“I have to talk to you about something, Jay. A big-talk.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Is this gonna be like the “big-talk” about the clitoris? And you told me I should research all I could about it and that I’d thank you one day? ’Cause . . . that was awkward.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “This one is gonna be so much worse.”
“Wow.” He puts the game on pause, closes his laptop, and sets it aside. “Okay.”
I swallow roughly, my mouth suddenly dry.
“So, a few months ago, when I signed the papers for the webshow, I went out with Aunt Erin and Jack to celebrate. And that night . . . I met a man.”
When I pause, Jason looks at me—waiting—his expression a nudging, wordless, “Okay, and . . . ?”
“And he was a really great guy—funny, sweet, talented. I liked him a lot, right away, and he liked me too. He treated me well, and we . . .”
Jason picks up on where I’m headed. His features pinch with a hint of hesitance and a slight tinge of disgust. “You hooked up?”
I nod. “We did. We hooked up.”
We hooked up a lot.
“Sometimes, adults can spend the night together, and connect in a moment, enjoy each other, and make a wonderful memory. And that’s all it’s supposed to be—it doesn’t always have to lead to a relationship.”
“O-kay . . . why are you telling me this?”
Here we go. Time to drop the baby-bomb.
“I’m telling you because we used protection—it’s really important to me that you understand we used protection. But . . . protection doesn’t always work. That’s why you shouldn’t have sex until you’re prepared for all the emotional and physical consequences that may result. Because, even though we used protection . . . it didn’t work. And I’m pregnant.”
My son’s eyes widen, and bulge.
“You’re pregnant? Like—with a baby?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “With a baby. That’s usually how it works.”
“Holy shit.”
“Pretty much.”
“So . . . you’re having a baby? For real? I’m going to be a big brother?”
I put my hand over his. “Yes, I am. And yes, you are.”
“Wow.” Jason scratches his head behind his ear. “Is this guy—is he going to help you? Am I going to meet him? Is he going to be around to help with the baby?”
“Well . . . that’s the thing . . . he doesn’t know. I’m working on finding him but I haven’t been able to do that yet.”
“Oh.”
God, this must be weird for him. It’s weird for me.
“Are you . . . feeling okay?” He glances down at my flat stomach. “Is the baby okay?”
“I’m tired, a little nauseous. I went to the doctor today and she said the baby and I are both healthy as horses. Then she prescribed me prenatal vitamins which are the size of horse pills—so it all makes sense now. But yeah, I’m good. I’m good with the whole situation. It’s not going to change anything with the show. We’re still going to be living here for the next year, now there’ll just be a little extra content.”
I’ve already taken notes on future videos I can do on a healthy diet during pregnancy, preventing stretch marks, designing the nursery.
Jason’s quiet for several moments, then he looks at me with the adaptability and agility that only children possess.
“Okay. Cool.”
I lean toward him. “Are you all right with this? You can tell me if you’re not. If you have questions or feelings—you can talk to me.”
He nods. “I know. And I’m fine. I mean, that’s life, right? It happens and we roll with it. That’s what we do.”
And it seems my recycling quirks aren’t the only part of me that’s rubbed off on Jason.
“I think it’ll be fun to have a baby around. A little brother or sister that I can show things to. It’s going to be great, Mom. Don’t worry,” he adds.
The smile that stretches across my face is big and relieved—and so, so grateful. My throat clogs and my eyes go damp, because my son is amazing.
I lean my head against his shoulder, my voice soft. “You know you’re, like, the best kid ever, right?”
He shrugs. “I do okay.”
~ ~ ~
Late that night, in my pajamas, I climb onto my own mattress, with my computer on my lap and “Ophelia” by the Lumineers playing low on my phone. The walls are bare in the master bedroom, my boxes and suitcases of clothes line the walls, but still—the house feels warm and safe around me. It already feels like home.
I look for Dean online again. I even try searching “Dean, the sexy drummer in New Jersey” but it just sends me to a bunch of “singles in your area now” websites. So, I open up the video camera on my computer—focusing on my makeup free face, the freckles across my nose bare for all to see. I press record and talk in low, hushed tones.