“Listen to me.” Her hand landed on my knee. “Sean is not coming back.”
Her assurance should have helped. Instead, doubt crept in like a reflex.
“But shouldn’t I want him to come back?” Even the words tasted shameful. “Chantel, I’m having his baby. What kind of mother am I going to be if I can’t even stand the thought of my child’s father?”
And there it was. My mother's lesson, still whispering in the back of my head, telling me I was nothing without a man. That wanting one gone made me broken instead of smart.
“You will be the best damn mother. If you want it, you’ll make it happen.” Her grip on my knee loosened, and she stroked reassuring circles there instead.
“How? I don’t know what being a good parent looks like. You know I grew up with two terrible examples.”
“Mon dieu, give me a break.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hear any more of this woe-is-me crap. You won’t make the mistakes your parents did, and you will not let Sean turn you inside out again. You can do this.”
“Okay. You’re right. I’m good. It’ll be good, right?” I wasn’t convincing anyone, certainly not my limbs, which felt like rubber.
“Calm your tits, cocotte. Everything will be good.” Her voice wavered and she pulled away.
But Chantel was the queen of speaking her mind. She never stumbled over what to say. Or how to say it.
The contents of my stomach rolled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You’ll be good. But there’s something we should talk about.” She hesitated again, putting me further on edge. “Now might not be the best time.”
“Seriously? What could be worse than me being knocked up by my deadbeat ex?” Every horrible possibility flashed through my head at once. “Please, tell me you’re not dying.”
“What? No. No, nothing that serious, don’t worry.” Her laughter was stiff. “It’s not that big a deal. It can wait.”
“Okay, good.” I let out a shaky breath.
Chantel had taken me in without hesitation. Opened her home, her fridge, her life. And I trusted her with mine. But I didn’t believe her. Something was off, and I could feel it, but right now I simply couldn’t handle anything else.
As I stared back at the disgusting pink lines, I let myself run through my next steps. I wanted to spill all my secret fears to Chantel. The fear of not being as capable as I seemed. The fear that my habitual bad choices would make it impossible to raise a child on my own. The fear of being alone.
But underneath all of that, a quieter thought pushed through. Ridiculous and impossible. Completely irrational.
What if Sean wasn’t the father?
My brain did the math again. Sean was the last person I’d slept with. The only person I’d slept with in over a year. There was no scenario in which the math pointed anywhere else.
But my stupid, reckless heart didn’t care about math. It kept circling back to a dark-haired guy with blue eyes and a wicked smile. The one I’d kissed at a party and couldn’t stop thinking about.
If I’d actually slept with Caleb that night… If there was even the slightest chance…
There wasn’t. I knew there wasn’t. Chantel had been adamant. But for one wild, hopeful, devastating second, I wished it could’ve been him.
I crushed the thought before it could take root.
“I don’t know if I’m equipped to handle this,” I admitted.
“Cocotte, you can do anything. You’re strong. You’re smart. You’ve got this.”
She was right.
I’d made it through a childhood filled with trauma, survived having my heart broken more times than I could count, and learned to rebound with flair. My life wasn’t perfect, but I still woke up with a smile most days.
A baby wouldn’t be that horrible, right?
Looking back at the pretty pink of the test stick, reality finally caught up.