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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years

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U N P L A N N E D, part five

An unexpected phone call from Harry while he was out of town certainly wasn’t what your rising level of hormones needed. You were seven weeks pregnant, nauseous at random times in the day, and still incredibly tight lipped about the tiny pea-sized human inside of you.

But the phone call wasn’t really what had you in tears--it was his request for a FaceTime call so you could meet his mum and his sister. He promised that they were shocked but excited nonetheless, happy that you weren’t a complete stranger and certainly not just a random hook up.

Okay, so I guess he’s a liar, Lexi laughed, unintentionally dredging up the embarrassment that slept in the pit of your stomach.

But he swore they were excited, especially once he promised you that he didn’t make it sound like you were a longtime friend or a girlfriend. Don’t lie to them about how we know each other, Harry, don’t make it sound like this wasn’t an accident.

So when the call came across your phone, you swallowed the panic and the nausea and hoped for the best. Lexi and Glenne sipped margaritas at the counter and pretended they weren’t there. They wrote notes on paper and slid suggestions your way. Ask about what they’ve done as a family while he’s home. Say you can’t wait to meet them in person!

It was fine enough--they wished you well and promised to meet face to face soon. His mother cried a bit and said she was happy--shocked, I’m not going to lie, but happy nonetheless.

So you didn’t expect to hear from him for a few days. He’d be home on Sunday--he’d mentioned it in passing on the FaceTime call--so you were sure you’d have time to settle and prepare for whatever was upcoming.

But when your phone rang on the counter Thursday night, Lexi was eating a bowl of cereal in her underwear in front of an SVU marathon. You slid your thumb across the screen to answer it.

“Hello?”

His voice was quiet, you tried to do the math of what time it was there. “Hi--s’me.”

“Hi,” you paused to stand over the sink, your back to Lexi for whatever sliver of privacy your apartment could afford.

“What are you up to?”

“Just got home from work, actually. We’re just gonna hang out tonight, kind of tired, honestly.”

He hummed in response, you could hear the sleep in his voice. You wondered where he was. In bed? About to brush his teeth? You didn’t ask why he called.

“Do you feel alright?”

“Yeah,” you reassured. “I’m fine. Kind of nauseous and just more tired than usual--but I think that’s normal.”

“Right. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I know,” you laughed. “It’s been a minute. What have you been up to?”

“A lot of meetings, honestly. Spent a few nights in London for a photoshoot for the album cover, merch stuff. Nothing too exciting.”

You held the phone in place with your shoulder, shifting over to the fridge to find an appetizing snack. “That sounds cool--better than getting angry emails about your font choice.”

“Yeah I can’t say I’ve experienced that. But look, I, uh, I’m glad you got to talk to my family the other night.”

You paused, a swell of emotion in your eyes. It might not have been your most cherished social interaction to date, but he hadn’t said anything to make you think it had crashed and burned. “Me too, it was almost sort of fun--aside from all the crying I’m doing.”

Lexi’s ears perked up at that, she made a face from the living room. If she didn’t know who was on the phone, she did now.

“Right,” he laughed. “S’the hormones, I guess, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A pause. “When do you think I could, you know, see you again?”

“Dunno,” You sighed, a rush of heat on your cheeks. “You’re back Sunday and it’s a busy week at work, next week. So, maybe next weekend or something?”

“Yeah--okay, I just, miss you, is all.”

“Oh--uh, yeah, it’s been forever,” you looked over at Lexi, still pretending like she was watching TV and not eavesdropping. You didn’t know if you should say it back. Did you miss him? Sure--maybe you felt a little weird not knowing what he was up to or not wanting to text him about new symptoms, but--you didn’t know if that counted as missing him. In all honesty, you were kind of surprised he said it.

So you settled on something in between. “Yeah--I can’t wait for you to come home. Or, back to LA, I guess.”

“I can stop by, when I land, if you’re around Sunday.”

“Yeah--I should be here, if you want.”

“Okay.”

“What time is it?”

“One in the morning,” he stifled a laugh. “I saw my dad for dinner tonight--hung out with my sister. Just getting to sleep now and wanted to see how you were.”

You licked at your lips, trying to ignore the spark in your veins when you realized that he was thinking about you. You were out of sight, but not out of mind. You expected to be out of both.

