Chapter Text
Whitney Abernathy didn’t get sick.
She knew from the moment she felt her stomach rolling as she rushed to the shared bathroom with the cold, tile floor that something was different, but she couldn’t possibly be sick. From the time she was a child, she had been blessed with a strong immune system, and as an adult even after nights of tequila shots and hard seltzers at the Pike house she rarely experienced a hangover- and nothing that was accompanied by nausea.
Because Whitney Abernathy did not get sick.
As her knees hit the floor and she leaned over the toilet, she cursed herself for whatever she’d done the night before, remembering the junk food shared over shitty movies and card games, as well as the encouraged round of Fireball chased with her flat Dr. Pepper from lunch. The contents of her stomach, sour and painful, spilled into the toilet with a splash as a soft knock filled her ears and she wiped her mouth with the back of her shaking hand.
“Whit?” Her roommate asked gently, kneeling beside the girl who was hugging the cold porcelain. “Are you okay?”
With a groan and another round of painful dry heaving and very little to show for the pain, Whitney nodded before finally emptying the remaining contents of her stomach, the bitter taste of bile filling her mouth.
Claire, ever observant to Whitney’s facial expressions and her body language, turned on her heels and in seconds returned with a cold bottle of water, two tylenol, and a piece of gum.
“What’s going on, babe?” She asked, the back of her hand resting on Whitney’s forehead checking for any signs of a fever. “You’re not warm. Is it something you ate? Something you drank last night?”
Shrugging, Whitney let her forehead rest on the toilet seat. Not bothering to be concerned about germs, dirt, or grime, she allowed the cool porcelain to help with the headache and begged it to help keep the nausea at bay. She allowed Claire to run her dainty hands through her messy hair, the comfort settling her rolling stomach and increased anxiety.
Because there was no way Whitney Abernathy of Daphne, Alabama, got sick from some dumb little stomach bug or bottom shelf shots a nameless face offered her.
“This is the fourth morning in the last two weeks you’ve gotten sick,” Claire noted, her sick friend taking in a deep, shaking breath. “I’m getting really worried about you.”
“No worries, C,” she sniffled before spitting a mouthful of saliva into the water. “I’ve just been doing a lot more drinking, especially with the guys when we’re supposed to be studying for finals. They know we’re all about to split for the summer ‘n they’re not ready to give it up for their hometowns without their ‘bros’.”
“Could be stress,” Claire added, helping Whitney up from her prone position on the floor and steadying the girl as she swayed on her feet. “Finals are next week, too. But you’ve also thrown up at the smell of popcorn… twice. What’s got you feeling so crummy?”
Whitney, with her hands in her messy hair attempting a bun, laughed, “Claire, you burnt that popcorn both times- bad. You’re not the most skilled and it smelled awful. It didn’t take much to make me gag.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s definitely pre-finals stress. My classes are kicking my butt and I need to maintain my average to keep my dad from going postal. And I can’t give him a reason to cut back on his donations because he thinks I’m not gettin’ a ‘quality education’,” she rolled her eyes as a dry laugh escaped her lips. “Daddy’s a little hardcore in the spring, you saw that last year.”
“Are you sure it’s not something else? You could always go get a test,” Claire whispered gently. “It might be a decent idea, you know.”
“A test? What are you talking about? I’m just a little hungover, and it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone, anyway,” Whitney said confidently, her voice never wavering. “We were safe, too. Like, beyond safe.”
“Accidents happen, Whitney.”
Claire, with skepticism laced throughout her facial features, wasn’t sure what to think. She’d witnessed her friend throw up not once, but twice, this morning, and she’d heard it several other times. Something inside her worried more than she thought possible, and she had her own assumptions about Whitney’s sudden onset of nausea and vomiting. Keeping her opinions to herself, she patted her friend on the shoulder before grabbing her backpack and heading out the door for her first class hoping that Whitney would realize her potential situation.
Whitney Abernathy didn’t get sick, but Whitney Abernathy, in the eyes of her dear friend, could quite possibly be pregnant.
“Oh shit. No,” As the door closed behind her roommate, Whitney froze. “No, no way. No.”
