“I know, and that’s a good thing. You don’t have anything to recover from. Obviously, we’re going to need to talk to your doctor, see how he or she feels about you working out during the remainder of your pregnancy. And you’ll have to get back to training hard as soon as you deliver—”
“I can do that.”
“I know you can.” He pauses for a second, and I hear him clicking away on his keyboard. “When are you due?”
“June.”
“June. A summer baby. That’s great.” And to his credit, he really sounds like he believes what he’s saying. “Congratulations.”
He’s the first one to say it and it gets to me, makes my stomach shimmy with something besides nausea, besides despair, with something that feels an awful lot like—hope?
“Thank you. I’m sorry about this. I know we had plans—”
“Don’t apologize to me. It’s your career. And what good are plans if you can’t make minor adjustments to them every once in a while?”
“This is a lot more than a minor adjustment.”
“Maybe. But maybe not. You boarders have long careers if you take care of yourselves and your bodies. One year—even this year—isn’t going to make or break you.” He pauses. “Can I ask about the father? I’m not trying to be nosy, but the news is going to be all over this. And so are your sponsors. If it’s someone famous—”
“It is.” I pause, worry my lower lip between my teeth. “I don’t want this getting around yet, because he and I haven’t discussed how we’re going to handle it.”
“That’s fine. I’m not going to be screaming it from the rooftops yet. Just give me a heads-up so I can start thinking about how to spin it.”
“Do we have to spin it? Can’t it just be what it is?”
“That depends on whether you want to keep your sponsors and all the nice money they bring with them.”
Right. Of course. I’m unmarried and pregnant and while I’m not representing any brands that are considered particularly wholesome, the fact that I’m having a baby out of wedlock is going to matter to some people. I can only hope it doesn’t matter to enough of the right ones. Not when I need to keep at least a couple of my endorsements.
“It’s Luc, Mitch.”
“Luc?” he asks, sounding stunned for the first time in memory. “Luc Jennings?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Okay.” He pauses for a minute and there’s more clicking, more throat clearing. Finally he says “that’s awesome. I can totally work with that. Two long-term best friends falling in love, having a baby together, maybe getting married—”
“We’re not getting married!”
“Okay, fine. Just falling in love
and having a baby—”
“We’re not in love, either.”
Even as I say the words, I feel my stomach protest queasily. I don’t know what Luc and I are. We never got far enough along to define it when we were together. And now that we’re not together—now that we’re both single—I’m not sure what we’re supposed to say about my growing tummy. I’m not sure how we’re supposed to handle it with reporters if they ask.
“Okay.” His voice is a little quieter, a little more subdued, when he says, “You guys talk about it a little, figure out what you two want the official line to be. And you should do it soon because once the news of your pregnancy breaks, people are going to be asking. All right?”
I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “Yes. All right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“No reason to apologize. There’s a lot of tension going on right now, I’m sure, which is why I’m going to hang up so I can study your contracts. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what they say, but I want to take another look at them before I start making plans. Okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Once I look them all over, I’ll start formulating some ideas and then I’ll call you back. And we’ll discuss how we think we should handle this.”
I feel myself relax even more because Mitch said it was going to be okay. He said that he’d formulate a plan. And I believe him. He’s been my agent since I was sixteen years old and I trust him implicitly when it comes to my career. He won’t steer me—or Luc—wrong.