When Girlfriends Step Up Read online

  “I still can’t believe this,” Sophie said, pacing my cramped living room. “I still cannot believe this.” The shocking news of my pregnancy was still as true now as it had been just two hours ago when I sprang the news on Sophie.

  I sat on the sofa, clutching one of the light yellow pillows that one of my best friends, Claire Linley, had made for me as a housewarming present when I moved into this apartment four years ago.

  God, those were the easy times. All any of us had to worry about back then was passing our mid-terms…or if that guy from the party last night would call us like he said he would…

  “Maybe the test gave you a false reading,” Sophie said, stopping abruptly in the center of the living room. “Those things can be faulty, right?” Her face read of hope. Mine, however, had panic and fear written all over it. I know it did because the churning in my gut and the dryness of my mouth told me that I was making the face of a panicked pig going to slaughter. And the worst thing was that in a few months time I probably would actually look like a panicked pig going to slaughter. I let out a groan and pulled the pillow in tighter to my chest.

  “Where’s the kit box?” Sophie walked towards the kitchen.

  “There are three of them,” I said, no life behind my words.

  With all three boxes in hand Sophie started to read over each set of instructions. She looked determined. That was Sophie—always taking (and needing) control. This was one particular thing, however, over which she would have no control. Neither would I.

  “Honestly, Robin,” she said, not looking up from the instruction sheets. “These home kit thingies can be faulty. I’ve read many stories about girls who take these tests and get false positives. It happens a lot. Just pick up a copy of Cosmo and those kinds of stories are all over the place. Or tune in to MTV.”

  “Oh forget it,” I said, a hint of life coming back into my voice. “I’ve taken six tests, Sophie. Six. Every single one of them is positive. Who am I kidding?” She looked over at me. “I’m pregnant.”

  Sophie took a seat next to me. “I took four of those stupid tests before you got here,” I said. “All of them positive. And you saw for yourself those last two. Positive, positive.”

  It hadn’t taken long to break the news of my possible pregnancy to Sophie when she arrived that afternoon to make amends. A girl can’t keep that kind of news to herself, even if the woman with whom she was sharing such news played a difficult role in the whole ordeal. Once the initial shock subsided, Sophie did what I least expected she would do in such a desperately pathetic situation. Instead of running out of my apartment, screaming profanities and calling me every whorish name in the book, she embraced me in a tight hug and promised that everything would work out fine. Then she handed me one of her homemade cupcakes she’d brought over. “Comfort food,” she’d said, as I picked at the sweet frosting.

  Then, finally, came the sudden moment of shock for Sophie: One of her best friends was pregnant with her ex-boyfriend’s baby. Damn. She looked fearful for a while, scratching her head and pacing the floor, as if trying to figure out a solution to a problem that had no solution. Then a calm settled once again, and good ol’ Sophie came around. Before I knew it she was whisking me back to the local drug store to pick up another home pregnancy kit because “there is just no way this is possible, Robin. We need to make sure!”

  “I’m pregnant, Sophie,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder, limply holding the two most recently positive test strips. “I know it.” I waved around the strips. “You know it. Now what the hell am I going to do?”

  After a brief moment of silence, Sophie said, “We are going to take care of this. We are going to figure this out.” She ran her fingers along my back, giving me some relaxing chills. “Robin? I have to ask something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you positive it’s Brandon’s baby?”

  “As positive as all those damn tests, Sophie.” I sighed heavily, tossing the strips aside. “You know me. Unlucky in love. I’ve been closed for business for a long time. The only misstep was that night with Brandon.” I stopped speaking, not wanting to inflict any more harm on Sophie. Having had a one-night stand with Brandon was enough damage; I didn’t need to draw her a picture of the night’s events.

  “Well then, there’s just one thing we have to do for starters,” she said, still running her fingers along my back. “We have to tell him.”