Grabbing her phone and flipping through her screens to her trusty Health application, her hands trembled as she saw just how late she was. She wasn’t just late, she was about 5 weeks late. And five weeks ago, she found herself at a party with her best friend and two of her closest sorority sisters.
Five weeks ago she found herself tangled up in bed with Casey King, tablemate in her Organic Chemistry Lab, and five weeks ago she made a hazy, alcohol-fueled decision that could be changing her life forever. And today, five weeks from her latest encounter with Casey outside of the classroom, she was skipping Organic Chemistry to discreetly purchase a pregnancy test from a corner store as far away from campus as possible just to take it in a gas station bathroom with shaking hands and a racing heart.
“Okay, five minutes,” she whispered to herself as she locked herself in a narrow stall with chipped paint and a dented trash can barely hanging on the wall. “Five minutes until my life maybe changes forever.”
Five minutes of bouncing legs.
Four minutes of shaking hands.
Three minutes of heavy breathing.
Two minutes of crying.
A minute of praying to anyone who could hear her that the test would read “negative”.
And a one second flip of the test in her hand.
“Shit,” she choked out, tears flooding her eyes and anxiety building in her chest. “Shit, shit, shit.”
The positive test, still clutched in her left hand, weighed a ton, and the gravity of her situation held her feet firmly in place as she contemplated what to do. Wrapping the plastic test in as much toilet paper as she could pull from the roll in one quick motion, she shoved it in her black purse and threw away the box, directions, and any evidence that she had just discovered the truth behind her sickness.
“This cannot be happening,” she breathed as she sat in the driver’s seat of her car unable to start the engine. “My parents are going to kill me.”
With a nervous, tearful laugh she drove back to the Phi Mu House where she gathered her thoughts, attempted to make herself presentable, and slowly walked across campus to the Student Health Center to beg for help. She wasn’t sure what they could do for her there, she wasn’t sure what anyone could do at this point, but she was hoping for some sort of guidance and a little bit of privacy and maybe a second pregnancy test.
“Can I help you?” The nurse, with dark hair and a friendly smile, asked from behind her desk.
“I, um, I think I’m pregnant…”
The next week felt like the longest week of Whitney’s life as she hid the secret that had been confirmed by the Student Health Center, and the white lie she told her sorority sisters and friends became believable. She insisted she was sick because of anxiety, something that was common for the young girl due to stress from finals and pressure from her family, and Claire began to worry even more.
“Dude, you’re sick, stay in bed. The library can wait,” the brunette said from her desk as Whitney started to pack her bag, her knees weak and her vision blurry.
She’d been feeling exceptionally nauseous that day and had been unable to keep even the smallest sip of water in her body. She could feel the dehydration settling in, and she knew that wasn’t a good sign when it came to a healthy pregnancy.
“I have that O-Chem lab that we need to study for. I’m meeting Casey in the library and we’re going to go over our notes and formulas.”
“You’re sick,” Claire pressed. “And you look like you’re ready to pass out. Have him come here, or you can call it and study tomorrow. I don’t want you to drop dead.”
“I won’t drop dead, I just need more water. I’ll be okay,” She said as she slung her bag over her shoulder and put her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be back later tonight.”
It was never a fun drive toward the library, especially when parking was a mess, but Whitney knew better than walking and she knew her limits that she had constantly pushed this week. Her friends had noticed the lack of drinking, but that was common when she was trying to keep a clear mind for studying and trying to prevent more “anxiety nausea”.
Stepping out of her car into the sticky night air, Whitney took a deep breath because she knew what this study session held. Casey was the father of her unborn child, and he deserved to know that their mistake six and a half weeks ago was going to change her life- or their lives- forever. She didn’t know how he would react; he had his entire future in front of him outside of Alabama, away from the university. He was determined to get into law school on the east coast, and she didn’t want to hold him back.
“Hey, Whit!” He said from the table as she entered the private section of the library he’d picked out. “Good to see you.”
With a soft smile, she placed her bag on the floor and gingerly sat in the chair across from the boy she was anxiously harboring a secret from.
“You feeling okay? You don’t look so great,” he questioned, an eyebrow raised and a hand on hers.
“Been a bit stressed,” she laughed dryly. “Ready to jump into this?”
