“Uh… no. I could have found out, but the baby decided to do this somersault thing and covered its bits. I’d say it’s either a boy or girl,” I state, trying to lighten the conversation and ending with a short chuckle.
“Our friends, Ella and Jess, were told they were having a girl and bought everything pink. Turned out to be a boy,” Gemma tells us. “Let’s just say that kid may give Elton John a run for his money, what with all the pretty colors and sparkly fabrics.”
“Happened to your Aunt Kathy, too,” Mom adds.
“It doesn’t matter what sex the baby is,” I mumble as the conversation continues around me.
“Of course not. As long as the baby is healthy, that’s all that matters.” Mom smiles.
I hate to admit it, and I feel like the worst person in the world, but it kind of does matter. I’m terrified of having a girl because I am one, and I know how high-maintenance they can be. My dad once told me that having two girls was a sure-fire way of dying from an early stroke. It was around the time we were both in high school and felt the need to disregard our curfew multiple times.
On top of that, I had joined part of an online group made up of single mothers. A lot of them talked about how raising a girl in their teens is difficult and how boys tend to protect their mothers. Now, I don’t know if that’s all bullshit, but one mother posted about her fourteen-year-old daughter running off with her twenty-five-year-old boyfriend one night. I decided then and there that if the universe cared for me at all, just the slightest bit, I would have a happy little boy.
With dinner almost over, the conversation moves to sports, and I leave the table to clear the dishes. At the sink, my mom stands alongside me and places her arm around my shoulders.
“One step at a time, Presley. You have your whole family here to support you,” she reminds me. “And by the look of it, you’ve got Haden’s support, too.”
“I don’t even know him, Mom.”
“Then, get to know him, Presley. He’s going to be in your life whether you like it or not.”
“How is that even going to work, Mom?” I whisper beside her. “He’s getting married. Does the baby stay at his place on weekends? What about when they have their own kids?”
“Honey, you’ll work it out. You always do. You’re my little planner,” she reassures me. “And besides, have you thought about moving back home so Dad and I can help you?”
I try not to laugh. Living with my parents again would only highlight how pathetic my life has become. I am used to being a strong, independent woman, even in my relationship with Jason. I don’t need a man. Hand me a toolbox, and I’m Miss Fix-It. Turn the television to ESPN, and I’ll talk stats with the best of them. No, I don’t need a man, except for sex. Greedy Kitty down below needs more than a flick of the bean.
“The offer is there, Presley. Pride aside, consider what’s best for your child.”
I place my hands in the water and think about what Mom had just said as I listen to the conversation at the table about baseball. When Dad starts to talk about the Yankees, and Haden expresses his love for the team, there’s a shift in my Dad’s voice, and soon he’s calling him ‘son’ and inviting him out to the range tomorrow.
They both ramble on, the conversation turning to extreme fishing. Haden whips out his phone and loads a video from YouTube. Really? Extreme fishing.
With the final plate put away, my mom calls it a night with my dad at her tail. Haden follows me to the living room to join everyone else. Much to my disapproval, Gemma decides to put on a Stephen King movie, and the only seat available is on the two-seater sofa beside Haden. I take a seat beside him and brace myself for the worst.
Honestly, I could kill Gemma and Haden right now with the nightmares that will plague me because of this damn clown. I swear I am so close to shitting in my pants. The moment the face pops up from the drain, I jump in fear, and at the same time, that familiar flutter pokes my belly, and I’m almost one hundred percent certain the baby just moved.
“I think the baby just kicked.”
Gemma pauses the movie, rushing to my belly and placing her hands across it. Melissa is also waiting and places her hands near Gemma’s. I feel like a science project with all hands on me but Haden’s. He looks uncertain and waits for me to allow him to place his hands on there too. I tell him it’s okay, and I guide his hand to the part where I felt the last flutter. Of course, nothing happens, and everyone grows bored, including me, so the movie is turned back on. With the lights turned off and the volume cranked up so loud, my body tenses in anticipation. Then again… that little prod.
I don’t waste the moment, so I inch closer to Haden. Grabbing his hand, I place it on top of my stomach, and within seconds, the baby kicks again.
I hear him gasp, followed by a heartwarming on-top-of-the-world type of smile. With his hand still on my stomach, we watch the rest of the movie until the credits start to roll. When the lights are turned back on, he removes his hand, and I feel an instant loss.
Don’t get attached, Presley.
We all call it a night, especially because Haden is waking up early the next day to go out with Dad.
In my room, dressed in my tank and boxers, I toss and turn, unable to sleep with the face of that fucking clown taunting me. Stupid Gemma. Even as a child, she would do this to me, and the worst part was, she never got scared.
I try to busy myself with my phone, reading some articles on post-partum routines and retweeting some interesting facts, until I look at the clock and see that it’s past midnight. Everything in my room is freaking me out, from the shadow of my curtains to the swaying tree outside. I need to pee but dare not get up for the bathroom. When I am sure my bladder is on the verge of exploding, I run to use it but refuse to look inside the drain, paranoid about a certain clown murdering me.
I am no closer to falling asleep, so I decide to do the unthinkable and send him a text.
Me: Are you awake? FuckingPennywise
That little bubble appears on my screen.