  I shot my head up and quickly denied her suggestion. There was no way in hell I was going to tell Brandon. He was no more a part of my life than he was of Sophie’s. Well, present bun-in-the-oven excluded. But still. He and Sophie had been broken up for about two months, and it wasn’t like I had anything more than a one-night stand with him; no way either of us needed, or wanted, to bring him back into our lives.

  Sophie figured differently.

  “He is the father, Robin. As much of a dickwad as he is, he still deserves to know that he has a child.” She shook her head, looking a bit astonished. “I still can’t believe any of this is happening… You think I’d be raging furious, huh?” She stifled a small chuckle. “Whatever.” She shook her head again. “That’s neither here nor there. The point is, you’re pregnant with his baby and he deserves to know about it. And you deserve support from him above all.”

  “Oh, I don’t want anything from him,” I said. “He’s already given me enough. I don’t want him to be a part of any of this.”

  “Robin.” Sophie looked me sharply in the eyes. “Robin, you’ve told me more than once that you hate your father for not being a part of your life. For choosing to walk out on you and your mom and your siblings. Do you honestly want to deprive your baby of a father? Even if it is…Brandon.” She squished up her face at the mention of his name.

  Sophie had a point. I was always quick to blame my father for many of my male- and confidence-related problems. I’ve never gotten over his behavior and abandonment. Was I willing to purposely set up the same scenario for my own baby?

  “No,” I said defiantly, quickly rethinking my stance on the subject. True, I detest my father for leaving and not being a part of my life, but would I rather he had stuck around and made the rest of our lives miserable? Of course not. Would I rather have a loving and doting father who’s actually there for me? Obviously. That wasn’t the choice, though.

  “Now, given the choice between a father who stays ‘for the kids’ and is a complete a-hole all the time, or a father who does the courtesy of taking his deadbeat self elsewhere…” I looked just as sharply into Sophie’s eyes. “I suppose if Brandon were man enough to want to help me out, then perhaps he could play some role in this. But if he’s going to be a complete jerk then I’d much rather have him play no part in my baby’s life. None.”

  Sophie nodded in understanding, then said, “Well whether you want money for an abortion or child support to help care for the baby—”

  “No,” I cut her off. “I’m keeping it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The thought of terminating my pregnancy had never crossed my mind. The contrary, actually. One of the first things that popped into my head once I was convinced that I was pregnant (aside from the initial panic) was the health of the baby. Was it all right? Was it growing like it should be? How developed was it? Did it already have a heartbeat I could hear? Was it a boy or a girl? And would this baby—my baby—accept being the child of a single parent? Could I provide everything he or she needed to be a healthy and happy child? Thoughts of whether or not I would keep my baby never entered my head.

  “Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “I am definitely keeping this baby. I couldn’t give it up. I know I couldn’t do something like that.”

  Sophie said she understood, and insisted that it was all the more reason to tell Brandon that I was expecting.

  “He’s going to have to help pay for the baby. At least,” she said. “He’s half as much in this as you are. It’s only fair. And I’m not saying he has to pay up just because I
think he’s a scumbag and deserves everything he’s got coming to him.”

  “I’m not trying to punish Brandon by keeping the baby, Sophie,” I said.

  “I’m not saying that,” she said quickly. “No, no, no. This is your baby, but it’s also a shared responsibility. He has to help, Robin. It’s not fair for you to have to go at this alone. He has to know.”

  I nodded my head. As much as I didn’t like what she was saying, she was making a lot of sense.

  “And you won’t be alone in this,” she added. “Brandon may come through and really step it up! A total shocker if so.” She mumbled the last part ironically. “He may surprise us all. And don’t think for one minute that I—that all us girls—aren’t going to be there for you, too. We’re your family, Robin.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You know it’s not right that Brandon sits around clueless. He does have the right to at least know that he has a baby on the way.”

