Chapter Text
I open my eyes. It’s positive. I’m pregnant.
I can’t be pregnant. I don’t want to be pregnant. I won’t know how to take care of a kid. The kid would probably think I’m crazy and wouldn’t like me. It would be right about the crazy thing, though. I can feel myself freaking out. I feel the tears in my eyes and nauseous. The pregnancy could be wrong, I tell myself. No, you idiot, this is the fifth one you’ve peed on. I look at my left hand. At the ring on my finger. Not Tommy’s ring, Pat’s ring. We got married almost exactly a year ago. I am still looking for a job, although I am thinking of becoming a dance teacher to depressed teenagers. They could like it how I like it, its therapy and its fun.
I hear the front door open, “Honey, I’m home!” He says it with a big smile and a laugh. I usually would return the smile and laugh, but I don’t. After we got married we thought it was the funniest thing in the world, because we both knew in the back our messed up heads that we might never be able to say those words again. Pat comes over to me and hugs me, I brush him off. “Tiff, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t touch me!” I almost scream it. I am running into our bedroom and fling the door shut and lock it behind me. He can’t know. This is just like when Tommy wanted kids. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hear pounding. Is it my pulse? What’s going on? Then I hear a loud crash. I swirl around making me dark hair fly in my face and get matted down from my streams of tears. Pat broke through the door.
“What’s wrong?” He asks out of breath. He walks over to me straight in the eye and asks, “What’s going on? Why do you look so scared?” I can’t say anything. I physically cannot speak. I am so scared. I can feel the tears starting to pour out of my eyes, I cry so easily, and I hate it. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Pat says soothingly. He starts to hug me, a little gingerly at first, probably afraid I would run again, and then he just pulls me in. I don’t hug back. I just stand there, limp. My tears fall on his jacket and my mascara leaves dark stains. It feels like an hour, he hugs, I stand. Eventually, I put my arms around him, too.
I pull back, and he looks at me. He doesn’t give me that ‘I think you are crazy’ look- he never has. I look down, I put my hands on my belly, I look up. He looks confused. I say softly, ‘I’m pregnant.” Then, without warning, I run out of the room, I run out of the house, I’m just running. After I get down the street, I look behind me, I don’t see him. I stop and look behind me. Why isn’t he chasing after me? Then, I see him. He’s far away, but coming closer. He’s a fast runner. I start to sprint and I’m not sure where I am going. I run into a building, and then I realize where I am. It’s the diner where Pat and I had our first date. I call it a date, but he doesn’t. It was a date. The table we first sat at is empty, I run over to it and sit down. The hostess chases after me, shock on her face.
“Excuse me, Miss, are you okay?” I look at her. She has the ‘I think you are crazy’ look on her face. I look at her with absolute disgust on my face.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, harshly. She nods her head and hands me a menu, and walks away. She talks to a waitress, pointing at me. I turn from her and look out the window. I can see my reflection, and now I understand why she gave the look. I do look crazy. My hair is a mess, my face is bright red, I still have tears streaming down my cheeks, my eyes look wild, and I am in my pajamas. Not really pajamas, it’s not one of those little pajama outfits, I am wearing my tight running pants and one of Pat’s old shirts with no shoes on.
“Would like you anything to drink?” I just glare at the waitress. Her smile falters a little, but she still stands there, waiting. I look out the window and I see Pat coming down the street. He’s sprinting. I turn away from the window and the waitress is still standing there. Her smile returned.
“Tea,” I say. She nods her head, as if she knew I would eventually respond, and walks away. I look back out the window and Pat sees me and runs inside. He runs past the hostess and sits in the booth across from me. He’s drenched in sweat and panting.
“Tiff, look,” he says, still trying to catch his breath, “It’s great that you’re pregnant! You don’t have to worry about it and-“
“Pat!” I say cutting him off. “I do have to worry about it, okay? I do. He, she, whatever it is, I’ll worry about it. Not just it, everything. What if the kid doesn’t like me. What if I can’t take care of it, what if I’m not a good mother? What if it turns out…like me.” I finally say. I close my eyes and out my head in my hands. I would cry, but my eyes feel completely dried out. I couldn’t cry even if I wanted to.
“What, what do you mean like you?” Pat asks softly. He gently pulls my hands away from my face and holds them in his. The waitress comes with my tea and asks Pat if he wants anything, he gives her a slight smile and shakes his head no. She waits a moment and then walks away.
He’s still waiting for me to answer the question. I can’t answer it while looking at him. I look out the window and say, “You know, Pat. Don’t act like you don’t know.” I quickly glance back at him and he still looks miffed. I finally look back at him, “I’m depressed, I act bipolar, I was a sex addict. It’s better with you, but sometimes, I can still feel it there. I accept these things about me, I learn from them, I work with it. That doesn’t mean I want my kid to have it. I know what pain feels like, and with all my issues, normal seems to be intensified. I don’t want my b-baby to get h-hurt like that and-d made fun of f-for that. I-I don’t want-“ Then I lose it. I am sobbing and wailing and I rip my hands from Pat and put my head in my hands again. I put my head down on the table and I feel myself sobbing.
I never knew exactly why I didn’t want to have kids. I knew because I didn’t know if I would be able to take care of them, but I didn’t know it was also because I didn’t want them to be like me. Of course, I personally wouldn’t care if they were depressed or anything, but I know what it feels like. I know what it feels like to have intense mood swings. I know what it feels like to have people hate being around you. I know what it feels like to hear the gossip, rumors, and everyone making fun of you. I don’t want anyone to feel and be treated the way I have. I am scared to death that will happen to anything that comes from me. I’m scared I’ll break and ruin everything I touch. I ruin things. I don’t want to ruin my kids.
“Tiffany,” Pat says, he plays with a few of my hair strands, “It’s normal to worry about that. But, you will be a great mom. You would be able to give your kids more love and care than any mom- ever.” I look up and he’s smiling at me. He seems genuinely happy. “And, it’s okay if our kids are like us. I suppose, that’s just what makes them our kids. If they’re not like us, that’s fine, too. Every parent has some problem that they’re afraid that will pass onto their kids, we’re no different.” I look at him, and I know why I fell in love with him. He is the most positive person I have ever met, but he also understands. “We’ll just have to give our kids all the love and support we can, and hope they turn out fine…so, what do you say, Tiff, are we having a baby?” He smiles at me, he almost looks giddy.
For a moment I see it, I see me giving birth, I see first steps, first words, first birthday, first day of school, first sleepover, first boyfriend, and I can see Pat, me, our baby all living happily and I want it so badly. I smile and whisper, “We’re having a baby.”
Pat looks at me, then without warning, he stands up and shouts, “WE’RE HAVING A BABY!”
Then I stand up, smiling, I shout, “WE’RE HAVING A BABY!” We both get out of our booths and we hug each other and he kisses me, and I feel really, really happy. We put ten dollars on the table and leave the diner. Instead of running home, we walk home, hand in hand. Neither of us could stop smiling. Although I am still scared to death of having this baby, I’m also excited. I put my hand on my belly and then Pat puts his hand over mine. “I love you,” I whisper. I suppose that for Pat and the baby.