Page 59 of The Game Plan
Mom sucks in a soft gasp. “Derek, that’s your daughter-in-law and future grandbaby. She is your concern.”
Dad lets out a deep breath, hands resting on his hips as he stares at the ceiling. “We had just moved on from the negative press about me hiring my son. The narrative had switched to the dynamic Campbell duo bringing home another championship. Instead, it’ll be about our family’s integrity. Every decision is going to be questioned.”
“I didn’t think it would go this far,” I admit.
A beat of silence. I glance toward Bret, who finally meets my eyes. She knows the truth, and I can see her heart breaking for me. This isn’t her battle, but I’ve brought the war to her doorstep. She’s another casualty on my long list of lies.
“This is a mess.” Mom sighs. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t come to us. I know we’re old-fashioned, but at the end of the day, you’re our children. We love you both.”
Dagger, meet heart.
Dad turns away, pacing, before stopping in front of me.
“This conversation is far from over, but I’m too pissed to think straight.” His voice is flat, emotions hidden. “Your ass better be in the weight room at six sharp, leading the session you missed this morning. We’ll deal with this later.”
Mom sniffles, glancing at both of us before she follows Dad out the front door.
The silence that follows echoes like a bomb went off.
And with the click of the door, my sister is throwing her arms around me.
“You’re going to get through this.”
I don’t know how she does it, but she anchors me.
As bad as this was, I’m terrified of what’s to come.
Today has been a whirlwind. My body screams. Ankles swollen to the size of softballs. Back aching like I’ve been hit by a semi. The brain fog is so thick, I’m convinced I’ve misplaced half my memory.
But despite it all, I’m floating on a lemon-sugar high.
Tonight’s my last night shift before switching to days once Jellybean arrives, and my team of coworkers and supervisors surprised me with a little party. Call it a final shift send-off, a mini baby shower—whatever it was, it was thoughtful and special, especially since I’ve only been at the call center for seven months.
The cubicle I sit in has pink and yellow streamers hanging from the walls. Inside the breakroom was a table decorated with pink and yellow balloons, a sign taped to the wall, saying ‘Oh, baby,’ a few gift bags next to an assortment of lemon-flavored treats. I guess my snacking while on the job wasn’t as inconspicuous as I thought. Lemon cookies. Lemon bars. Lemon cupcakes. Lemonhead candies. Lemon Starburst. It’s almost as if an email was sent around, and the only thing they knew aboutme was that I liked lemon-flavored food.
I didn’t expect the tears to come. But of course they did. One minute, I was laughing as my supervisor joked about everyone taking the lemon theme literally, and the next, I was ugly-crying with gratitude, mouth full of a lemon cookie.
But as I thanked them, my heart was full of something else. It felt dangerously close to being seen.
Not pity for having a baby on my own. But seen for the person I am.
Now, as I drive through the inky midnight streets toward home, I should be exhausted. And I am, but this time, I’m buzzing too.
How am I closing this chapter of my life? It feels like yesterday I was interviewing and disclosing my pregnancy. I would need to find something to help accommodate the university’s daycare program since I don’t have any other help.
It doesn’t feel real that, in just a few weeks, I’ll be someone’s mother.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling. There’s still so much to do in so little time. Things I should’ve done weeks ago, but alas, pregnancy has only allowed me to embrace my procrastination side. A car seat is sitting on the floor of my closet. Grant helped me put together the crib my aunt sent. Brynn said she’d send some of Cleo’s clothes she’s outgrown, which will help as long as she doesn’t send her entire wardrobe. Cleo Boyd is one spoiled little princess, and if I received half the things the girl owns, I wouldn’t be able to fit them in my closet.
Still, the essentials remain unchecked: bottles, diapers, wipes.
I should start a list, I think, mentally face-palming.
Thank god for that impromptu Target trip with Grant—at least I have a handful of girl clothing, burp cloths, and swaddles.
What even is my life?
Then it hits me—Grant.