  So it was decided. Somehow, someway, Brandon would find out that he was going to be a dad, and by some magical grace he was going to have to play a role in all of this. Agree to be a dad? Agree to split everything right down the middle? Responsibilities, finances, visitation? I knew being biological parents together to a child was the absolute furthest I wanted to take my relationship with Brandon. I didn’t really know him, I certainly didn’t love him, and it just wasn’t an option to try to strike something up with him. What, say, “Hey, Sophie. Brandon and I are going to hook up since we have this kid together and all.”? No. Out of the question! I wanted to spend my life with a man I loved, and I wanted my baby to have a father who loved him or her. One broken home in my memory was enough.

  The baby—my baby—hadn’t arrived yet, and Brandon was still clueless about the news, yet my life was already in the process of changing dramatically. It was changing physically, mentally, financially; in every possible way this baby of mine was going to change my life. I wasn’t ready, but did I have a choice? The moment I learned I was pregnant, I knew it meant I was going to be a mother. Period. My baby wasn’t going anywhere. Whether or not Brandon wanted to help, I was going to keep my baby, raise it, and love it unconditionally. The journey, though… God help me it was going to be a rough trip.

  ***

  “Is there anything that you absolutely cannot stand eating?” Sophie asked that evening, skimming through the list of recommended take out eateries she’d pulled up on her iPhone. “Any foods you get sick over? Or how about cravings? Do you have those yet?”

  I reached for my new book, You’re Going to Be a Mother, which I had picked up at one of my favorite local bookstores when I first had a hint that I might be pregnant. Once I missed my period for a second month in a row I didn’t run out and buy a home pregnancy test. Rather, I bought a book about what to expect if a baby really is on its way. It was much easier reading about the signs of pregnancy than actually seeing the big plus sign staring at me, via a pee-covered stick, over the bathroom sink.

  “This book has everything in it,” I said, and tossed my baby bible her way. “Everything from cravings and morning sickness, to pregnancy and post-delivery hemorrhoids. It’s kind of disturbing sometimes. Did you know that morning sickness can come at any time, by the way? Why the heck do they call it morning sickness when you can get it any hour of the day?”

  Sophie made a twisted face and started to flip through the pages. “You don’t waste time, girl,” she said. “This is an in-depth preggo guide. When did you get this? This morning when you got those tests?”

  “A couple weeks ago. At Randy’s.”

  “Oh my—Robin!” Her exclamation made me jump. “I saw you shopping there. Like a week-and-a-half ago.”

  I hadn’t seen her; I was certain of that. Had I, I can only imagine what an awkward situation that would have been.

  Hi, nice to run into you unexpectedly. Haven’t talked to you in nearly two months. And you probably hate me. So…uh…want to talk about how I screwed up our friendship by screwing your boyfriend?

  Yeah, not so smooth.

  “Well, anyhow,” Sophie said, holding up the book. “So this is what you picked up? God, Robin, I can’t believe you’ve had to go through all of this alone. Does Lara even know?”

  I hadn’t told Lara that I thought I might be pregnant, because up until that morning, when the pile of positive preggo strips confirmed the little bundle, I was in denial. No use in spreading a rumor that might not be true.

  After I rattled off the list of foods that had mysteriously started to make me gag recently (hardboiled eggs, fried chicken, French fries, fried onions, fried anything, tomato sauce, pineapple, and, oddly enough, cinnamon), Sophie quickly narrowed down our dining choices to Mexican or seafood.

  “I don’t think I can do fish,” I said, recalling skimming over the book’s section of recommended foods to avoid during pregnancy. “Gee, I wonder what Japanese women do?” There was a thought. “I bet they eat fish anyway.”

  “We’re not going to second-guess this book, missy,” Sophie protested, still looking through it. “This book says no fish, then no fish for you. It’s Mexican then. Pineapple-free. No fried food. No fear of tomato sauce, just don’t get any enchiladas. Oh wait! It says here that—here, I’ll read it.” She looked like a little girl on Christmas morning, delighted over the plethora of gifts stuffed under the tree. It was endearing to see how excited she was about this whole situation. I started to feel a little more upbeat about everything. There was still a gnawing pang in my gut that held every possible worry about being pregnant, single, and without much of a plan. But there was comfort, friendship, and a baby with whom I was actually starting to feel a connection. A bond and a growing love, however small. I smiled as Sophie started to read excitedly.

