Getting Her Back

“But have you?” she asks. “It may feel like it right now, but you’re not actually having a baby with him. Eventually you’re going to test positive and he’s going to disappear. You know I love you, and I’ve got your back. Just remember what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

She’s absolutely right. All the good times and the good sex, it’s hard to keep my focus where it should be: on me and my future child. I have to remember that Christian has made his choice, and he doesn’t want a family. Especially with me. I need some kind of mantra to keep in my head when I’m with him. I didn’t think it would be this easy to forget about what happened, but I can while he’s with me, inside me.

We change the subject because it’s not exactly fun to talk about that aspect of what happened, even with Ellen. Instead we go back to talking about her bad date and rehashing a compilation of the worst of the worst of her one-night stands. I swear that Ellen could write a book on dating, and it would be both funny and frightening. She’s had guys try to get her to marry them, one kicked her out immediately after sex. A few that made strange and crazy sounds during sex, and a hundred other stories. We’ve cultivated our favorites, and they never fail to get us laughing. It works today, too.

We’re about to leave, when Ellen gets quiet for a second. “Seriously though, Audrey. Are you going to be okay with this?”

I have to stop and think. “I hope so,” I say. “I don’t get that gut wrong feeling that I sometimes get when I’m choosing the wrong thing. This feels…natural. I’m not sure if that’s because of our history or because of the way we’re interacting now. But I feel good.”

“Good,” she says. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Thanks. It really does make me feel better that you ask.”

She finishes putting her tip on the table. “I’ve got your back, and I will kick his ass if he hurts you again.”

I laugh and give her a hug. “Good to know.”

We say our goodbyes and I head to work, but I won’t be there for long. I’ve got a busy day today, meeting with Ellen, and I’m also having lunch with my sister. We haven’t talked in a while, and to be honest, we’re just not that close. There are plenty of people who say it doesn’t make sense that we don’t talk, but we’re several years apart and have always had different interests.

My sister has always been a free spirit, and in the last few years she’s spent a significant amount of time overseas. That schedule, between time differences and whatever crazy and unique trip she was currently on, wasn’t conducive to a close relationship. However, now that she’s planning to spend some time in the states, and I’m helping to plan her surprise party, I thought it was time for us to catch up.

We meet at a small Italian place close to my office. A new contract came in today, and while I do want to catch up with her, I have to get back to work before too long. Grants are often time sensitive, and sometimes they come in at the last minute. Unfortunately, this is one of those.

When I walk into the restaurant, I see her immediately. She looks like me, standing about my height, but whereas I have dark brown hair, hers is a vibrant pink. If I’m honest with myself, part of the reason that I don’t talk to Celia that much is because I’m a little jealous. Sometimes I wish I could care less than I did about my job or wanting kids and stability, or that I could be as free as she seems to be.

She smiles when she sees me, jumping up to give me a hug. “Sis! It’s been a while this time. How are you doing?”

I hug her back. “I’m pretty good. Nothing that new to report, unfortunately.”

“That’s not true,” she says, stepping back and sitting down at the table. “Mom tells me that you’re trying to have a baby.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to swallow the half-lie that’s about to come out of my mouth. “I’m working with a clinic. I decided to do it on my own.”

Celia gives me a look, like she knows what I’m saying isn’t quite true. “You’ve got that look on your face,” she says. “The one where you’re lying. It’s the same one that you used when we were kids and Mom never knew.”

“I do not have a look!”

She laughs. “You totally do.”

The waitress appears and brings us glasses of water, and we order quickly. Me, fettuccine Alfredo, and Celia rigatoni with meatballs. “What exactly does this ‘look’ look like?” I ask once the waitress leaves. Celia shrugs. “You have this little half smile and you don’t make eye contact.”