Taking a drink of the cold milk, I leaned back in the chair. I lifted my gaze and my eyes met hers. “Do I really look that bad?”
“You don’t look bad, honey, but you look tired.” She paused, her hand absently smoothing over the top of Loki’s head. “And you sounded stressed when you called me.”
My stomach churned, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to the infamous morning sickness or just nerves, because I came down to see my mom so I could tell her the truth, so I could get grounded and hear her advice. This was probably going to be one of the biggest bombs I would ever drop on her, and I felt sick.
“Stephanie?”
Reaching up with a shaky hand, I tucked my hair back behind my ear. “There is a reason why I’m here. Not that I didn’t want to see you.”
Her smile turned wry. “Uh-huh.”
“But I need your . . . advice.” I could feel my lower lip start to tremble. “I need your help.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay. Now I’m starting to freak out a little.”
I clamped my hands together in my lap, because I was also starting to freak out a little. Well, I was quaking inside, so I was freaking out a lot. I stared at my bleached white knuckles and forced my hands to relax. “I . . . I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
So much so, you could hear a cricket sneeze.
It stretched so long that I had to look up and see her reaction, and when I did, she was simply staring at me. Her eyes were wide, her lips were parted. Blood had drained from her face, and her hand had stilled along the dog’s back.
“I’ve messed up,” I whispered, close to tears. “I know I have. I should have . . . well, I was careful. He was careful, but I missed pills and the condom must’ve broken.” My cheeks started to heat, and even though I’d always been open with my mom, this was an awkward conversation. “I took three tests,” I rambled on. “All three of them said I was pregnant, so I know . . . I know I’m pregnant. I’ve been feeling sick and I’ve been tired and I . . . I messed up.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom snapped out of it. Leaning over, she managed to keep Loki in her lap while she squeezed my arm fondly. “You didn’t mess up. Getting pregnant is not messing up.”
Sure as hell didn’t feel like the opposite. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said bluntly, needing her to know the whole picture. “We were together . . . once.”
Understanding seeped into her features as she got what I was saying. Pregnant due to a one-night stand. How . . . how cliché. She blinked once and then twice. “It happens,” she said slowly, as if she was still processing everything. Her hand squeezed my arm again. “More than people realize, it happens.”
Yeah, but I never thought it would happen to me.
Famous last words.
“You know that your father and I weren’t married before I got pregnant with you,” she said after a moment. “Things don’t always work out as planned.”
I wanted to smile, because I knew she was trying to make me feel better about this. “But you two were together and you were in love and—”
“And none of that is required to have a baby, hon. It’s nice. It’s what we all hope for—what I hoped for when it came to you—but it’s not always what happens.”
I stared at the scratched surface of the table, my voice barely above a whisper when I spoke. “Are you . . . are you disappointed?”
“Honey, why would I be disappointed?”
A strangled laugh rattled out of me as I leaned forward, running my finger along the grooves in the table. “Um, maybe because I’m twenty-three and I’m pregnant . . . and I’m single.”
“Could be worse.”
I arched a brow.
“You could be sixteen and this could be happening. Or you could be sick instead,” she said, her gaze steady and serious. “You know, Stephanie, things could be worse.”
I thought of the knock on our door nine years ago. “You’re right.”
She exhaled slowly and then patted my arm before picking up her coffee. She took a huge gulp, and all I could think was there wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to deal with this. “Do you know what you are going to do?”
My breath lodged in my throat. “I . . . I don’t know.”
There was another pause. “You have options.”
I closed my eyes. The milk had started to curdle in my stomach. “I know.”
“Do you know how far along you are?” she asked. “It can’t be that long.”
“Based on the one test and timing, I’m at about five weeks.” I opened my eyes and drew in a shallow breath.
Some of the color had returned to her face. “Okay.” Her tone told me she was moving into Mom-can-take-care-of-this mode. “About this guy. Does he know?”
I shook my head. “I just found out this past Sunday and I needed to wrap my head around it first.”
“Understandable.” Her hand returned to smoothing the dog’s back. “Do you plan on telling him?”
My mouth opened, but I didn’t have an answer.
She pressed her lips together and then nodded slowly. “If you choose to not go through with this, that is ultimately your choice. No one else’s. I believe that, but I also believe you need to tell the father. Sorry, hon. That’s just the way I feel.”
The father . . .
God, hearing words like that was like getting shocked by a live wire.
But I knew in my heart of hearts that I personally wouldn’t feel okay with not telling Nick. Not giving him the chance to at least know what was going on, to weigh in with his opinion. In the end, what he felt might or might not sway my decision. I didn’t know, but I didn’t believe that everyone else needed to feel the same way I did. To each their own. It was not my business or my place to say, except when it came to me.