“I guess you should call her. If not, I’ll probably hear from her soon.”
“B-R-B,” she calls out, and I chuckle. As the ringing comes from both sides, I chew on my bottom lip. Once I tell Berkeley, this will be true, and right now, I’ve been in denial, pretending this is a nightmare that will go away come sunrise.
“Hey,” Berkeley finally answers, sitting on her couch and shifting as she angles the phone the way she wants it.
“Hi.” My voice is quiet, strangled, as I hold back tears.
“What’s wrong?” Berkeley’s eyes stare into mine as if she were sitting in front of me. When I remain quiet, they shift to the other side of the screen, looking at Noel.
I tell her about my pregnancy, sleeping with Camden, our back and forth. I let it all out everything that’s happened these past weeks. By the time I finish, I’m crying, and my words are inaudible—a bunch of sounds that make no sense. My chest heaves as I try to hold it all in, but it’s useless. Reality is sinking in, and I’m drowning in it.
“You should send him a balloon that says, ‘Pop,’ and then the message is inside,” Noel interrupts my sobbing conversation, and I chuckle humorlessly. Leave it to her to try to make me smile.
“Or those people that show up at your door singing out a message. Make them dress like a baby,” Berkeley adds. They’re both ridiculous, but I listen as I wipe my face with the hem of my shirt.
“Order a cake from Bakeology, have them write, Congrats! You’re gonna be a dad! and deliver it to him. Oh, you should keep it anonymous for a bit so he can freak out, wondering who he got pregnant.” Noel’s eyes gleam deviously.
“That’s not helping, Noel.” I groan, dropping my head back.
“Fine, keep the cake idea and send a note with your name.” She rolls her eyes as if I ruined her best idea yet.
As much as I appreciate them bringing humor into this conversation, none of their ideas are actually great for the seriousness of this situation. They keep tossing ideas back and forth while I zone out, freaking out internally about how monumental this is. Me. A mother. Living in a different country where I’m not fully familiar with their laws and with a father who has never had any intention of settling down—not that I think we should become a couple simply because I’m pregnant with his child.
“Or… Are you listening to me?” Noel interrupts my thoughts. “I feel like I’m being ignored.” She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Sorry.”
She waves me off and continues speaking. “You could use the Instagram feature that allows you to call someone and actually talk to him.”
“I didn’t realize they had a call option.”
“Well, it’s a video chat, but that’s even better! Makes it feel more personal and all that jazz.”
Noel is a badass influencer and blogger, and it’s thanks to her that I have my love for Instagram and always check out their new features right away. It’s been a great way to journal my time here in Spain.
Now, her knowledge of all the social media trends is becoming my downfall. How the hell am I going to video call Camden like it’s all good?
“That is the most mature suggestion,” Berkeley agrees with a serious nod as if she wasn’t the one who came up with the dancing and singing adult baby.
“I need to think.” I rub my temples, closing my eyes to prevent another wave of tears from falling. I’m tired of crying, but I have a sense that from now on, it will be full-on cryfest.
“No matter how long you delay it, the truth will eventually come out. Your family will find out you’re pregnant, and word will get back to Camden, who will suspect he’s the father. Rip it off like a Band-Aid. The sooner this is off your chest, the more you can focus on having a healthy pregnancy. I’m sure the stress of this isn’t good for the baby,” Noel grows serious, sharing wise words that I know in my heart are all true, but the fear is gripping, and my stomach flips at the thought of looking at Camden and telling him the truth. And I’m not talking about the kind of stomach-flipping butterflies that bring me joy. This is more full-on nausea. Though, that could be a side effect of the pregnancy.
“Yeah,” my voice squeaks.
“I know it’s scary, but the sooner you talk to him, the better you’ll feel.” Berkeley smiles softly, and I wish they were both here so I could hug them. I can’t even have a virtual happy hour with a glass of wine while we discuss this.
“Yeah, thanks, ladies,” I say, defeated. My mom and brother need to know about this too, and I cringe at the idea of telling Easton what happened. I’ve never wanted to disappoint him, and I have a feeling this will make up for all the times I didn’t disappoint him throughout the years.
“I’m gonna go,” I tell the girls, feeling a whole new breakdown coming.
I hang up before they finish saying their goodbyes and lie on the sofa, clutching one of the throw pillows to my chest as I bury my face into it and release every ounce of pain, fear, and worry. I cry until my throat runs dry, and my eyes sting.
I can’t tell Camden. There’s no freaking way I can randomly video