Whitney was nauseous as they studied; her body temperature was rolling, her mouth was watering and her jaw ached as she bit back and forced down the bile that was creeping up her throat. Casey noticed her bouncing leg, especially when her hand began to accompany it, tapping her pen lightly on the table.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Casey pushed as they entered their second hour of studying. “You’re really off right now. I’ve never seen you like this and it’s starting to freak me out.”
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Whitney felt tears prick her eyes and her hands were trembling in her lap. With as much bravery and confidence as she could muster, Whitney looked Casey in the eyes and asked her burning question.
“Did you wear a condom the night we slept together?” She asked anxiously, her panicked eyes finding his.
Anger flashed across his face as he stared at the young woman across the table, millions of thoughts filling his mind and his heart pounding in his chest. He was angry at her question, and he was scared of the implications.
“What? Why would you ask that? Of course I wore a fucking condom, Whitney.”
She let a tear tickle down her cheek as she reached into her backpack and pulled out a small bag with the plastic test inside that still read positive.
“We have a problem, then.”
Handing him the bag with the test, rage crossed his face followed by shock and disbelief, and eventually more anger.
“This isn’t mine.”
“You’re the last person I slept with,” she sniffled. “And the timeline matches up.”
“You’re not pregnant. You’re on the pill; you said you were on the pill when I asked and I wore a condom.”
“Condoms break and pills fail,” she cried. “I’m pregnant.”
“Whit, I can’t. This isn’t mine, and it can’t be my issue. I won’t spill your secret, but I can’t do this. Law school… I can’t be a dad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
The pain that filled her chest was something she’d never experienced, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to ever feel again. He didn’t want her baby, their baby, because of the future he had planned for himself. He didn’t take into consideration she’d planned a future for herself, and left her sitting at their table in the library without as much as a blunt apology. That night, alone and silently crying, Whitney Abernathy made the heartbreaking decision to leave school, and to leave Alabama. She would make her home somewhere she and the baby could have a fresh start, even if that meant leaving everything she knew behind.
She spent the week packing her things and studying for finals, the nausea increasing and her desire to socialize decreasing. She withdrew from Claire, as well as the other women in the house, and she explained to all of them that she would be taking a gap year but promised- with crossed fingers and poor intentions- to keep in touch with them as she continued making decisions about school and when she would return.
She laid out her plans: go home for the summer, intern for her father at his accounting firm, and make money rather than staying in Tuscaloosa, but that she would return in a semester, a year max, to continue their adventure through their time in college. She knew it was a lie- she was going to move home, start a huge fight she knew she wouldn’t win, and leave her home.
She bid farewell to the Phi Mu house- her home for the last two years- and the gorgeous grand piano she’d play for her friends as she pulled her final bags to her car. The vehicle, a BMW that was a gift for her 18th birthday, felt foreign as she began her journey back to her family home in Daphne. Knowing she was breaking her promise to Claire indefinitely, she said her final “I’ll call you when I’m home and I promise I’ll keep in touch” before pulling out of the parking lot without a final glance.
Because Whitney Abernathy was pregnant, and she didn’t know what to do.
---
It was three days later when Whitney was seated in the family’s home office, prepared to receive the lecture of a lifetime from her father Brian. Someone who had built himself from the ground up to give Whitney and her mother everything they ever dreamed of, he was a large donor to the University of Alabama, and he was furious when his daughter, a Phi Mu legacy and prestigious scholar, told him she was going to be leaving school for a year minimum. He had been red in the face when she mentioned it, his eyes wild with anger and her mother was left shocked and speechless as he asked to speak to their daughter in private.
“Whitney Leigh, what the hell were you thinking?” He asked from across the oak desk, his face red and his eyes wide. “What the hell are you thinking, dropping out of school?”
“I need to do this for me,” she whispered. “I can’t be there right now. I need a break. I’ll go back next fall. Daddy, I can't be there.”
Whitney felt the warm tears spilling down her cheeks and soaking into the neck of the sweatshirt she was wearing as she pulled her knees to her chest.
“And why the hell not?”
“I DON’T WANT TO BE THERE!” She shouted. “THERE’S TOO MUCH PRESSURE AND I DON’T WANT TO BE THERE! I’M NOT GOING BACK!”
