Read When Girlfriends Step Up Online

Authors: Savannah Page

Tags: #Fiction, #relationships, #love, #contemporary women, #girlfriends, #single mother, #contemporary women's fiction, #chick lit, #baby, #chicklit, #friendship, #women

When Girlfriends Step Up (2 page)

BOOK: When Girlfriends Step Up
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Now, Lara understands these shortcomings of mine and why I sometimes attribute them to living life as a single-parent child. Lara accepts me for who I am, and promises she’ll always be there for me. She always knows what to say to pick me up. She’s encouraging and supportive. She, well, “gets” me. Actually, each and every one of my girlfriends—even Jackie, though she can act a little jealous of my close relationship with Lara from time to time—is supportive and encouraging. We help pick each other up when we’re down, and we also bring each other down to Earth when we might get a little too full of ourselves. It’s a give and take with all of us, but for some reason—a mutual home life or what have you—Lara and I really have this give and take thing down pat. She’s my Lucy Ricardo and I’m her Ethel Mertz…or the other way around.

But now, nearly a year later, things are back to where they once were. Or, at least they’re back to a
version
of the way they once were. We’re all the best of friends again, the way it’s supposed to be. Actually, I’d have to say things are better than they’ve ever been. Life is exciting and definitely filled with the unexpected. Life is good. I’m finally at a place where I am happy. My self-esteem is slowly but surely improving. I’m not boasting a wild amount of confidence, but I think it’s safe to say that I feel pretty damn good about where I am, who I am, and what my life is becoming. God, when I think back to where I was last March and where I am now, ten months later…I’ve made leaps and bounds!

Naturally, I had to endure a lot of hell to get to this point, and that’s the story I hope my nearly finished painting tells. The past year was amazing, but frightening. It was a year that I don’t think I could have survived had it not been for my best girlfriends.

The faintest of whines mixed with gurgles sounds from my one-way monitor that I’ve set on the dining table near my watercolors. That monitor has become my second cell phone—always on, always within reach.

“Coming, Rose,” I call out to the bundle of joy that turned our group of six into a group of six-and-a-half. Today is Rose’s one-month birthday, and she still needs her sponge bath before I doll her up for her party. “Mama’s coming.”

While I feed Rose, I’ll leave you with my painting. I’ll let it tell you my story…

Chapter One

It was a beautiful spring Sunday in Seattle. The May sun was shining, the sky a vibrant blue, and all of the flowers in full bloom; the grass, trees, and shrubs were a radiant green, and the fragrant aromas of gardenia and honeysuckle hung in the air. Yet while the great outdoors was singing its cheerful spring song, a dark and heavy cloud had settled in my apartment, and bad news and awkward vibes were raining down. Torrentially. Luckily the storm itself hadn’t lasted too long, but the ominous cloud still loomed overhead. Bad news likes to hang around like that.

For the past several hours I’d been both making amends with my long-time friend, Sophie Wharton (the storm that had settled), and explaining my latest conundrum (that ominous cloud of bad news). Sophie had unexpectedly arrived at my doorstep earlier that afternoon in an effort to repair the friendship both of us had been giving quite a beating since my sleeping with her boyfriend, Brandon. (Yes, I know. Horrible.
Really
horrible stuff.) I was completely taken aback by her visit, because we weren’t supposed to get together to talk about the elephant in the room until later that week. But Sophie didn’t want another lost minute between us, and, at that time, I couldn’t have needed a friend more.

You see, for the past week…week-and-a-half or so…I’d had the dreadfully awful, sneaking suspicion that I was pregnant (now enter the latest conundrum). Going on two months without a period, a girl knows something’s not right. Especially when the nasty little visitor normally arrives as scheduled month in and month out. Two months—no visitor. Serious problem.

And as daunting a situation it might be to find yourself in when you’re not married or in a committed relationship, or when you’re a single girl, or when your boyfriend will most likely high-tail it on out when he hears the news, it doesn’t get much worse than my case. I’m unlucky in love (something that my best friend Lara Kearns and I sadly have in common, which we often lament together), and I’d made a really bad decision one night. So not only was I a single girl who might have been knocked up, but I was a single girl possibly carrying the baby not of an ex-boyfriend, not even of some John Doe I slipped up with from a bar. No. I could very well have been pregnant with the baby of one of my best friend’s ex-boyfriends.

