Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I bide my time at the table for a couple of seconds longer before I get up. “I’m going to check on Penelope,” I tell everyone at the table, pulling the phone out of my pocket and opening the calendar as I walk across the yard to where the kids are. “Hey,” I say when I’m close enough for her to hear me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies, confused, before she turns around and goes back to playing. Instead of returning to the table, I walk inside and go to the bathroom. The door is still closed, giving me the time to pull up the calendar and start counting down the weeks. The blood rushes to my head as I count the weeks from July when we were on vacation to today.
“Could this be?” I ask myself as I hear the water turn on in the bathroom and then the door opens.
She jumps back, shocked to see me there. “Oh, you scared me,” she says, putting her hand to her chest.
I look around for a second before I walk to her. “I think we should talk,” I state as calmly as I can. My insides feel like a hurricane and a tornado are coming together, if that is even possible.
“Yeah, sure,” she says. “What’s up?”
“I don’t think we should talk here,” I suggest and turn my head toward the hallway entrance when I hear voices. “I think we should do it privately.”
“Um, I don’t really think we need to,” she replies as she moves her hand from her chest to her stomach. I can’t even see a bump because of the baggy sweater.
“Did you drive here?” I ask, afraid for a whole different reason. What if the baby isn’t mine? Then what? The need to just ask her if it’s my baby is so strong, but I know this conversation can’t be done here. Even if it’s not mine, I want her to know what our night meant to me.
“No, Michael picked me up,” she says, and I nod.
“I have to go drop off Penelope and see if I can get a sitter, and then I can come to you,” I tell her so she knows that we are definitely having this conversation.
“We really don’t have to do this today,” she says softly.
“It’s not up for debate,” I state. “I’m going to try to get a sitter, and then I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” she agrees right before she puts her head down and walks away from me, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling, the tears stinging my eyes. This isn’t happening to me again, is all I can think. The guilt inside me comes to the surface, and I can’t even catch it in time to push it away.
I live my life with the guilt I missed Penelope’s first everything. The guilt goes straight to my stomach as it starts to eat at it. I walk back into the yard and search for Penelope, finding her sitting in the grass, looking up at the sky, talking about the shape of the clouds. “Hey,” I interrupt, and she looks over. “Time to go.”
“Okay,” she says, getting up. “Can Parker sleep over next weekend?”
“I have to see the travel schedule,” I inform her because right now, I don’t even know what day it is. The only thing going through my mind is fifteen weeks.
“Okay,” Penelope chirps. She’s always been good at getting ready when I tell her it’s time. I often see kids ask their parents for five minutes more, but she’s never done it.
I don’t bother going back to the table because, for one, I don’t trust myself to not just ask her in front of everyone the question that has been eating at me since she told me she was fifteen weeks, since I counting the weeks on my phone calendar. I do stop and thank Matthew for inviting me and, of course, kiss Allison goodbye, even though Matthew always pushes me away from her.
I grab a pair of flip-flops out of the basket at the door because after Abigail threw up on my sneakers, I tossed them in the trash. We walk outside, and the only thing I can think of is calling Roxanne and asking her to come over.
When we make it home, Penelope walks up the stairs. “I’m going to go read,” she says. “Then after, do you want to watch a movie with me?”
“Yeah, I might have to go out for a bit later.”
“Can I come?” she asks, and I just shake my head.
“Not this time,” I say, and she turns and walks up the stairs. “Movie in twenty minutes?”
“Okay,” she says, rushing up the steps. I pull out my phone and call Roxanne, who answers after two rings.