“Don’t raise your voice at me, young lady! This is my house and you’re going to obey my rules and that includes minding your manners!”
Before the arguing could continue, Amy Abernathy, an obedient and respectful wife in every way, walked into the office with two glasses of tea and a concerned look on her face, “what’s going on in here?”
“Your daughter decided she’s not going back to school,” Brain snapped, a disgusted look crossing his aging face. “Makes us look like complete fools. The Alumni Association helps fund your scholarship! What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Start with the truth,” Whitney snapped. “That it was too much for me and I’ll be back in a year.”
“Brian,” her mother said gingerly. “It’s not a terrible idea. You’ve seen how sick the stress made her. Let her go out on her adventure. She’s a big girl.”
“She’s embarrassing us!” His hands slammed down on the dark surface of his desk, vibrating the mementos on top. “She’s embarrassing herself!”
By that point, Whitney felt the dam break and her tears fell rapidly down her pale cheeks. She knew that this was going to break her relationship with her father, but she needed to get out. She needed to find herself in a new location, with opportunities in front of her to help herself and to prepare for her baby.
“She’s not embarrassing anyone,” her mother hushed with her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “She needs a little bit of time. She’s a smart girl. She’s going to be okay.”
With a sniffle, Whitney made eye contact with her mother and offered a short nod before wiping her eyes with her sleeves.
“I give you two weeks before you come crawling back here to us because you don’t know how to handle what the real world throws at you. But I’d be no father to you if I sent you out on your own with no money,” he grumbled. “You get to keep the car. I’ll push you onto your own insurance plan, square away your health insurance but all of these payments will be on you- the car’s paid off but you’ll be taking on all your bills. And you’ll leave your credit cards.”
“Brian,” her mother said. “Gently.”
“You’ll have your own phone plan, and you can switch your number if you want but you’ll need to make sure we have it. Your mother will help you locate an apartment wherever you decide to live. Our door is always open, but you’ll need to make sure you’re understanding of this change,” he continued. “When the $10,000 I’m giving you runs out, there’s no more.”
“I understand,” she croaked. “Thank you, daddy.”
“You know we just want what’s best for you,” he spoke, without many emotions. “And I don’t believe this is best for you. But I don’t feel I can stop you.”
“And we aren’t going to stop you,” her mother added. “We’re going to help you as much as we can. But you’re an adult now, and you have to step out on your own if you really want this.”
“This is what I want,” Whitney confirmed.
“Well, if you’re sure. We’ll set up your bank account and I’ll transfer over the money. $10,000 isn’t a lot, Whit. You need to manage your money. Find a job. Know your limits. We won’t be there to bail you out and there won’t be credit cards to fall back on,” he monotoned. “Go with your mother and start looking for your apartment. Start packing.”
As her father dismissed her from his office, she was filled with a mix of emotions but she was relieved that the encounter wasn’t as painful as she assumed. Her mother slipped her warm hand into Whitney’s and squeezed before walking upstairs with her daughter.
“What’s going on, Whitney?” Her mother questioned tearfully. “What happened to my little girl?”
Shrugging, Whitney allowed her mother to dry her tears but feeling emotions flood her body, the weight of her secret sinking into the pit of her stomach as she pulled her mom into a hug, “I just really hate school. I’m struggling. I need space.”
“I understand, my love,” her mom said as she pushed her daughter’s messy hair back. “How can I help you find your space?”
“I don’t know where to go,” Whitney sobbed. “I just need space.”
“You loved the beach when you were little. I know we live near the beach, but what about the east coast? You liked the Outer Banks, and if you need anything, your father knows a few people in the area who might be able to help,” her mom comforted. “Now, what about an apartment?”
“I don’t know what I can afford,” she sniffled. “But I’ll be able to find a job. I’m capable. And I have some work experience but not in something that could find a job quickly.”
“You can cross that bridge when you get there,” Amy soothed. “We’ll find you a nice studio or one bedroom that's a nice space for you. You’ll pack light, but we can find furniture prices and see what you can afford.”
“Thank you, mama,” Whitney cried. “Thank you.”
“I love you, sweet girl. I love you so much. When you’re ready to talk, I’m always here.”