Six pregnancy tests later, each one as positive as jolly Mister Rogers, the guessing game was over. I, Robin Sinclair, was going to be a mother.

“I still can’t believe this,” Sophie said, pacing my cramped living room. “I still can
not
believe this.” The shocking news of my pregnancy was still as true now as it had been just two hours ago when I sprang the news on Sophie.

I sat on the sofa, clutching one of the light yellow pillows that one of my best friends, Claire Linley, had made for me as a housewarming present when I moved into this apartment four years ago.
 

God, those were the easy times. All any of us had to worry about back then was passing our mid-terms…or if that guy from the party last night would call us like he said he would…

“Maybe the test gave you a false reading,” Sophie said, stopping abruptly in the center of the living room. “Those things can be faulty, right?” Her face read of hope. Mine, however, had panic and fear written all over it. I know it did because the churning in my gut and the dryness of my mouth told me that I was making the face of a panicked pig going to slaughter. And the worst thing was that in a few months time I probably would actually
look
like a panicked pig going to slaughter. I let out a groan and pulled the pillow in tighter to my chest.
 

“Where’s the kit box?” Sophie walked towards the kitchen.

“There are three of them,” I said, no life behind my words.

With all three boxes in hand Sophie started to read over each set of instructions. She looked determined. That was Sophie—always taking (and needing) control. This was one particular thing, however, over which she would have no control. Neither would I.

“Honestly, Robin,” she said, not looking up from the instruction sheets. “These home kit thingies can be faulty. I’ve read many stories about girls who take these tests and get false positives. It happens
a lot.
Just pick up a copy of
Cosmo
and those kinds of stories are all
over
the place. Or tune in to MTV.”
 

“Oh forget it,” I said, a hint of life coming back into my voice. “I’ve taken six tests, Sophie.
Six
. Every single one of them is positive. Who am I kidding?” She looked over at me. “I’m pregnant.”

Sophie took a seat next to me. “I took four of those stupid tests before you got here,” I said. “All of them positive. And you saw for yourself those last two. Positive, positive.”

It hadn’t taken long to break the news of my possible pregnancy to Sophie when she arrived that afternoon to make amends. A girl can’t keep that kind of news to herself, even if the woman with whom she was sharing such news played a difficult role in the whole ordeal. Once the initial shock subsided, Sophie did what I least expected she would do in such a desperately pathetic situation. Instead of running out of my apartment, screaming profanities and calling me every whorish name in the book, she embraced me in a tight hug and promised that everything would work out fine. Then she handed me one of her homemade cupcakes she’d brought over. “Comfort food,” she’d said, as I picked at the sweet frosting.

Then, finally, came the sudden moment of shock for Sophie: One of her best friends was
pregnant
with her
ex-boyfriend’s
baby. Damn. She looked fearful for a while, scratching her head and pacing the floor, as if trying to figure out a solution to a problem that had no solution. Then a calm settled once again, and good ol’ Sophie came around. Before I knew it she was whisking me back to the local drug store to pick up another home pregnancy kit because “there is just no way this is possible, Robin. We need to make sure!”

“I’m pregnant, Sophie,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder, limply holding the two most recently positive test strips. “I know it.” I waved around the strips. “You know it. Now what the hell am I going to do?”

After a brief moment of silence, Sophie said, “
We
are going to take care of this.
We
are going to figure this out.” She ran her fingers along my back, giving me some relaxing chills. “Robin? I have to ask something.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you positive it’s Brandon’s baby?”

“As positive as all those damn tests, Sophie.” I sighed heavily, tossing the strips aside. “You know me. Unlucky in love. I’ve been closed for business for a long time. The only misstep was that night with Brandon.” I stopped speaking, not wanting to inflict any more harm on Sophie. Having had a one-night stand with Brandon was enough damage; I didn’t need to draw her a picture of the night’s events.

“Well then, there’s just one thing we have to do for starters,” she said, still running her fingers along my back. “We have to tell him.”

I shot my head up and quickly denied her suggestion. There was no way in hell I was going to tell Brandon. He was no more a part of my life than he was of Sophie’s. Well, present bun-in-the-oven excluded. But still. He and Sophie had been broken up for about two months, and it wasn’t like I had anything more than a one-night stand with him; no way either of us needed, or wanted, to bring him back into our lives.

