Page 14 of Love Beyond Repair
“When was your last period?” she asks. My mind races. So much has happened lately. It never even crossed my mind. “I’m not sure. A few weeks ago, maybe. I don’t really keep track. No boyfriend, you see.” I flash her a smile, but a sense of unease creeps in.
“Did you use protection with Ben?” she probes, her eyes narrowing. “Anyone else since?”
Silence. I know where she’s going with this. I can’t be. It was one night, and… surely, we used protection. Both of us couldn’t be that careless. “No,” I whisper. “Just him.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re at the supermarket, giggling nervously like schoolgirls. Except I’m thirty-three and struggling to remember if the guy wore a condom. This is basic sex education, and I’ve failed miserably. If I am pregnant, well, I’ll have a real-life scenario to warn teenagers about the importance of protecting themselves.
Ben’s the only man I’ve had sex with this year, possibly in the last two. I don’t remember the last time before him. After he got engaged, I numbed myself with one-night stands. Since the wedding, I tried to feel it all, even if it hurts. Telling myself, living it, absorbing the moments will help me move on. I wasn’t always successful, but sometimes I can almost convince myself it works.
Amy drags me to the intimate health section. Brightly colored bottles of lube promising amazing sensations fill the shelves. The choices are endless, I think absently. Amy grabs a pack of three tests.
“You had unprotected sex over three months ago. No period since. Do the math,” she tells me, and the woman a few feet down turns, then immediately looks away. I laugh, then bolt to the bathroom to throw up. My sister waits outside for me to return.
“You know this is a complete overreaction,” I mutter as we approach the checkout. The salesperson, an older lady, maybe in her fifties, smiles kindly, scanning my tests through. The register beeps as if announcing it to the world.
“Fifteen pounds and thirty pence, please. I hope you get the result you’re wishing for,” she murmurs as she slips the tests in a shopping bag. I’m grateful for her discretion, but my mind considers what she said.What I’m wishing for. I don’t know if I’d prefer positive or negative.
Children were something I accepted wouldn’t happen. With no long-term partner, and a questionable attitude toward moving on, it was unlikely that becoming a parent was in my future. But this, what’s happened, opens the door. Maybe if it’s positive, it won’t be a bad thing. Maybe it was meant to be.
Back at my apartment, we line the tests up next to the sink after I pee on them. Amy sits next to me on the edge of the bath, hands clasped on her lap, eyes on the tests as if they might explode if we don’t keep watch.
“Whatever happens, I’m here for you,” she whispers, cuddling into my shoulder. Disappointment in myself weighs heavy. The guilt, even more so. But then, that unexpected feeling unfurls. A softness. A small sense of hope.
If I am pregnant, then part of him will always be with me. And that doesn’t feel like the worst thing.
Both of us lean forward in tandem. We stare down at the six blue lines, two on each test.
“Yep,” Amy says softly. “You definitely have a bun in the oven.” She bursts into tears, then starts jumping around the bathroom. “I’m going to be an auntie,” she chants.
I gawk, dumbstruck, but I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
Here I am, pregnant with the child of the man I love. And yes, he’s married. With kids. But tonight, that doesn’t matter. Bizarrely, it feels like a second chance.
***
The months slip past, and the time never came to tell Ben. Each opportunity, each time I planned to contact him, something would stop me. A photo. A comment. The weight of what I knew telling him would do.
I used Amy’s account to spy on him after he blocked me. His world looked picture-perfect from the outside. I wasn’t ready to be the storm that destroyed it.
I know via Amy, who knows via Terry, that Kelsey knew about our indiscretion that night when they were separated. But Ben and she talked; they tried again. Put the past behind them and started fresh. He put the family he knew he had first. I can’t blame him, though part of me wished he would fight for us.
Terry now has limited contact with Ben. The odd text. A comical email. He also doesn’t know for sure who the father of my baby is. I begged Amy not to tell him the truth. He’s loyal to Ben; he could never keep his mouth shut. I didn’t want to put him in that position.
Amy says he’s never asked. So, deep down, I know he is fully aware. And by not asking, he’s decided not to put himself in the firing line either. He chose peace and obliviousness over knowledge. If it were me, I’d probably do the same.
So, here I am, nine months pregnant with a baby boy and ready to pop. Work has been incredibly supportive. I have a job to go back to when I’m ready. I’ve sorted out nursery placements, and, for once, I’m on top of things. Nesting hit hard. My apartment smells of lavender and fresh paint, baby books stacked neatly on my kitchen table. Poor Terry has acted like a surrogate husband. Lifting, painting, and moving whatever is required for a peaceful life.
Two weeks ago, he proposed, and Amy said yes. Now, we both have lots to look forward to. I’m excited for us all.
Even though I’m going to be a single parent, I’m confident I can do this. This little boy is going to be my entire world. My second chance. Maybe the greatest blessing I never thought I’d receive.
One week overdue, pains crease my stomach. I pull myself out of bed. As I waddle to the bathroom, another wave of pain hits. He’s coming. My son is ready to enter my life. I hope his arrival isn’t too difficult.
I text my sister.
Baby Corrigan is a go.
Throwing on my bathrobe, I grab my hospital bag. Amy and Terry burst through the door within minutes.They really do live way too close.
