Turning away from me, Malcolm goes over to the railing. He leans over it on his elbows with his head bowed, his long hair hiding his face. Puffs of smoke occasionally float through the air before he straightens up and puts the cigarette out on the rail.
When he finally faces me again, his jaw clenched tight, he removes his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a wad of hundred-dollar bills, offering them to me. “Here’s enough for an abortion.”
“What?” I gasp, outraged that he would blurt that out without asking or caring what I want, not to mention try and throw cash at me for it.
“If it’s not about the money, then prove it – end it. Get rid of it.”
“Screw you, Malcolm! I’m not doing that,” I tell him with an adamant shake of my head. It only took me about ten seconds of consideration after the stick turned blue for me to reach that verdict. Still, I did consider it. God knows it would make everything so much easier, but I don’t know if I could live with that guilt.
“That’s what I fucking thought,” he says as he runs his fingers through his hair to push it out of his face.
“I just…I wish it was that easy, I do. But I can’t do that,” I try to explain to him. “I’m going to have this baby, and I’ll do it on my own if I need to. I just thought that you would want to know...”
“I already knew you were a goddamn gold-digger. This shit only validates that!”
Swiping away the dampness from under each of my eyes, I tell him, “I really hope this is the alcohol talking and not you.”
“Surprisingly, as soon as you said you were pregnant, I sobered right the hell up,” he mutters. “Not exactly the happy fucking birthday I was hoping for.”
Today’s his birthday? I had no idea. Would I have still come if I had known? No, I would’ve waited. But it’s too late; and since there’s nothing left to say and I refuse to stand on his porch listening to him call me names, I jog down the front steps to my car without another word, without accepting his stupid money.
“I’m getting a fucking DNA test before I pay a fucking penny!” Malcolm yells at my back.
I want to flip him off or yell at him and blame him for putting me in this position.
But he’s right. It’s my own damn fault for being late taking a few days’ worth of my pills.
And now I wish I had never slept with Malcolm fucking Hyde.
Malcolm
* * *
“What the hell was that about?” Nash asks when I walk back inside my house like a zombie after the bomb Naomi just dropped on me. “We could hear you yelling over the music. Sounded like all hell broke loose.”
“Yeah, it did,” I tell him. Grabbing the bottle of beer from his hand, I throw it back and then wipe my mouth on the back of my hand before handing it back. “She’s knocked up and says it’s mine.”
“Oh, fuck that noise!” he huffs. “You getting a test?”
“Yeah, that’s what I told her, but it probably is mine.”
“Are you serious? You fucked her bareback?” Nash asks. “How stupid could you be? You knew she was a lying thief you couldn’t trust!”
“Yeah, I know,” I agree. “I’m an idiot for choosing a few seconds of pleasure over common fucking sense.”
“A few seconds?” he teases.
“Shut the fuck up. You know what I mean.”
Slapping his hand on my shoulder, he says, “Yeah, I do. But maybe you’re wrong and it’s someone else’s…”
I don’t even consider that option for a second because it makes me too fucking furious picturing Naomi with someone else.
As if on cue, Fiasco chooses that moment to walk up to us. “What’s going on, Prez?” he asks.
“Naomi’s pregnant,” I inform him.
“Oh shit,” Fiasco mutters, his face going pale. Then even louder, he says, “Oh shit! Is it…could it be mine?”
“No, you dumbass. You can’t impregnate a woman by coming in her mouth!” I snap at him, mostly angry at Naomi and myself, not him. But he’s here right now, and it’s nice to have someone else to take it out on.
“Oh, right,” the idiot replies with a slap of his palm to his forehead. “I’m so fucking wasted right now.”
“What’s your excuse every other day of the week?” Nash teases him, but I don’t hear the rest of their conversation or anyone else’s before the sun comes up.
All I can do is keep thinking about Naomi, how much I missed her before she showed up and told me she was having my kid. Now, I’ll never know if she gave a shit about me or if she only slept with me to screw me over.
Chapter Twenty-One
Naomi
* * *
Over the next few months, I blow up at record-breaking speed. The comfort eating probably isn’t helping, but I tell myself I should stuff my face with whatever my body is craving for the growing baby inside of me.
Malcolm’s baby.
Not that he’ll ever probably see him or her since he wants no part of me or it. He made that perfectly clear when he tried to throw a few hundred dollars at me so that I would get rid of it.
I dip my last crispy crinkle fry into ketchup during my early lunch break and then call back to the kitchen, “Another order of fries, Jacob!” before I’ve even finished chewing.
“Coming right up,” our cook says through the serving window.
“Is it going to be another one of those days?” Nancy asks.
“Another what kind of day?”
“You know, where you cry all day and customers think you’ve lost your pregnant mind.”
“No,” I huff, even though I can’t make any guarantees. “I’m just hungry this morning.”
“It’s five minutes after ten o’clock in the morning, and you’re on your second serving of fries.”
“So?” I ask defensively. “I’m going to have a veggie plate for dinner with fruits for dessert.”
“Strawberry ice cream doesn’t count as a fruit.”
“The kid needs dairy too!” I exclaim.
“Sure, it does. Apparently, every drop from a dairy farm, but whatever floats your boat,” she says with a grin.
The word boat automatically has me thinking about Malcolm, wondering how he’s been doing, who he’s been screwing over the desk in his office since I’m no longer available. Probably Anika or Ronnie. Maybe both at the same time. He was good at multi-tasking.
And while he’s having fun doing whoever and whatever he wants, I’m gaining weight at the rate of what feels like a pound a day and am completely un-fuckable since I’m the size of a cow. My udders are even sagging when before they were so small and perky, I didn’t need to even wear a bra.
My new, rotund figure aside, there are a million other worries that are much more important at the moment. For instance, I could barely make ends meet before I got knocked up. Now, I’m trying to scrape by to afford the basics for the baby like somewhere for it to sleep, a few clothes for it to wear, blankets and bottles. The list of necessities seems endless.