Lots of women chose to raise children on their own. And I had the means and the motivation.
But I’d always been too unsure of myself. Too concerned that I wouldn’t have what it took to be a good mother. Now, here I was, forty, in the woods of Maine, and accidentally pregnant by a man I’d vowed to hate for the rest of my life.
With a deep breath in, I picked my phone up off the counter and called Celine. It was in moments like this that I ached for my mother. For her kind words and the safety of her hugs. She’d know what to say and what to do, and she’d help me resolve all the ugly, complicated feelings.
The ache never stopped. It never lessened. I had just gotten better at living with it. Giving it the right amount of room inside my heart and my mind to allow me to get through the days.
Thirty minutes later, tires crunched in the driveway and joyful voices echoed downstairs.
I couldn’t move. My ass had been glued to the dove-gray tile of my bathroom. The excited squeals from the kids migrated to the backyard, along with Karl’s deep voice as he promised them popsicles and sandcastle building.
A moment later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Then Celine was there, leaning against the frame, wearing a concerned frown. “Why the SOS call with no explanation? I’ve been so worried.”
Guilt hit me hard. I was sitting here on the floor, stewing in the consequences of my choices, and she was probably freaking out that I was sick or hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I said, bursting into tears.
She immediately sat next to me and pulled me into her arms. “I love you, Chloe. You can tell me anything. We can get through it together.”
I pointed to the trash can, where several boxes and used pregnancy tests were piled up.
“Oh shit,” Celine said. Pulling me closer. “Shh,” she soothed. “Get it out. It’s okay to be overwhelmed and emotional. I’m here and I’ve got you.”
For several minutes, I let the tears flow, soaking through her T-shirt and relishing the comforting way she stroked my hair. I’d missed her so much. I’d let time and distance and her shitty husband get between us, and I hated myself for it. She was the best person I knew.
“Tell me how this happened,” she said quietly.
I pulled back and looked at her, unable to form the words. Would she judge me? I was judging myself, that was for damn sure.
She raised one brow, and her lips kicked up on one side. “Gus?”
I nodded, ducking my head.
“I knew it!” She pumped her fist. “The way he looked at you? That lumberjack longing? I called this.”
When I glowered at her, she schooled her expression and pulled me in for another hug.
“Are you—”
“Yes. I’m keeping it.” There was no question. “All options are valid, but I want this. I know I don’t seem happy, but that’s mostly because I’m in shock and trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to handle all this. But I promise you, this is a good thing.”
“Okay, then we celebrate.” That hint of a smile on her face grew into a full-fledged grin. “Because babies are amazing, and hey, you got laid!”
“Shut up,” I growled.
“Oh no, absolutely not.” She shook her head at me. “You owe me details. Where? When? What positions?”
My heart lurched. I didn’t want to think of that night. “Stop.”
“I’m your sister,” she urged, “and I haven’t had sex in years.”
I ignored that comment. I’d tried to talk to her about her marriage so many times, but she’d always been cagey with details.
“I went to his house. Last month, after the FBI meeting.”
“And…?”
“At first, we just had wine and cheese and chatted. But then we started yelling at each other.”
She pumped a fist again. “Sweet. Hate sex is my fave. So it was just one time?”
“Actually,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut, “it was three. No, wait, maybe four?”
She elbowed me hard. “Are you shitting me? You had an all-night fuck-a-thon with your ex-husband and didn’t tell me?” Her expression was one of pure disappointment. “You have broken the cardinal law of sisterhood.”
I buried my face in my hands. This was simultaneously a dream and a nightmare. I’d always wanted to be a mother. And while an accidental pregnancy was not ideal, at my age, I couldn’t be choosy.
But the circumstances?
Gus?
Maine?
All the baggage?
“Why couldn’t I just get pregnant from some random one-night stand?” I moaned.
“You want that? A rando’s child? Come on, Chloe.”