“Alright--well, I’m fine. You can sleep, you sound tired.”

“I am.”

“Okay.”

“Okay--so I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then, Harry. Night.”

You hung up and set it down on the counter, surprised at the smile on your face.

Lexi looked up from the bowl of cereal she had on her lap. Eyes wide, she held your gaze for a second. “You are so catching feelings, homegirl.”

You made a face, a scoff before you retorted. “I am not.”

“Yes, you are!” She put the bowl on the coffee table and crawled over on the cushions to get a better view of you in the kitchen. “I had fun too, that sounds so cool, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you!”

You rolled your eyes--her impression of you wasn’t too far off, but she managed to raise the octave of your voice when she twirled a piece of her hair around a finger.

“I’m being nice to him, he’s the father of my unborn child, is that okay?”

“More than fine,” she laughed, waving a hand at you. “That’s the most romantic shit I’ve ever heard.”

You settled on a spoonful of peanut butter to hold you over until dinner. You uncapped the lid of the jar. “It’s nothing, okay? We’re friends. Don’t you think we need to be friends if we’re having a baby?”

“Y/N, look--” she stood from the couch and came over to the island, watching as you dipped a spoon inside. “I love you, with all my heart. I love the little lump of cells in your uterus--and I would regret it if I didn’t say that you and Harry falling in love would just about make my 2019 altogether.”

You shoved it in your mouth and spoke around it. “Alright, well, don’t hold your breath.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, dismissing your comment before she turned to go back to the couch. “You’re obnoxious.”

“I’m reasonable and rational. Just because I got over my whole hating him phase doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”

“Okay, first off, you never hated him. So I don’t even know who you’re trying to play.”

“Well I didn’t really like him at first. And I definitely didn’t like the idea of being pregnant with a stranger’s baby, okay? This has been a weird two months.”

“Exactly. You’re two months pregnant with a popstar’s baby--one who happens to be cute and rich and charming as fuck! And you’re saying you’re not gonna catch any feelings.”

You shook your head. It wasn’t like that. “I’m co-existing with the father of my child and being friendly. We’ve hung out, what? Maybe like, seven times? And two of which were to sign paperwork about how I won’t sue him or blackmail him and another two were for doctors appointments? That’s not exactly for fun, Lexi.”

You didn’t mean to sound so defensive--but maybe you were saying it for your good as well as hers. No one needed to get their hopes up, especially not you.

She laughed, reached for the remote to unmute her show. “Okay--well, when you wake up one day and realize you’ve got it bad for him, don’t say I didn’t call it.”

“Okay,” you promised sarcastically, “I’ll be sure to tell you when that happens.”

He didn’t stop by after the airport like he’d said. His flight was delayed and by the time he landed you were fast asleep, though you did wake up to a few messages.

Harry (11:56pm): I just landed, took so long, I’m sorry. Are you up?

Harry (12:02am): I’d still love to stop by if you are.

Harry (12:04am): I’ll see you soon xx

You replied the next morning, promising that it was fine and you were asleep and you’d definitely, certainly see him soon. You didn’t tell Lexi that you really wanted to.

So you had to make an excuse when she asked if you wanted to meet her for dinner on Melrose, and then you had to dodge Simone on your way out of the office on Monday.

“You were such a help today,” she said, catching up with you when you flicked off the lights in your office and shut the door. “I never thought Carson would admit that he made a mistake, but, there’s a first for everything.”

You had your work bag over your shoulder, sunglasses on your head when you laughed. “I’m glad he took me seriously, for once.”

“You’ve been busy lately--I feel like you’re never here.”

Her comment wasn’t loaded, Simone was always encouraging everyone to have a better work-life balance.

“I know--I’ve had a lot going on, but I’m all good.”

“You sure? Do you need help with anything?”

“No--I finalized that ad today for the new line of home tech, so--we should be fine.”

“Okay,” she smiled, a sliver of skepticism in her eyes. “Where are you off to now?”

“A friend’s,” you said casually. Not a lie. “Haven’t seen him in forever, so--just catching up.” Not completely a lie.

She raised her eyebrows a bit. “A male friend? That’s exciting.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not, I swear. But I should go--the 405 is already a shit show, so.”

