Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“But you still have Les, Mikey and Winston at home. It’s too much to expect you to help with a grandchild as well.”
But now, my dad comes to sit on the other side of me, his rotund form comforting.
“It’s fine, Cammie,” he says. “You’re our child, and we want you to be happy. Plus, I’ve been waiting for grandkids, so this is perfect timing. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
At that, I break down and cry because my parents have always been so supportive and loving, no matter what trouble I got into. Now, I may be twenty years old, but it seems that I need them still. I wish things had turned out differently, and that I had a handsome man willing to take care of our growing family, but these are the cards I’ve been dealt, and I need to play them the best I can with or without Troy.
11
Cammie
* * *
I shift uncomfortably on the couch. Caitlin warned me that the end of the second trimester is the worst and it’s turning out to be true. My belly has grown to huge proportions and it’s getting so that I waddle when I walk, swinging left and right like an enormous hippo. In fact, in this loose housedress, I look like a beach ball with my swollen ankles and pudgy face.
Caitlin warned me this would happen, and assured me that it happens to all pregnant women, but I’m not sure. Do pregnant women eat three pints of ice cream per night? Do they require that the flavors be hazelnut chocolate, mint chocolate chip, and rocky road deluxe no matter what? I think not.
Fortunately, my friend’s being discreet about my pregnancy. I finally caved and told her, but only on one condition: that she not share with her husband.
“But I can’t!” Cait gasped. “I tell Travis everything.”
“Then I can’t tell you,” I said. “Sorry, girlfriend.”
With that, she gave in and swore not to reveal my secret, but my friend had her doubts.
“So you’re not telling Troy?” she asked. “But doesn’t he have a right to know?”
I took a deep breath.
“Cait, at this very moment, he could be in bed with that other woman. He could be banging her brains out. Or, he might be selecting wedding china and looking at engraved invitations. So no, he doesn’t get to know and it’s for the better, because there are too many things going on in his life.”
Caitlin mentioned something about Troy being miserable the last time she saw him, but I brushed it off. He deserves to suffer, and I steel my heart against his alleged pain.
I sigh and look around my apartment once more. It’s still just as shabby as when I moved in, with the same drab walls and second-hand furniture, but it was my first taste of freedom. It’s also going to be my last for a while because as soon as my parents found out I was pregnant, they insisted that I move home.
“I can’t!” I gasp. “There are only two bedrooms here. How are three adults, three children, and a baby going to fit in eight hundred square feet? Plus, Les just got his own room for the first time in his life!”
But my parents were firm.
“We’ll make it work,” my mom said. “It takes a village to raise a child, and Les will be fine. You and the baby will move into your old room, and your brother will sleep in the living room with Winston and Mikey. They’ll adjust. In fact, they’ll be as happy as three bugs in a rug.”
I highly doubted that, but Marcella and Leo were brooking no dissent. As a result, I’m finishing up my lease here, and then all my furniture is going into storage while I move back in with my folks. It’ll be cramped, but comforting, I suppose.
Meanwhile, I want to enjoy my last few gasps of freedom. I waddle over to the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator.
“Let’s see, what do we have here?” I ask the baby absentmindedly while rubbing my tummy. The child doesn’t respond, of course, but my cravings answer the question and I reach for a persimmon as well as a tub of peanut butter. Perfect. I’ve never liked persimmons nor peanut butter, and the two together is surely very strange. But now, I eagerly settle on the couch with my spoils, ready to dig in. Perfect.
Hungrily, I bite into the persimmon, letting its sweet juice drip onto my tongue before spooning out a dollop of peanut butter and wolfing it down hungrily. My eyes scan over the TV guide, and then stop on the Miss Universe pageant. Oh, this could be fun. It’s cheesy and glitzy, but also very lighthearted, and light hearts are what I need right now.
Applause becomes audible as the program returns from a commercial break.