Sophie figured differently.
 

“He
is
the father, Robin. As much of a dickwad as he is, he still deserves to know that he has a child.” She shook her head, looking a bit astonished. “I still can’t believe any of this is happening… You think I’d be raging furious, huh?” She stifled a small chuckle. “Whatever.” She shook her head again. “That’s neither here nor there. The point is, you’re pregnant with his baby and he deserves to know about it. And
you
deserve support from him above all.”

“Oh, I don’t want anything from him,” I said. “He’s already given me enough. I don’t want him to be a part of any of this.”

“Robin.” Sophie looked me sharply in the eyes. “Robin, you’ve told me more than once that you hate your father for not being a part of your life. For choosing to walk out on you and your mom and your siblings. Do you honestly want to deprive your baby of a father? Even if it is…Brandon.” She squished up her face at the mention of his name.

Sophie had a point. I was always quick to blame my father for many of my male- and confidence-related problems. I’ve never gotten over his behavior and abandonment. Was I willing to purposely set up the same scenario for my own baby?

“No,” I said defiantly, quickly rethinking my stance on the subject. True, I detest my father for leaving and not being a part of my life, but would I rather he had stuck around and made the rest of our lives miserable? Of course not. Would I rather have a loving and doting father who’s actually
there
for me? Obviously. That wasn’t the choice, though.

“Now, given the choice between a father who stays ‘for the kids’ and is a complete a-hole all the time, or a father who does the courtesy of taking his deadbeat self elsewhere…” I looked just as sharply into Sophie’s eyes. “I suppose if Brandon were man enough to want to help me out, then perhaps he could play some role in this. But if he’s going to be a complete jerk then I’d much rather have him play
no
part in my baby’s life. None.”

Sophie nodded in understanding, then said, “Well whether you want money for an abortion or child support to help care for the baby—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I’m keeping it.”

“Are you sure?”

The thought of terminating my pregnancy had never crossed my mind. The contrary, actually. One of the first things that popped into my head once I was convinced that I was pregnant (aside from the initial panic) was the health of the baby. Was it all right? Was it growing like it should be? How developed was it? Did it already have a heartbeat I could hear? Was it a boy or a girl? And would this baby—my baby—accept being the child of a single parent? Could I provide everything he or she needed to be a healthy and happy child? Thoughts of whether or not I would keep my baby never entered my head.

“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “I am definitely keeping this baby. I couldn’t give it up. I know I couldn’t do something like that.”

Sophie said she understood, and insisted that it was all the more reason to tell Brandon that I was expecting.

“He’s going to have to help pay for the baby. At
least
,” she said. “He’s half as much in this as you are. It’s only fair. And I’m not saying he has to pay up just because I think he’s a scumbag and deserves everything he’s got coming to him.”

“I’m not trying to punish Brandon by keeping the baby, Sophie,” I said.

“I’m not saying that,” she said quickly. “No, no, no. This is
your
baby, but it’s also a shared responsibility. He has to help, Robin. It’s not fair for you to have to go at this alone. He has to know.”

I nodded my head. As much as I didn’t like what she was saying, she was making a lot of sense.

“And you won’t be alone in this,” she added. “Brandon may come through and really step it up! A total shocker if so.” She mumbled the last part ironically. “He may surprise us all. And don’t think for one minute that I—that all us girls—aren’t going to be there for you, too. We’re your family, Robin.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You know it’s not right that Brandon sits around clueless. He
does
have the right to at least
know
that he has a baby on the way.”

So it was decided. Somehow, someway, Brandon would find out that he was going to be a dad, and by some magical grace he was going to have to play a role in all of this. Agree to be a dad? Agree to split everything right down the middle? Responsibilities, finances, visitation? I knew being biological parents together to a child was the absolute furthest I wanted to take my relationship with Brandon. I didn’t really know him, I certainly didn’t love him, and it just wasn’t an option to try to strike something up with him. What, say, “Hey, Sophie. Brandon and I are going to hook up since we have this kid together and all.”? No. Out of the question! I wanted to spend my life with a man I loved, and I wanted my baby to have a father who loved him or her. One broken home in my memory was enough.

BOOK: When Girlfriends Step Up
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