Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Maybe he thought I did this kind of thing all the time, jumping in bed with guys when I drank? Although he was my best friend, the only person I hung out with, and he knew me better than anyone, I had no clue what would go through his mind.
But this was Devon. He’d never think that about me.
I admitted how immature I was acting, my emotions controlling me, but this situation had gone from uncomfortable to totally fucked up. I didn’t know how to process it, and running seemed like the only logical thing to do at the moment.
I couldn’t talk to my parents about this, not right now. And I really wasn’t about to tell them about the pregnancy before I told Devon, before I knew what the hell I was going to do.
The doctor said I had options, and although I knew what she meant, there was no way I was giving up this baby. It was mine, and I already loved it so much.
So I called up my parents and told them I was coming up for an impromptu visit. I’d just head out, pack a weekend bag, and hope I’d find some damn clarity.
It was wrong, and a part of me hated myself for running, for not going to Devon and telling him about the pregnancy. But I had to get my head wrapped around all this. I had to figure out what I was going to do. I absolutely would tell him, but when?
Already, I felt like an awful person for keeping this from him, even though I just found out myself. Maybe I could talk to my parents, explain what I was feeling, tell them about the baby? But I was already telling myself no. The first person I would tell about this would be Devon.
My parents would no doubt freak, although they would support any decision. But they were also old school, meaning they’d no doubt give me the speech about being disappointed, because I was so young, because I wasn’t married, hell, because I wasn’t even in a relationship. And that was definitely not something I wanted to deal with right now.
So for now, I’d keep this to myself for the time being, figure out what I was going to do, and then I’d tell my parents after I told Devon. I’d deal with their disappointed expressions and their concerned talk another day. Today, I’d just tell them about losing my job, which I hadn’t even confided in them yet.
I’d tell them that although I lost my job, I found another. It wasn’t anything but a part-time position at the local diner, but given the lack of job openings in town, I was lucky to have gotten that. But hell, that would hardly pay my half of the rent, not to mention all the other expenses I had. I was currently continuing to live off my savings and what I made at the diner, but things were stretched thin. So thin.
Until I found something more stable, something that made me more than minimum wage, I was good and screwed.
15
Leila
I arrived at my parents’ house a couple of hours ago, and as my dad and I sat on the back deck drinking the sun tea he insisted on making every single day, I tried to act as normal as I could, tried to act like my mind wasn’t bombarded with a bunch of shit.
My mother was in the kitchen finishing up dinner, and as I brought the cold glass to my lips, the ice clanking against the sides, I stared at the horse farm that lined the back of their property.
I could see a mare running back and forth over the pasture before slowing to a gallop. I used to come back here and watch the animals, go up to the fence and pet the horses’ manes. I called one Rosie, even though I knew that wasn’t her name. But she’d come to me regardless, butting my hand with her muzzle, letting me run my fingers through her thick fur. And when she passed away, I stayed in my room and cried for days.
Back then, my life had seemed so hard. Well, look at it now.
“So what’s been new with you, jellybean?”
I hated the nickname he’d given me, but it had been something he called me since I was a little girl. Jellybean, because one time when I was five, I’d eaten too many of them and had thrown up all over my mother’s favorite floral-print couch. My father had laughed hysterically over that, and the name had stuck ever since.
I shrugged, setting the glass on the armrest of the wooden Adirondack chair I was currently sitting on. “Nothing much,” I lied. I hadn’t told him I lost my job yet. I looked over at him and saw he already watched me.