Page 39 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

After a few beats, Leia asks, “So what was the surgery for?”

“Turns out the ectopic pregnancy was just one of the problems. According to thedoctor,” I spit out the word, wondering if anything that shirt-for-brains man said or did was right, “the embryo was stuck in the fallopian tube due to severe scarring caused by pelvic inflammatory disease.”

I close my eyes, reminding myself that the next part wasn’t true. “Which he also said was caused by an untreated STD.”

Both of my friends sit back, like I might still be infected.

“Did you get it from Peter?” Leia asks.

I shake my head again. “Peter immediately jumped to the conclusion that I’d cheated on him.”

“What?” Daisy practically yells. “Did you give him the what for?”

I blow out a bitter laugh. “Have you ever been driving along, obeying all the traffic laws, when you notice a cop behind you? And suddenly, you’re so afraid that you were doing something wrong that you end up driving erratically?”

Both my friends nod.

“I knew I hadn’t been with anyone while I was with Peter, and I knew I’d used a condom with every partner prior to him, but there was the doctor telling me I’d had an STD; there was Peter telling me he didn’t give it to me, and I thought I must’ve gotten it in college or something. That I was careless one time and I’d been carrying this little bomb around, destroying my reproductive system and threatening Peter’s health.”

Daisy takes my other hand. “That must’ve been awful.”

All three of us stare at the fire for a few moments, my friends flanking me, and I realize that even without the full truth, they’re not judging me. They’re on my side.

Then Leia shifts, turning toward me. “Wait. Then what happened today?”

I blow out a breath and then gently ease my hand free to take a long sip of cider. “I went to the doctor. To that new clinic?”

Once I catch their nods, I return my gaze to the fire, still finding it difficult to believe how my story has changed. “She told me that it’s entirely possible, even probable, that the infection that caused the scarring could’ve started when my appendix burst in college. The doctor who removed my fallopian tubes never asked about appendicitis, but I guess he should have. And he didn’t even do an STD test. He just looked at me, saw a young, unmarried, sexually active woman, and assumed that was the cause.”

“Well, that sucks,” Leia says, still holding tight to my hand.

“It does. Especially because I thought I’d be with Peter forever.”

“But he didn’t believe you!” Daisy cries. “Fuck that guy.”

I lift my glass in salute. “Yeah. Fuck that guy.”

Typically, when Daisy whips out her tarot deck or bag of runes, I inwardly roll my eyes and just pretend to play along. I may not believe in her woo-woo, but it means a lot to her. But after my big confession, she insists that we throw our old fears into the fire.

Literally.

She pulls a notebook out of the boho monstrosity I call her bag of tricks, shoves pens and paper at us, and tells us to write down our greatest regrets. It doesn’t take me long. After all, I just dredged up my sordid past for them. So I write,believing the doctor and Peter. And then after a few moments, I add,not trusting myself.

After I fold up my paper, I look to Daisy for further instruction. While she finishes whatever she’s doing with her own—eyes closed, mumbling something while fervently pressing it against her sternum—I steal a glance at Leia. What I see on her face makes my heart skip a beat.

My boss-friend keeps her emotions close to the vest. She always did, but when she got pregnant at seventeen, she locked it all down and just powered through. From finishing her senior year while breastfeeding twins to working her way up CPR’s ranks while taking night classes at the community college, I’ve never seen her flinch away from a challenge.

But right now, her piece of paper balled up in her fist, I swear she’s regretting something big time. Before I can find the guts to ask her about it, Daisy’s bright green eyes pop open, and she flings her paper into the fire with a whoop, ordering us to follow suit.

It actually feels good to pitch my old fears at the flames. To watch as the edges curl and blacken, swallowing my words as the paper collapses on itself. When there’s nothing left but smoke, it’s almost like there’s new space in me. One space in particular that would like to be filled to the hilt over and over again in a thrusting fashion.

But also in my heart.

For the past couple years, I’ve been telling myself that I’m fine. Happy, even. Happy to fill in for my mom with the toddlers, happy to be the problem solver and the shoulder to cry on, happy I can be here for my parents. But what happens when they’re gone?

And I’m left alone?

If I’m not the giant fudge up I thought I was, maybe I deserve a person—a family—of my own. A ready-made one with a space for a mom.

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