The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 4)

I love you.

More than you’ll know.

Dear Elliot,

I’m back to writing in my diary.

Since I’m not going to see you until your winter break, I thought I would keep you in the loop by journaling. You’re busy and the last thing you need is me burdening you every day with baby updates.

So I will write them here.

Someday, when you’re ready, I’ll share these letters with you. Until then, they will go here where only my eyes can see them.

It’s Monday and getting cold. I stopped for hot chocolate on my way to class this morning and added extra whipped cream because I haven’t really taken advantage of the “eating for two” philosophy yet. Pretty sure this baby will come out being addicted to cocoa, whipped cream, and marshmallows.

I felt my first flutters of life today, Elliot. Don’t worry, I was alone when I felt it—no Rex to swoop in and steal your thunder. Not today anyway, but he does love having a “knocked-up friend,” as he calls me. He is so weird sometimes, LOL.

Tonight I’m going to my dad’s for dinner. It’s been a rough road, but we’re finally getting there. I think mostly he’s embarrassed he has this respectable position at the university, and my first year here, I got pregnant. Linda thinks he’s angry because he couldn’t prevent me getting hurt, but I’m not so sure. He stomps around the house, slamming drawers and grunting.

As for my mom? She isn’t ignoring my phone calls anymore like she did for three weeks after finding out, and she has stopped calling my dad to scream at him. Talk about dysfunctional.

You know, everyone thinks they have the family with the most problems, but when you look further, you see all the cracks.

For the sake of my sanity, I’m hopeful we can all look back and laugh about it.

Hope you’re well. I’m tired and ready for another nap.

Anabelle

Elliot,

I was thinking about the conversation we had in my room about my dad, and I realized I haven’t told you the story—any of it—about when I told Dad about the baby.

So I will tell you now, the memory turning my stomach a little.

I dragged Rex along for moral support, which I had mixed feelings about to begin with. Dad is warming up to Rex but not at the rate I was hoping, and I knew having them in the house together would be touchy. But, I didn’t want to go alone. I wanted someone’s hand to hold, just in case, so he was my guy.

I could barely eat the dinner Linda had prepared, and I heard none of the conversation (mostly wrestling talk). Then, when we’d cleaned the kitchen and went to sit in the living room, I told him.

I just blurted it out because WHAT ELSE DO YOU SAY? There is no easy way to give this news.

He stood up in his chair, stared at me. Then walked from the room, stormed outside. He stood outside, in the cold for a good ten minutes, Elliot, stewing. Swearing. Lots of swearing—I cannot imagine what the neighbors thought.

Dad wouldn’t look at me when he finally came back inside. He asked one thing: “Who did this?” If looks could kill, Rex Gunderson would have been a dead man.

“Not him,” I said.

“Not me! Don’t hurt me!” Rex had his hands up in the surrender position, and if it wasn’t so sad, I would have laughed so hard.

“It’s that roommate of yours, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yes, but I love him.”

“Love.” He snorted. “How is that working out for you? Didn’t that boy move out?”

He was being mean, but I don’t blame him. This is not what he had planned for me. I think if he had known this is how me moving here was going to turn out, he never would have had me come. Never in a million years…

“Obviously you’re going to move back home.”

“I’m not. Right now, I can make it on my own.”

“Because I’m paying your rent.”

“Dad…”

“You have no job, no degree, and your roommate got you pregnant. You are moving home.”

At that moment there was no arguing with him, but for now, I’m still in your house. My house.

We’ll see what happens in a few more months.

I miss you,

Anabelle

Dear Elliot,

It was great hearing your voice on the phone last night. Sorry I sounded so tired—that’s happening a lot lately. I know you bought your own copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Did you know they have websites where you can track your pregnancy progress and read forums? Don’t know if there are any dads lurking among them, but if you’re ever curious, take a peek.

I go on them a lot, mainly to find other young women in my situation, always searching for…something. Normalcy, I guess. I wonder if my life will ever be normal after this.

After the baby is born.

I wonder every day what I’m going to do in the spring—probably get a job and put the baby in daycare. I would rather date that douchebag Eric Johnson than ask Linda to babysit.

It’s important that I do this myself.

It might have been harsh when my mom told me I had to deal with the consequences myself, but she was right. I’ll worry about my plan tomorrow though, I’m so so tired. **yawn** Madison and I have been watching movies together at night, just like you and I would. She crawls into bed with me sometimes, and we watch our shows. I like not being alone—that big bed is lonely.

She and I have been talking about it, and while she really loves me, I don’t think she wants to stay living with me once this baby comes. She likes sleep, LOL. I feel bad but totally understand. Who could blame her?

Anabelle

Elliot,

Well, it’s finally happened. I’m up to two cups of steaming hot chocolate a day. I’m officially addicted! Guess there are worst things to crave, like McDonald’s in the middle of the night, or ice cream. I read that lots of women crave apples—why can’t I want fruit?! It’s so much healthier, but I suppose cocoa is harmless enough, yeah?

Only ONE time this week did I ask Rex to run and fetch me potato chips. Fine, and French onion dip. Seriously though, you can’t eat one without the other, and I was craving it so bad. He must think I’m so gross, I ate almost that entire bag myself—don’t know if that’s something I should be putting in this diary, but I’m trying to be honest.

Nothing says honesty like getting drunk on chips and dip.

My dad and Rex have had a reckoning of sorts, and they’re finally getting along, better than they did when Rex was working for the team as the manager. He and I went over again this weekend, and he helped my dad rake the yard then we all had dinner, mashed potatoes and gravy and OH MY GOD, IT WAS SO GOOD. Did you know Rex is from Iowa, too? He grew up not too far away, and his mom sent me a few bags of really good hot chocolate mix and marshmallows last time he went home. It was so sweet and it is SO GOOD.

Crap, I just realized this entire letter has been about food.

Promise that’s not all I do, LOL. It’s just the only thing I talk about.

I’m not even that big yet. You still can’t tell I’m pregnant, at least not from the back. Maybe from the side, if you’re looking for the bump. I’ll attach a picture.

Love,

Miss you.

Anabelle

Dear Elliot,

I had to break down and buy a new, long puffy coat. My one from last year no longer fits. Thank God I’ve been saving money, because holy cow staying warm is expensive. I’ve been searching for a part-time job, on campus if I can manage it, for some extra spending money. Storing it away like a squirrel.

There is one job that sounds perfect. It’s in the registrar’s office and carries some actual responsibility, which would be nice.

Yesterday I finally had someone ask if I was pregnant, so I guess you CAN tell, LOL. I was taking off my jacket in a contract law class and one of my classmates (a guy) was sort of checking me out from head to toe. When he got to my stomach his whole expression changed. He goes, “Whoa. You’re not knocked up, are you?”

I don’t think I was embarrassed, exactly, more caught off guard because I wasn’t ready for it. I should probably start preparing myself for more of those reactions. Of course he was horrified; we’re in college—who the hell wants to be pregnant? I was his walking, talking, living nightmare. Bet he went home and thanked Jesus he’d never slept with me.