“Yeah, okay,” she fell into step beside you, pulling off at her office door that was only a few steps down the hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The parking lot was full and the Southern California sun beat down on the pavement--you called your mom on your way to Harry’s and asked if hot flashes came along with being pregnant. She was glad you got to FaceTime with his family, but jealous, she admitted. I’ll come to town when they do, she promised. We’ll all go out to brunch!

The drive up through the hills was nice, windows down, radio hummed and made you feel as if all was normal. The butterflies didn’t kick in until you parked and walked up the front steps.

He greeted you at the door, hair coiffed in the afternoon sun. He squinted, lips turned up at the corners when he let his eyes sweep over your figure. “Hi,” an outstretched arm to offer you a platonic side-hug. “How was work?”

“Fine,” you said, stepping inside the air conditioned walls. You let your work bag fall onto the floor beside you. “My coworkers definitely know that something is up.”

You were surprised when a look of panic didn’t cross his face. He laughed, headed over past the stairs and into the kitchen. “Yeah--why’s that?”

“Cause I’ve had to work from home a fair amount and I don’t tell them why.”

His forehead creased, worry on his face as if something was wrong.

“Just when I have a doctor’s appointment or something,” you reassured. “But normally I’d tell them why and I haven’t and then today when I was leaving, Simone--she’s on my team--asked why I was in a hurry to leave.”

“And?” He grabbed a glass from a sleek black cupboard, placed it beneath the faucet.

“I just said I was seeing a friend.”

He handed the glass over, now filled three-quarters of the way with water. He raised his eyebrows in a triumphant smirk.

“What?”

“You called me your friend.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t think that baby daddy would be appropriate.”

“Fair,” he leaned his head to the side and watched as you sipped the water. After a second, he turned his back, stopped to look over a piece of paper on the counter. “Well, I’m gonna make us some dinner. Figured you might be sick of In N’ Out and seeing as take away is the only low key option, prepare yourself for a culinary masterpiece.”

You swallowed the water quickly, trying to hide the shock on your face. “Do you cook, like, ever?”

He turned around, offended. “What? Y/N are you kidding? Of course I cook.”

“Well I didn’t know if you have someone do that sort of thing for you.”

He made another face, blinked a few times as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “Take a seat,” he said finally, motioning to a stool on the other side of his island. “Watch.”

He diced onion, chopped up carrots. What is this? You teased. Chicken soup?

But you were close--a roast chicken dish that his grandmother had passed down to his mom. My specialty, he promised. So you sat there for a while, you told him about Carson and the rude emails, about the possible promotion and your nervousness about what would happen when--you know--there was someone else involved.

“Someone else?”

“A child,” you said. “You know, that thing in my uterus that we saw the other week. It’s gonna be super different when it’s here. He or she or they or whoever. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be Team Lead if I have a baby on my nipple.”

Another smirk, then a shrug. “We can get a nanny.”

“No--I don’t--we don’t need that.”

“Well--if I’m going to be on tour at some point next year and you’re getting promoted, we might need some help.”

You hadn’t ever thought that far ahead. Not past the possibility of being pregnant at work and eventually having to tell everyone that you were, in fact, pregnant. “We have friends and family, though. I don’t want my baby raised by a stranger.”

“Wouldn’t be a stranger, love,” he picked up a pair of tongs, stirred the contents inside the pan. “It’d be a nanny.”

“Well, I think it’s too soon to go there.”

He let the tongs rest on the counter. A moment of silence passed between you.

That’s when you looked around, looked over your shoulder at the living room behind you. The arm of the couch you sat on in a tight dress--the coffee table you’d left your drink on that night when he showed you the bedroom upstairs.

“I haven’t actually been in here since that night,” you said, your words floated towards the ceiling, large windows overlooked the backyard, a pool, sleek white chairs to lay in the sun.

“You stood in the foyer when you told me.”

You laughed, looked over your shoulder at him. He was leaned against the counter, sunlight giving you a good look at the ink on his arms. “I kind of wiped that day from my memory.”

“I can show you--upstairs--if you want.”

“The scene of the crime?”