  “It says, ‘Come the second trimester, your morning sickness will fade and you will once again be able to eat the foods that made you nauseous those first few months.’” She looked up at me, a huge grin on her face. “That’s great news!” Then she read on. “‘During that second trimester, not only will you be able to enjoy some of the foods you may have been missing out on, but you’ll discover newfound cravings. The quantities you will want of these cravings may surprise you, but have no fear—this is completely normal. It is also normal to put on a decent amount of weight at this point.’” She stopped reading and closed the book. My groaning said it all.

  Great, soon I was going to become huge!

  “We’ll just save that reading for another time,” she said. She returned her attention to her cell phone, in search of a dinner option that I could handle. “One step at a time, girlfriend. Right now we need to concentrate on getting us some dinner, because afterward we’ve got to put together a game plan.”

  Brandon. How were we going to pull this one off?

  ***

  “I think we should wait until after I go to the doctor,” I told Sophie, as I stretched out on the sofa, unbuttoning my jeans. The baby book said I wouldn’t start showing or really gaining weight for another few weeks. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that a bowl of pinto beans and a large helping of salsa loaded with onions and garlic could make a girl need to undo her pants and lie around, bloated and immobilized.

  “That’s a stupid idea,” she said. She was back to reading through the baby book, seated nearby on the floor.

  “I think it’s brilliant. Let’s see how long we can go before telling Brandon. Come on,” I kidded, giving her head a loving little shove. It felt so good to have Sophie back. Even through all of this madness, she was right there beside me, guarding my back—best friends despite all that had happened. Even despite the current situation.

  “Robin, Brandon needs to know. Let’s get that out of the way. And speaking of a doctor’s appointment, we need to get that figured out, too.”

  “How do you suggest we tell Brandon?” I asked. “Just call him up? Say, ‘Hey, Brandon. Not that I meant to ever talk to you again but, uh, I’m having your baby. Thought you should know.’?”<
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  “I didn’t say it’d be easy,” she said. “And I don’t really know how to do this either, but that’s what we need to figure out. Look, I’ve still got his phone number. We know where he lives. It’s not like finding him is going to be a problem. We just need to figure out when…and how.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The difficult stuff. I don’t want to do this. Let’s forget about it all. I’m sure Brandon doesn’t want anything to do with me or the baby anyway. Why borrow trouble? And besides, I have a decent job. I can manage on my own. ”

  That wasn’t a lie. I had a secure and well-paying job as a graphic designer with Forster & Banks, a small yet distinguished publishing company in town, in the lively and peculiar Seattle neighborhood of Fremont. I had churned out plenty of fine book covers and was actually up for a pay raise in the next month or two. I didn’t need some guy’s pity pocket change to help me take care of my baby.

  “It’s the principle,” she said. “It’s his responsibility. Whether you want anything from him or not, we can figure that out later. For now we’ve got to let him know. Get this out of the way.”

  So just like that we started to work on our plan for delivering the news to Brandon; and we even made a list of a few obstetricians I could make an appointment with the following morning. We worked right up until a must-see rerun of Beverly Hills: 90210 came on. Sophie insisted we turn off the melodramatic soap and finish our plan, but I told her that I was the one with raging hormones in a delicate predicament. Pregnant chick: Score 1. Play on, Walsh family.

  Chapter Two

  “Thank you very much. Please call me back at your earliest convenience,” I said into my cell phone, reciting my phone number once again to a doctor’s voicemail, one of the three physicians Sophie and I had found online the night before.

  I glanced at my watch. Ten after nine. “Dammit.” Normally I was never late to work, but I was eager to make an appointment with an obstetrician. The more that Sophie read from the book You’re Going to Be a Mother, the more nervous we became and the more set we were on making my first doctor’s appointment a priority.