Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Though I think I saw him stalking me.
“Have you tried initiating? And can you blame him? The guy probably thinks you’re going to sue his ass for sexual harassment.”
“I would never!”
“I know that, but he doesn’t.” Nadia hugs me one more time before returning to her side of the booth. She sits with her back straight and gives me a hard look. “You have to tell him. There’s no other option.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Damn it, Angie.” She smacks her hand on the table. “This isn’t the time to be unsure, okay? Tell him the truth. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t.”
We keep talking for a while after that. Nadia has another drink and I sip my soda, intermittently reminded that, yes, there’s a baby growing inside me, which is wild to think about. Before we leave, Nadia gives me an extra-long hug, and promises to help me with anything I need, and I believe her.
The apartment stinks like weed when I get home. I sigh, kicking off my shoes. Is second-hand marijuana bad for unborn children? Probably, and I have no idea what I can do about it, short of telling my mother, which feels even harder than telling Connor. I toss my keys in the tray and find Dawn lying on the couch, that reality show about expensive yachts on TV, a still-burning joint between her limp fingers, the end dangling dangerously.
Her eyes are closed. She clearly passed out. I hurry over and snatch the joint away, stubbing it out in an ashtray. I keep telling her to switch to vapes or gummies but she refuses to change. I step back and take her in, my mother, her messy hair, her chest rising and falling, and that’s me.
Or it could be me. One day, sometime in the future, after years of raising a child all alone. Miserable, with nothing and nobody, broken and confused and failed, all because I screwed up.
How can I be my best self for this baby? If I have nothing, no future, no prospects?
A hard determination floods me. I’ve never been more sure of something in my life, but standing here in our rent-controlled apartment, looking at the mess of my mother, I’m positive about one thing.
I will never become like her.
I won’t be a wreck of a single mother.
I’ll be the best damn mom in the world, even if it kills me.
And that means making some hard choices and having some impossible conversations.
7
CONNOR
“What the heck are you doing here?” Rowan peers into my father’s office where I’ve been hiding for the last hour.
I raise a glass of bourbon. “Fortifying myself.”
My little sister’s nose wrinkles. She slips inside and shuts the door behind her. “Everyone’s leaving soon. Shouldn’t you be at the church already?”
“Probably.”
She glides over and does a twirl, holding out the skirt of her dress. “What do you think?”
“You look great, kid. Almost like a girl.”
She snorts and flops into a chair across from me. “And you look like a creep. Where’d the suit come from? A dead French guy?”
I look down at myself. “Sinead picked this. Well, it was one of her options. It’s designer.”
“Oh, well, if that’s from Sinead, then it must be perfect.”
I laugh and throw a pen at her. She deftly snatches it from the air and twirls it around her fingers, smiling at me. The scar on her face twists in a way I’ve always loved, even if it reminds me of how much pain she’s been through. I didn’t think anyone could make me smile today, but leave it to Rowan to pull it off.
“You should go find Dad and your mom before they leave you behind.”
“No way that’ll happen. You know how they are. Ever since the accident, Mom’s a helicopter parent.”
“She can be a little… overbearing.”
“You think? I went to hang out in the park with my friend last week and Mom legit followed me the whole time. She was like a freaky stalker.”
“Want me to talk to her?”
“No way, that’ll make it worse.”
I don’t mention that I’ve had men keeping an eye on her for years myself. That would only piss her off. “If you want, you can ride with me.”
“Speaking of which—“ She gets up, reaching out, and plucks the bourbon from my hand.
“Uh, you’re too young for that.”
“Yeah, and you’re driving today.” She places it down on the bar cart. “You sure you’re okay?”
I run a hand through my hair, probably messing it up, but it doesn’t matter. Sinead probably has a team of stylists waiting at the church to primp me into perfection like a freaking F1 pit team.
“I don’t want to bore you with adult shit, kid. My problems are my own.”
“Yeah, true, but your problems are so much more interesting than mine.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“What’s the matter? You don’t like Sinead? I know you two aren’t in love, I’m not a moron, but she seems great.”