“The conception of our child,” he said, pointed a finger in the air to correct you. He motioned with his chin towards the stairs, started walking before you agreed. “Come on.”

So you hopped off the stool, followed him up the large staircase that twisted around itself, bringing you up to a hardwood landing and a long hall. The master ensuite was at the end, apparently, he pointed out guest rooms and a home office before he opened a set of double doors.

“Wow,” you said, almost more to yourself than to him.

He snickered, “you’ve seen it before, remember?”

“Yeah, but, I was drunk and it was dark.”

You didn’t remember the view--but you did remember him pressing a button on a remote somewhere to draw the curtains. He laughed and fell onto the bed that night, insisting that you must have been a real trooper to put up with Lexi running lines at all hours of the night prior to big auditions.

“Yeah--well this is it,” he said, a few steps forward towards the end of the king sized bed. “Bathroom’s over there, good tub.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, feeling a bit uncomfortable, like somehow you were both back in that night, ghosts of your past selves tangled in the sheets.

“Yeah--definitely quite a romantic spot, so, I don’t blame us that night.”

You laughed at that, rolled your eyes when he walked over to the floor to ceiling windows, crossed his arms and took in the view of Los Angeles. You shrugged. “I mean--we could have done a few things better.”

“Hey,” he chastised, turning around with a smirk on his face. “It was a magical night!”

“Right--if you count the drunken fumbling and then, you know, the whole conceiving a child thing.”

“We were drunk but it was still--good.”

An awkward beat, pink on your cheeks before you turned around to look at the white duvet. He had to say that, right? He definitely couldn’t say it was bad or he didn’t remember or something.

“I remember almost falling off the bed at one point.”

“Right after I took your bra off--you tried to make sure it wasn’t improperly folded,” he choked back a laugh, a knowing look on his face about how you tended to be with neatness. “But in full transparency, Y/N, I wasn’t really worried about how it was folded. I was more just trying to kiss you.”

You ignored the look on his face, one that made you feel like he was flirting with you. “Then I remember you putting on a condom--like you should.”

“Right, grabbed it from the bedside table,” he went over and opened the drawer, pulling out a black and gold box, tiny foil squares inside.

You sighed at the sight of them--the tiny devices that should have kept this from happening. A few steps forward, an extended hand to look at the box. “99% effective my ass.”

You flipped it over in your hands, he let out a sigh.

“Harry, hold on--is this, it says expires 2018. It’s 2019.”

“What?” He reached for the box and took it out of your hands quickly, holding it closer to his face this time to look at the tiny, black numbers on the side. “Fuck.”

“Are you kidding?” You stepped back from him. “You had expired condoms and we had sex with an expired condom and that’s why this happened?”

You weren’t as angry as you sounded, mostly shocked and annoyed and honestly, sort of nauseous from all of the scents that followed you up from the kitchen.

“I didn’t know--I obviously wouldn’t have used them if I knew--I just, I hadn’t been here in a while before then!”

You let out a sigh and squeezed your eyes shut, pinched at the bridge of your nose.

He stepped towards you, his voice filled with concern. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

You opened your eyes quickly, offered him a death glare. “No--I just can’t believe you’re that stupid!”

He rolled his eyes at that, tossed the box on the bed and let his hands fall against his sides. “Well, my apologies, then. It’s all my fault.”

“No--I’m not, I’m sorry, it’s just,” you opened your eyes now, rubbed at them a few times before letting him come back into focus. “That explains it. Now we know. It’s no one’s fault.”

He sat on the bed, a tiny laugh from between his lips. “I mean, it’s sort of mine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, dimples on his cheeks when he looked up at you. You sat beside him on the bed and let your back hit the mattress. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You stared at the ceiling, hoping that deep breaths would quell the nausea inside of you. In, out, in, out. Another plane was visible out the window, taking off this time, nose pointed towards the sky, bringing the people inside far away from a busy Los Angeles.

“You know,” he turned around, pulled a knee up onto the duvet when he stared down at you. His voice was quiet and the sun that seeped through the windows gave him a bit of a glow. “I have a feeling that one day we won’t regret it as much as we do right now.”

The word already left a bad taste in your mouth--regret. It was that stupid tracking app--as soon as you started seeing fruit sizes, you were done for. You could regret it or wish it hadn’t happened but the truth was that you were here and it was real and you already felt a growing love for the lump of cells that had attached to your uterine lining.

