breakup or pregnancy?”
“Both.”
“Nobody.” Justin’s a terrible liar, because his hands always touch his face immediately after he’s been untruthful. This time he taps his nose.
“Justin Pence, don’t lie to me.”
“Clint.”
“And Clint dates Courtney’s friend Sheena, right?”
“No idea.” Another tap to the nose, another lie.
“Okay.”
He exhales, clearly relieved I’m going to drop the topic.
Until I point out, “The other night when I called before you went to work, you said, ‘Hi, sexy.’”
“Uh-huh.”
“Except it wasn’t directed at me.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Justin, you didn’t know I would call you. My phone’s busted, and I called from a random number.” I nudge him with my knee. “What gives with all the lying? You’re better than that.”
His face reddens. “Okay, I thought Courtney was calling.”
“And now you call her ‘sexy’?” My blood starts to boil, and I’m sure this is what a chicken in a pressure cooker feels like before it cooks or, in my case, explodes.
“It’s not like that. She had concert tickets I wanted.”
“Let me make sure I’m getting this straight.” I point a finger at him, disgustedly. “You can attend a concert with Courtney Kerr, the demon seed of middle America, while I’m pregnant with your child, not to mention poor?”
Dizziness hits me as I shoot up from the couch. “I think it’s time you saw yourself out of my apartment and out of my life. We’re fucking done.”
“I didn’t go to a concert with her, Elizabeth. She just had the tickets. They weren’t even for me. They were for my brother.” He lowers his palm, motioning me to simmer down. “And just because I don’t want a baby my senior year doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. All of this grown-up shit scares me.”
“And it doesn’t terrify the hell out of me?” I quiver. “I’m the one about to lose a roof over my head.”