Shatter (True Believers #4)(32)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Yep. No warm fuzzies there. “My situation?” I repeated because I wasn’t sure what exactly I was supposed to say to that.

“Yes, that you’re pregnant. Jonathon told me. Regardless of my personal opinion on the matter, as your professor I think it’s only fair to recommend you drop. You barely passed chem first semester and you’re too far behind already to successfully complete the course.”

Except that I was only at twelve credits this semester anyway because I’d been shut out of an anthropology course I needed. If I dropped chemistry, I would be part-time and I would lose my parent’s insurance. He didn’t need to know that, though. Determined to be polite and not cause trouble for Jonathon, I said, “Thank you. I’ll take that into consideration.” Then because I was nosy, I couldn’t help but ask, “What is your personal opinion on me having this baby?”

He pushed his glasses up on his nose. Funny how when Jonathon did that it was cute, endearing. When Professor Kadisch did it, it seemed angry. “I think it’s selfish,” he said shortly. “You’re ruining Jonathon’s life so you can play house.”

Tears were in my eyes before I could stop them. I had known he wasn’t exactly going to offer his hearty congratulations, but I hadn’t expected him to accuse me of destroying Jonathon’s life so I could play real-life baby dolls. “Jonathon seems okay with it so maybe you should be.”

“Jonathon is humoring you because he feels guilty.”

Wow.

“Well, then he’s already a step ahead of you,” I said. “Because at least he feels responsible for his behavior.”

Then because I was crying and it made me angry that I was crying in front of him, I left, hitting a chair with my hip on my way to the door.

* * *

The next day was my birthday. It was a Thursday and I went to class, trudging through the slushy snow remnants, feeling distracted and a little sad. Usually I loved my birthday. I had always been that way, as long as I could remember. I barely slept the night before. I pranced around telling everyone that it was My Day and that they had to treat me like a princess. I either had a party or went out, depending on my age at the time, and I rapturously opened all my presents, taking my time, saving ribbons and bows and pretty wrapping paper to recycle into craft projects.

This year, my mother had sent me a pretty card with a Visa debit card in it, suggesting I use it for maternity clothes. Because there was the gift everyone wants to get for themselves—elastic-waist pants. There would be no going out clubbing. No party. Funny how I had waited my whole life for my twenty-first birthday and here it was, just a gloomy Thursday, a winter day like any other. My phone rang as I passed the University Center, debating whether I could stomach lunch or not. I glanced at the screen and saw it was Robin calling me.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly grateful that she had called. It made me feel like things hadn’t changed as dramatically as they had.

“Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks. Listen, Robin, I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you before you and Phoenix left but I had just found out I was pregnant and I wasn’t feeling good . . . I wasn’t trying to be a jerk.” I ducked into the UC and decided all I wanted was a whipped cream–laden latte. Then I remembered what Jonathon had said about caffeine. Did they make decaf lattes? Did such a thing exist?

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m sure you were completely in shock.”

“That’s definitely true.”

“How are you doing now?”

“I’m okay. It’s going to be fine.” Then because that sounded so not enthusiastic, I asked, “How is New Orleans? Are you like all into voodoo and crawfish now?”

She laughed. “Not exactly. But I like it here. It’s like sixty-five degrees, by the way, and people call me ‘precious’ all the time. Classes are awesome and Phoenix likes the tattoo shop he’s working at. We live uptown, on the parade route, so we’ll be having our first Mardi Gras in just a couple of weeks. I can’t wait.”

Robin sounded great. Eager, excited, happy. “That’s awesome. How is Bourbon Street?”

“Not really the most exciting place for two people who don’t drink. But we like to go to Frenchmen Street, where there is live jazz. It’s less about the Huge-Ass Beers there.”

“That’s cool. No Huge-Ass Beer for me tonight either. It’s not exactly how I imagined my twenty-first birthday.” I sat down on a bench and felt sorry for myself. Not that I had any right to be pouting, really, but it seemed like the only party I was going to get was a pity party, so I might as well excel at it.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Ky-Ky,” she said, genuine regret in her voice. “I know you always wanted a big blowout.”

“It’s okay.” But I sighed anyway. “It wouldn’t be so bad except I look like butt. My skin is dull, my hair is dull. I haven’t shaved my legs or anything else in weeks and my nails looks like rats have been chewing on them while I sleep. I feel hideous.”

“Go get your nails done, then. It’s your birthday, you should be able to get a manicure.”

There was that Visa card in my purse. How irresponsible was that? Screw the maternity jeans, I would just wear yoga pants until I split the seams. I needed pampering. I could hear the song in my head. “It’s your birthday, it’s your birthday.”

“That is a great point. I think I will do that. Thanks, Robin.”

She laughed. “My birthday gift to you—financial justification.”

We talked for another ten minutes and it was an easy conversation. I didn’t even think about RAN at all during that time. It seemed to matter less and less. I was never going to forget, and I likely would always hold a tiny bit of resentment, but maybe in the end, Robin’s drunken f**kup had been the best thing that could have ever happened to me. It got me away from Nathan.

There was a salon on campus and I walked in and snagged a nail appointment. I let the tech massage my hands while I bitched about morning sickness. I felt all suburban housewife and it totally made me feel better. This wasn’t as far off of my vision for my life as I had originally feared.

Jessica and Rory met me afterward in the UC and Jess had a fancy cupcake for me, with a candle in it. She flicked a lighter over it.

“You can’t light that in here,” Rory protested.

“By the time someone notices, it will be out.”