“I know,” you said quietly.

More silence. He watched you for a second until you stood up, heading back to the kitchen, suddenly hungry for dinner and desperate for more water.

“This is bullshit,” you said later that night, feet up on the coffee table when he flipped through channels on TV. “Haven’t you seen those things where the guy doesn’t drink throughout the pregnancy either, cause he’s a good partner?” You caught the word as soon as it slipped out. “Not that--you know--just that most people are married in this situation.”

“I know what you mean,” he didn’t even look over at you, settled on Jeopardy before he put down the remote and picked up the glass of wine that he’d nursed through dinner. “That’s a big ask, Y/N.”

“Having your child because you used an expired condom is a big ask, Harry.”

He raised his glass of wine towards you, as if to cheers. “You’re not wrong. But I thought it was no one’s fault?”

“Well--it’s your fault I can’t have a glass of cabernet.”

He leaned over, let a hand rest on your thigh and looked you in the eyes. “When she’s here and you can drink, I’ll buy you all the wine you want.”

A thump in your chest--you’d kept yourself from taking a guess. “She’s a she?”

“Don’t you think?” He let go now, moved back to his seat and picked up his wine casually before he reached to check his phone.

“I hadn’t thought at all, really, about it. One way or another.”

“I think it’s a girl.”

“Do you want it to be a girl?”

He pushed his lips out in thought. “No preference. Just a feeling.”

A pause--the daily double logo flashed on the screen. “Do you want to find out at some point?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. I don’t know when they can tell, so.”

“Me neither. We don’t have to.”

He changed the subject, then. Asked about Lexi and promised you that Jeff wasn’t upset. He had another glass of wine and showed you pictures from his trip home. One of him and his sister on a hike--another with his mom and her cat, socked feet on their couch one night after dinner.

His world was a strange one--far away from yours but somehow it had already fully collided. At 9:30pm you decided it was best to head home. Traffic would be light if you were lucky, but a 7am wake up call was waiting on the other side of sleep. He handed you the work bag you’d dropped on the floor and offered a closed lip smile. “Can I see you again soon?”

You hesitated, slung the strap over your shoulder and tried to come up with the right response. “Yeah--I mean, if you want. I know you’re busy, you don’t--like--have to hang out with me, remember?”

He shook his head, his tone a bit harsh when he searched your eyes for an answer. “I want to--why is that so impossible for you to swallow?”

“It’s not impossible--I just, I don’t know. We don’t really know each other and we don’t have to pretend like this is anything other than what it is.”

“I want to know you. You’re the mother of my child, Y/N.”

“Fine.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay,” you said, defeated. You didn’t know if you believed him. You wanted to. But the hormones in your system were likely untrustworthy. Getting to know him meant you could like it, like him. It meant you could get attached and getting attached meant you could get hurt. You pushed the thought out of your head. You were thinking about it too much already. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

Jeff watched as you sat in the chair, a rubber band tied tight around your arm. “He’ll be here,” he said. “He’s just running late, I guess.”

You nodded, hoping the nurse with blue gloves wouldn’t get excited when she saw who Jeff was referring to.

They’d decided the paternity test would be done by a third-party lab. Another doctor’s office, this time in Burbank. Jeff watched as the needle slid into your vein, a vial in the nurse’s hand soon filled.

A knock on the door, another nurse with Harry in tow once the first vial had been replaced with a second. “Hi,” he said, a bit out of breath. “Sorry--I was doing some stuff with Emma at the house.”

You waved awkwardly, left arm still held in the hands of the nurse. She smiled in his direction, you’d watched her sign the NDA that Jeff had brought, a letter from Dave’s office, a watermark made it official.

How awkward, you thought. Various people here and there now knew. Dr. Weston’s office. These nurses. You wondered when there’d be the inevitable meeting about coming out with it. What would be said when something finally leaked? How would you keep your privacy or your sanity when people wanted more information from you?

“Okay,” the nurse smiled, a wad of gauze over the crook of your elbow. “All set.”

“Am I up?” Harry took a step forward, ready to climb into the chair.

