Page 25 of CEO's Baby Scandal
I wasn’t giving up, and I wasn’t letting anything get in my way.
17
EMILY
Islogged into my apartment, dripping wet from the three-block walk from the subway station in the rain. My shoes squished water out with each step, leaving puddles along the way. I felt frustrated that I hadn’t remembered my umbrella, but I’d been so preoccupied with Daniel and worrying about how to tell him I was pregnant that I hadn’t even checked the weather. There was no one to blame but myself.
I peeled my suit jacket off, dropping it on the door mat next to my shoes, then set my purse down. It, too, dripped from the shower it had gotten, but the contents inside were safe, protected by the leather from which it was made. I was cold, shivering, and hungry, but I needed to warm up first. After the long day of work, and the emotional weight of being pregnant, I knew I needed some alone time to unwind and relax. I decided that a hot shower would do the trick.
I undressed quickly, trying to ignore the chill in the air, and stepped into the shower. My wet clothes lay on the floor in a puddle I’d have to clean up later. Immediately, I felt the hot water cascading down my body, like sweet relief after a long day. I put my head under the water and began to wash my hair. Thesound of rushing water was loud. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth ease my worries and wash away my weariness.
I let the shower run, my thoughts racing as I processed the events of the day and pondered the changes coming into my life. I felt the warmth of the water and the steam around me, and for a moment, I was lost in my own world.
Eventually, I opened my eyes and stepped out of the shower. I felt a wave of comfort, the steam still lingering around me like a hug. As I was drying off, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Soon, my body would change in miraculous ways, but I’d be unable to hide it. That made my gut clench as I remembered that I still had to tell Daniel. I got dressed, now feeling warm, at least.
I was famished. As I walked out to the kitchen, my stomach grumbled unpleasantly. I had been so preoccupied with my worries about being pregnant that I had forgotten to eat all day. Now, my body was demanding sustenance.
I walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Inside, a half-empty bottle of wine glinted in the dim light, beckoning me. I stared at it for a moment and then closed the door firmly. As much as I wanted to drown my troubles in a glass of wine, I knew that I had to be responsible and abstain while pregnant. And the fridge was nearly bare. It had been weeks since I grocery shopped, and the lack of lettuce, milk, and eggs was a clear sign that I was out of fresh things to eat.
The smell of my greasy leftover Chinese food was a pungent reminder of how long I'd gone without a home-cooked meal. I could already feel the healthy dinner I'd prepare in my head. My mouth watered at the prospect of a home-cooked meal with a glass of red wine, everything perfect and pure, but I managed to shut the fridge and move away.
I rummaged through the cupboards instead, eventually coming up with a few items to prepare a rudimentary meal. Ahandful of pitted olives, some stale crackers, a tomato, a hunk of cheese, and a jar of pickles were all I could find.
I laid out my ingredients on the counter and worked quickly to assemble a meal. Fried olives and cheese with tomato slices, served with crackers and pickles. It wasn't gourmet, but it would do.
As I ate, I kept thinking about what I would do if Daniel didn’t want to be a father. Could I support the baby financially? I was full of worries, and no matter how much I ate, the gnawing feeling in my stomach wouldn't go away. It was a cancer eating away at my mental stability. The food only served to numb the physical pain of hunger but did nothing to sate the beast that wanted to prey on my heart.
When I finished the meager meal, I tossed the leftovers out, including the leftover Chinese, and rinsed my plate. I’d do dishes later, but right now, all I wanted was to curl up on the sofa and watch a movie to get my mind off things. Being humiliated at work had really brought me down.
I collapsed on the couch and heard a knock just as I reached for the remote. No one in the city knew where I lived except Charlotte, Evelyn, and the lady from HR at work. It had to be Char, because Evelyn would have called me first. For a moment, I debated whether I wanted to open the door and have company, but the knocking grew louder, so I pried myself off the couch and tossed my wet hair, heading for the door.
I pulled the door open to reveal Charlotte. In one hand, she held a dripping umbrella, in the other a bag of cheeseburgers from McDonalds, and there was a bottle of wine tucked under her arm.
“Guess who’s here to rescue you from being alone after a shitty day?”
On any other day, her face would have been a welcome sight, but today I wasn’t feeling it. I stepped aside, mumbling, “Come on in.”
She brushed past me, leaving her umbrella by the door and heading toward the couch. The apartment was small—a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room. It was a dump, but it was my home. I didn't like the place, but I liked that it was mine. The living room furniture was the remnants of a fire sale, a stained brown leather sofa, a nicked coffee table, a chipped bookshelf. All of it was purchased with the little savings I had when I moved to Chicago.
Char plopped on the old sofa which I’d had cleaned professionally with some money I scrimped together from recycling aluminum cans. I hadn’t had time to do much else. The living room was painted in pale green and topped with brown shag carpeting. The window was covered over with yellowed shades, which ran down and blocked most of the light from getting in. That was well enough. If I couldn’t see out, then others couldn’t see in, and that was fine by me.
“You had a rough day, and I’m here to cheer you up.” Charlotte smacked the sofa, and I locked the door and joined her. She set the burgers and the wine on the table and picked up the remote. “How about a chick flick while you tell me about your day?”
I shrugged. “I was about to start watchingDirty Dancing.”
“Dirty Dancing? That’s your break-up movie. You told me things were okay with Dan.” She dived into the bag of cheeseburgers and pulled on out, dropping it on her lap. As she surfed channels with one hand, she unwrapped the burger with the other and took a huge bite. It looked to me like she was more interested in not being alone tonight than comforting me, but after such a crappy dinner, I didn’t care. I grabbed a burger and dug in too.
Our ritual of chick-flicks and wine would have to change, but even telling Charlotte about the baby seemed like a massive feat. So, I started with the small things. “I didn’t say things were fine. I said it’s another story and I’d bring that up later.”
Charlotte chewed loudly and nodded. “Go on,” she said with her mouth full. She set the burger on the wrapper sprawled on her lap and wiped her hands on her pants, then grabbed the wine bottle. She’d hit play onDirtyDancingand the opening credits were rolling. “Oh, God,” she said after swallowing, “I forgot glasses.”
“I—" I started to protest, but she was on her feet, racing to the kitchen before I got the words out. I shrank back, nibbling the burger. I had a feeling the grease would make my stomach turn, but I ate it anyway. It was the best thing I’d eaten this week.
“Here,” she said, pouring a glass full of wine from the bottle and thrusting it toward me. I took it, but I set it on the table and ate more of the burger.
“Now, tell me what’s up.”
As she sat, the couch jostled. I felt a bit queasy and decided to take it easy on the burgers. “Well, today was bad because of the guys being rude, but…”