---
A week later, with her new information in hand and without her parents, Whitney Abernathy, now learning to embrace all that pregnancy brought her, was settled in her small, one-bedroom apartment near a place called “The Cut” and she had unpacked her final box. Unlike the luxuries of her childhood, her apartment was simple with basic furniture and few decorations, but she felt free and lighter than she felt the day she left her parents on the porch of their large home.
Her father had made their exchange formal, handing her insurance information (for a plan he wanted her to establish but she was going to separate herself from his business) and her new debit card (one that wouldn’t last long before she opened a new account), but her mother was sobbing and had pulled her into a tight embrace before Whitney opened the door to her black BMW and she pulled out of the driveway.
“Well baby,” she rubbed her nonexistent bump softly. “This is our new home.”
She knew the apartment was small, she knew that, but it was cozy. The “sun” room off of the living room would make a great nursery and allow for her to sleep on the couch or rock the baby in the small gliding chair in the corner of her living room. She hadn’t outfitted it with baby furniture yet and she wasn’t sure when she would. She wasn’t far enough along to be comfortable, but her appointment later in the afternoon would give her a clearer picture of just how long it would be until they became a family of two, rather than just Whitney Abernathy.
One of the first things she did after arriving in Kildare was find a bank, and pulled $4,000 of the money her father had given her and she started a savings account, and the rest she put in a bank account in her name, not one at the bank of her father’s choosing. She needed a fresh start, and charging baby items and paying for baby-related expenses out of an account her father had access to could cause a war. She wanted to be just Whitney, and she wanted to start new with her child.
She arrived at the doctor’s office later, her hair in a bun and a cardigan wrapped around her and she filled out paperwork. It was pages and pages of information that her mother would answer for her previously, but she was on her own now. Thankfully, her medical history was simple enough, and once she was called back, she was able to answer questions that were asked.
“Have you ever had blood work done?” A young nurse asked as she prepared her arm for a blood draw.
“Just once before I had my tonsils taken out I think. Maybe for a physical in high school,” Whitney whispered. “It’s been a while.”
As the nurse busied herself around Whitney she zoned off, and as she felt the pressure of the large band release from around her arm, she took a deep breath and the nurse rubbed her forearm gently.
“You did a great job,” she smiled. “You’re all done.”
She was left in a small room by herself where she sat on an examination table. It wasn’t long before she was visited by others, people she wasn’t sure of their title, but they made her feel comfortable. Soothing words, questions, and a pregnancy test later- Whitney had only given a urine sample twice and she was 20 years old- she found out what she already knew.
She was pregnant.
The doctor, an older woman with greying hair and dark eyes, asked her if she planned to continue the pregnancy, or if she needed information on alternative planning, but Whitney insisted that she schedule future appointments because she was, without a doubt, going to raise her child.
“We’re going to do a sonogram now,” another woman, someone Whitney assumed was an ultrasound technician, said. “So this might be a little bit cold when it hits your belly but you’re going to be able to see your baby. Based on the information, you’re about 8 weeks but that might be adjusted based on measurements.”
Nodding, Whitney leaned back and tried to make herself as comfortable as possible in the position she was in. As the gel was squeezed onto her barely protruding abdomen, she shivered, but before she knew it a fuzzy, black and white image was on the screen.
“There’s your baby, sweetheart,” the woman smiled. “Everything looks wonderful. I’m just going to take a few measurements, and verify how far along you are.”
“Whoa,” Whitney whispered. “How far along?”
“I’d say 7 weeks and a couple days. I’ll put you at 7 weeks 4 days in my records. Would you like a couple pictures? I can print some.”
Nodding, she closed her eyes for a moment and waited. Just as she was about to set off on a journey to her pre-planned future, she was stopped by what she had previously determined was a terrible mistake. Emotions flooded her body and she began to cry. A tiny, tiny baby was going to be hers, and she was going to do everything in her power to give her baby the best life she could.
“What was the heart rate, anyway?” She asked curiously. “I know we probably can’t hear it but can you tell me?”
“It’s about 110 beats per minute. Your baby is looking great.”
As the woman wiped the gel from her stomach, Whitney Abernathy allowed herself to freely cry happy tears for the first time since arriving in her new home.