“Just a cheek swab, from you,” she replied, setting the second vial in a stand beside the first. She stuck a label on to each of them, reached for a long q-tip and then turned around. Harry opened his mouth, looked around awkwardly when she held his chin and then rubbed at the inside of his cheek.

You crossed your arms, “everything the man has to do is easier with this stuff, isn’t it?”

Jeff laughed at that, shrugged a bit before the nurse let go of Harry’s face. He moved his tongue around a bit, smacking his lips together as if the swab had a bad taste.

It was awkward, the whole thing. Apparently Dave had decided that Jeff should chaperone, watch you get poked and prodded to ensure that the results were accurate. Nothing had changed in Harry’s demeanor, and if you took his words at face value, he trusted you. Believed you. So why, of all people, was Jeff not?

Pam--that’s what the nametag on her scrubs said--set the swab in a tube. “So we’ll send this off now and the results will be mailed to the address you listed in 5-10 business days.”

“It’s going to Dave’s office,” Jeff informed the two of you. “He’ll call you both with the results.”

You grabbed your purse and you were all on your way to the parking lot to find your separate cars in the warm sun. You wanted to ask them if they really thought you were lying, ask if you were allowed to say I told you so when the results came back. Glenne promised it was just a legal requirement. Nothing to do with you, she said. They’d make anyone do it.

“I’m supposed to meet Glenne for lunch,” Jeff said, a hand over his eyes when he turned around. “If you guys want to join.”

You looked over at Harry, were they your friends or his? If you’d been worried about people having to choose sides, now was the moment it came to fruition. Harry stood in the parking lot, sunglasses on his face when he seemed to wait for your response. Could you both go?

“Oh--I don’t--you can go, Harry. I should go home anyway. Lexi and I said we’d clean today.”

“I think Lexi’s coming,” Jeff pulled his phone out of his pocket to check a text. “Yeah--Glenne said we’re meeting at Fin’s for brunch.”

“You can ride with me, Y/N,” Harry stepped forward now, still waiting for you to make a call. Hesitation, a nervousness in your stomach about what Jeff thought of it all. Would he allow you to go in the same car? Or was that somehow against something you’d signed?

But the nervousness felt like nausea and the nausea sometimes felt like hunger. So you went.

Not because your apartment wasn’t a mess, but mostly because you knew Lexi’d give you shit if you bailed. You promised yourself you’d give her shit for roping you into a group outing. She knew what she was doing. When she agreed to tag along she knew she’d signed you up for it, too.

“If she’s not then I’m not,” Harry smiled up at the waiter, shut his menu in front of him before smiling over at you.

“You can get a mimosa,” you rolled your eyes in response. Lexi’s manicured hands clapped together when Glenne ordered a pitcher for the table.

“M’fine, water’s fine.”

The waiter disappeared and you ignored the smirk on Lexi’s face.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he turned to you again, voice quieter as if the rest of the table wasn’t listening. “I can definitely go nine months.”

“Without alcohol? Yeah, right,” Glenne laughed. “You’ll make it two weeks before you want a glass of Merlot.”

“I’ll be fine,” he scoffed, sunglasses still on his face beneath the terraced patio. “I don’t even like Merlot.”

Glenne made a face and Jeff leaned forward. “You really think you can go nine months without drinking?”

Harry set his elbows on the table, narrowed his eyes. “Care to make it interesting?”

“Place your bets, everyone,” Glenne let out a laugh and reached for the water that had already been delivered.

“Two weeks,” you said quickly. Another shocked look from Harry when turned to see you.

“Two weeks?! You think I’m spineless, don’t you?”

“I watched you house two glasses of wine the other night after dinner.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows at that--Glenne seemed to give Lexi a look. You tried to backtrack, suddenly worried that maybe they weren’t supposed to know you and Harry had spent some time together outside of meetings and doctors appointments.

“Whatever, how long do you think you can go?” You pushed the attention back to Harry, he shifted in his seat beside you.

“Nine months,” He nodded. “I think I can do it.”

“I give you two months,” Jeff sighed. “Tops.”

“I vote eight months,” Lexi said, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand. “I think your downfall will be Christmas and New Years.”

“That counts as nine months if it’s New Years,” Harry said. “She’s due in January!”

