PROLOGUE
I looked at the
test again to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but I know it’s accurate. This
is test number four, and it revealed the same result as the previous three.
I’m having a
baby.
My stomach feels
sour as I think about what this means. Having a child out of wedlock was never
in my plans. It’s especially not something my parents wanted for me. My dad
always used to tell me he wanted me to settle down and marry an old soul. Said
that was the kind of man I needed. Albeit he’s covered in tats, I managed to
find just that – an old soul. Even so, he has bad boy tendencies, and he’s very
nonchalant. Very dismissive of my feelings and rarely shows any of his own. He’s
a rolling stone – doesn’t want to be tied down. I knew that when I first met
him because he told me straight-up that he wasn’t the type, but I thought I had
what it took to change him.
I didn’t.
So, I hold on to
what little I can, hoping every day that he wants to keep me around. I fell for
him, recklessly and hopelessly, but he’s never fallen for me. Why would he? He’s
so fine, he can get any woman he wants. Even when we’re together, women are all
in his grill, staring like I’m not even there. I suppose it’s true what they
say. Every woman wants a bad boy – well, until the pregnancy test comes back
positive, and you don’t know how he’s going to react to it.
What I do know
for a certainty is that I’m hanging on to him tighter than he’s hanging on to
me. I’m hoping that when I break the news to him that he’s going to be a
father, it’ll change all of that. Maybe he’ll finally be my man instead of just
someone who’s there to chill with me. Perhaps this baby will jump-start
something in him to make him want to be serious about me. To make him want
to stay. This pregnancy wasn’t intentional, but I may as well try to lock him
down, right? I certainly don’t want anyone else. Can’t no other man make me
feel the way Jeremiah makes me feel. That, I know for a fact.
He’s cooking fish
today – one of his favorite things to do besides catching them. I told him I
was coming over to hang out, so it’s the perfect opportunity to tell him about
the pregnancy. But I’m so scared. I’m trembling in my boots – about to pee on
myself, scared. I never thought I’d be having a baby at twenty-two years old. I’m
not even established. I don’t have my life together. I’m just winging it
at this point, and now I have to do that while taking care of a whole person.
The anxiety is overwhelming already. Then I have to face my mother and her
judgmental eyes and grunts about how I done messed up and how ain’t
no baby gon’ help me keep a man. She always used to say that a man is going
to be exactly who he is, no matter how much you want him to be what you
want him to be. Dealing with Jeremiah has proven that her statement is true. I want
him to love me. I want him to be committed to me. I want him to
see me. To want me. To view me as I view him – my everything. But that
may be too much to ask.
I pull up at his
house and sit in the car, bracing myself. How am I going to tell him? Do I hug
him first? Kiss him on his bearded face? He doesn’t like kissing – never has –
so placing a kiss on his lips is out of the question. I have no clue how to say
it.
I place a hand on
my wildly beating heart, trying to control my breathing. I heard that was
supposed to help, but I think I’m making it worse. I just need to go in there, tell
him, and get it over with.
“Yeah, Legacy. Come
on. Just go tell him,” I coach myself, but that ain’t working either.
I pull in a long
breath and release it slowly. After several rounds of this, I say, “Alright. I
can do this.”
I get out of the
car. It’s muggy and sticky out here, or maybe that’s just my body perspiring as
I prepare to tell my boyfriend he’s going to be a father. In my mind, I create
a vision of how I want this to go. He’d snatch me up and embrace me in a warm
hug. Then he would kiss me on the mouth for a change and tell me how much he
loves me – something I’ve never heard before. He’d pick me up, spin me around,
and tell me how good our life will be. How he’d marry me to make us legit, and we’d
live happily ever after. Wishful thinking, I know, but I don’t want to think
about the opposite reaction. I’ma just try to be optimistic.
I walk up to the
door, turn the knob, and say, “Hey, I’m—”
My voice catches
in my throat when I see a woman sitting on his sofa with her legs folded
beneath her, all comfortable while he sits on the coffee table right across
from her, holding a plate of fish that she’s eating from.
He looks at me
and frowns.
What the heck?
I turn and run
back to my car with tears in my eyes, telling myself it wasn’t what it looked
like, but it was. It looked like the man I had all these hopes and dreams for
was entertaining another woman. And who knows how long that’s been going on.
I start up my car
and drive down the road with my vision blurred, speeding back home. My heart
breaks with every turn. Every mile. Every red light. Why would he do this to
me? What did I do to deserve to be cheated on? And what about my baby? Our
baby?
He doesn’t even
bother calling to explain himself, because he probably doesn’t feel the need
to. He told me from the beginning that he wasn’t committing to anything – that
he wasn’t the settling down type, and he wasn’t making me any promises. I guess
I can’t be mad at the snake for biting me when I picked it up, knowing that was
a possibility.
And boy does it
hurt.
I—
I’m at a loss. I
was hoping for a better outcome for us. I don’t want to feel this sharp pain crackling
through my chest while I’m carrying a baby. How am I going to get through this
pregnancy while carrying the heavy weight of heartbreak? How am I supposed to
do that in the same city as him? Seeing him with other women while our child
grows inside of me?
I can’t.
I can’t do this.
I can’t be here –
not anymore.
If I’m going to
give this baby a fighting chance, I have to get out of here.
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