I sit on the closed toilet seat lid, body quivering, and finally, the tears come in silent trails that burn down my face. This isn’t a dream, something that would disappear if I fell asleep. It’s damn real, and I have no idea what it means for my career, my living situation, and my life.
Reaching for my phone, I call the office and let them know I’m sick and not able to go into work today. There’s no way I can focus on anything in the state I’m in. Needless to say, my face will have my emotions written all over it. I’ve never been great at hiding what I’m feeling, and this isn’t the moment to start experimenting with acting skills.
Walking numbly to my room, I throw on another set of pajamas and climb back in bed. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay working here if I’m pregnant. I’m sure the same rules as our American office are put into practice here, but for all I know, my boss will replace me with someone who could be around and won’t need to take maternity leave. Though I don’t think that’s legal.
And how the hell do I tell Camden? Do I even tell him? Yes, of course, I do. What kind of question is that? I hug a pillow to my chest and bury my face in it, wishing away this crazy nightmare.
I should call my doctor, but I need some time to digest this before I can have her triple confirm it. I’m also worried about the drinks I’ve had, although I’m sure many women drink alcohol before they know they’re pregnant and their kids are just fine.
My breath catches in my throat. My body trembles with my cries. How am I going to do this alone? The baby may have a biological father, but for all intents and purposes, I just became a single mom.
chapter 11
Allyson
I’m not sure how I got so lucky, but my gynecologist had an opening this afternoon, and I rushed over for an examination.
Diagnosis: Definitely with child.
Cure: Birth it.
Dilemma: Tell the father he’s going to be my baby daddy.
I sigh, walking down the warm streets of Madrid. With this weather, it doesn’t feel like early September, and I’m counting down to the start of fall. I could use a climate change to go with the change my body’s experiencing.
I swipe my cheek, removing any evidence of the emotions choking me, and wander around the city I’ve come to call home. My arms wrap around my midsection, and while I may not have a clue what I’m doing, the idea of getting rid of this baby paralyzes me. In this moment, everything in my life seems as if it’s hanging upside down from a frail thread that threatens to unravel by breathing the wrong way.
I have no idea when I should tell my boss about this, or my family. God, Easton is not going to take this well. The mere idea of having to tell him closes up my throat and brings a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.
I don’t know anyone who has been in this situation to seek advice from. I cross an old, stone bridge without a clue as to where I am or where I’m going, which is symbolic of my life. Stopping midway and placing my hands over the hard stone, I look down at the river before lifting my gaze and taking in the city before me. The palace sits in the nearby distance, tall and regal, the perfect personification of the royal family.
The cool stones beneath my hands do little to extinguish the heat within me. For the first time in my life, I’m terrified of the future. I’m scared of what will happen with my job, my living situation, and with Easton and Camden’s friendship.
With one final deep breath, I turn back and walk in the same direction I came. When I see a café a few blocks down, I head inside and order a decaf coffee. The doctor gave me a list of dos and don’ts, and while coffee isn’t a complete don’t, she did say to limit my intake. I figured I could cut back and take care of myself since I didn’t know I was pregnant and went a little wild with those margaritas the other night, which she assured me the baby was fine.
While I let the coffee cool, I check my phone. Noel sent me a message earlier, asking how I was doing, but I haven’t written back. I need to figure out how to tell Camden since an Instagram message isn’t exactly ideal. Unless I send him a baby daddy gif and let him come up with his own assumptions. Avoidance at its finest, ladies and gentleman.
I haven’t heard from Camden since the day he was at my mom’s house. It’s not like I expect to receive messages from him every day. He has his own life to live, a job, friends. He isn’t thinking about me, unlike me, who now has a permanent reminder of the night we spent together, like it or not.
I drink my coffee, failing at my attempt to come up with a way to talk to him since I can’t exactly ask him to meet in person. My phone lights up with an incoming call from Noel, and I realize it’s still in silent mode from my doctor’s visit. Hitting the side button, I end the call and send her a quick message, letting her know I’ll call her as soon as I get home. Then, I pay for my coffee, chug what’s left, stand and leave, taking the subway back to my side of town.
Plopping on the sofa once I’m home, I call Noel back.
“You do not look good, boo,” she says as soon as she answers the video call.
“Thanks, I’m with child,” I deadpan, rubbing the worry lines on my forehead.
“About