“I vote halfway. Four or five months,” Glenne leaned back and watched him.

You sipped at your water, a bit resentful about all of it. Here they were, all talking as if everything was normal. As if Harry’s lawyer hadn’t painted you to be a liar. As if the problem here was your negligence or greed, not the expired condoms in Harry’s bedside table. As if you didn’t feel out of place at a fancy restaurant in North Hollywood, likely the only person at the table who couldn’t afford an early retirement.

Harry het a land rest on your knee beneath the table. “I’ll do my best, and whoever’s closest, I’ll buy you a nice dinner.”

“That’s all?” Jeff teased. “No yacht or car?”

“I’ll take you to Nobu,” he raised his eyebrows, giving Jeff a look he apparently couldn’t resist.

“So I have a question, then,” Glenne changed the subject, her voice quieter than it was before. “Have you thought about any names?”

“No,” you said quickly, hands folded in your lap. Harry fumbled with his napkin but watched as you spoke. “We don’t even--we don’t have the results yet.” You motioned back to the street--back towards the chair and the tiny room with fluorescent lights--as if you couldn’t do any sort of planning until it was settled. The parentage, as Dave had said.

Glenne nodded, lips pursed in a line. She knew where you stood with it--she thought it was just as shitty as unfair as you did, but she was stuck in the middle. “Sweetie--we know you wouldn’t lie about it, it’s just--”

You looked at Jeff quickly, pulled your eyes back to Glenne. The waiter appeared with three glasses, placed them right in front of Lexi as if she’d drink all three. She rubbed her hands together when they were poured.

Jeff shrugged and offered you an apologetic smile. “I know it’s shitty and awkward,” he said. “But just think about what a shit show it could be if we didn’t test it. I mean--it’s you, I get that. You’re not just some random person or something, but--we’d be stupid to not just make sure.”

“I know,” you said. “I get it.”

“Once the results are back next week Dave will lighten up,” Jeff nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”

Harry was quiet, watched as Lexi handed the last mimosa over to Jeff. After a second, he shrugged. “I like Vienna.”

You turned to look at him quickly. “Vienna? As a name?”

He nodded.

“No,” you said. “I don’t like it.”

“Or Jane. Simple, pretty.”

Lexi looked at him like he had three heads. “You already decided it’ll be a girl?”

He nodded, shifted to look at you as if he couldn’t be any more serious. “She knows I’m right.”

“No I don’t,” you laughed. “He’s crazy. If you’re worried about one of us being a nut job, it’s him,” you looked directly at Jeff.

Harry held up his glass of water, pushed it towards the center of the table. Glenne raised her mimosa, she laughed when Lexi took a gulp before clinking hers into the circle.

“Here’s to me being a nut job, then,” Harry laughed. “Even though I’m right.”

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author’s note: HELLO AGAIN! I’m posting off schedule right now cause I know folks are home and looking for some positivity. So if you’ve got nothing else to do, read some fanfic!! Stay the fuck home, y’all. I’m a nurse. I mean it.

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normalg-irl · 5 years

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When People Ask Me What I’m Doing After Graduation This Is What I’ll Say | May 3, 2019

So, I don’t have a job lined up for after graduation. I’m also not volunteering with the JVC or Americorps like some of my friends who enjoy helping people. I don’t have an internship, and I’m not traveling anywhere. I actually have no idea what I want to do? Like as a career, but also … in life? So I’ve decided to construct an honest answer to provide to anyone who asks me what I’m doing after graduation. If you, too, do not have a “plan” for post-grad, you are welcome to join me in the glorious city of Hartford, Connecticut, where these 5 post-grad steps will be carried out.

Step 1: Watch Game of Thrones.

Never having seen Game of Thrones makes me feel almost as shitty as never having seen any of the Harry Potter movies (never mind never having read the books). This is the first time I’m admitting that. I usually just play along like,

“I would be in Gryffindor, no doubt. My favorite spell is Leviosa. JK Rowling is honestly a legend.”

I’m embarrassed to confess how uncultured I am. But, with GoT, it’s way too complicated. You can’t just skim the surface like,

“Winter is coming. Jon Snow is my favorite character. Yeah, I’m not bothered by the incest either.”

I’m going to take the first three weeks immediately after graduation to binge GoT and get caught up to speed for the sake of the culture. And also for my own mental health because I’ve been feeling excluded and anxious every time Khaleesi is brought up around me. She sounds like a legend, almost more so than JK Rowling.

Step 2: Exercise lightly.

After the three weeks of binging Game of Thrones I’ll probably try and get my body looking right. No one tells you that going to Punta Cana for spring break turns you into a drinking-machine-party-fiend. The all-inclusive trip destroys all tendencies of eating vegetables and run-walking on the treadmill. For the latter portion of senior year all I’ve known, and all I’ve wanted to know, are Miami Vices (pina coladas and strawberry daiquiris mixed for the ignorant lames), permanent sunburns and foggy conversations with the same people over and over again.

So, with that, health and fitness has plummeted drastically on the list of priorities. Before entering the “real world” I’ll need to burn off all the fried chicken I swallowed whole while floating around in the Punta Cana resort pool. Step 2 is necessary in order to bury that part of the identity and embrace a classier manifestation of self.

Step 3: My high school friends and I become so bored that we go get frozen yogurt and have a really awkward encounter with someone random from our past.

Step 3 can be weaseled in at any point in the post-grad plan. Preferably I will complete step 3 multiple times, almost on a weekly basis. I envision a lot of days playing out like this:

11:00AM: Wake up.

11:04AM: Enter an “Instagram k hole” (This is a term I just learned. It’s when you get so deep into Instagram it feels kind of like you did too much Ketamine, and you’re seriously f*cked up).

12:10PM: Mom is getting home, so I quickly stage a job application workshop in the kitchen.

12:30PM: Mom really wants me to try harder at applying for jobs, I tell her I will.

12:45PM - 4:20PM: *Insert step 1 or step 2 here, depending on what level you’ve reached of the plan.* So this block of time can be filled with either culture binging, or getting the body right.

4:20PM: By this time culture = binged, or body = right. Both great outcomes. Send a text in the group chat, everyone’s down to hang, obv. No one has a job.

7:30PM: Not sure how those three hours were spent. Potentially was sucked into another k hole, but this time mind was completely erased.

8:25PM: Group unites at the friend’s house who has the most chill parents.

8:30PM - 9:50PM: Vaping, light gossip, and brief but intense Instagram k holes are accompanied by a random TV show playing in the background like Catfish or anything on TLC.

10:00PM: One friend suggests getting frozen yogurt. It’s the best idea she’s had in years.

10:15PM: Arrive at Sweet Frog dizzy off the vape. The smell inside is extremely nauseating. Someone might pass out in Sweet Frog.

10:16PM: Everyone fills up their cups with a mixture of flavors. One friend just gets a ton of those little balls with juice inside of them. She’s a psychopath.

10:19PM: I enter a frozen yogurt k hole. Halfway through the fro-yo I realize I do not like fro-yo. But then all of a sudden my cup is empty.

10:23PM: The awkward encounter the entire group has been anticipating finally happens. The middle school basketball coach enters Sweet Frog with his new girlfriend. He has no idea how old we are. He can’t even make a guess. He is intoxicated in Sweet Frog. He kisses us on the cheeks. His girlfriend is really pretty.

10:41PM: I leave Sweet Frog feeling awkward and sick. But it was something I had to do. And it’s something you have to do. It’s only right.

Step 4: Shock my parents’ friends when I say, “I have no idea what I want to do” in the Big Y parking lot.

After the Sweet Frog interactions, awkward encounters will be nothing but a thang. I expect them to spice up the depressing post-grad days, and will probably become a favored activity.

So when my Mom asks me to go to Big Y to get a watermelon (she likes to give me random tasks), I’ll be kind of excited to go.

When I see Mrs. Miller in the parking lot, I won’t pretend not to see her. She asks me what I’m up to, what my “plan” is, and when I tell her about binging GoT and going to Sweet Frog and working out every few days, her face grows concerned and I am hoping she talks about my excellent plan with the other moms. I just want to be talked about, honestly.

I help Mrs. Miller put her groceries in her minivan so she thinks I’m still a good person even if I have no ambition.

“Good luck, sweetie.”

She nods empathetically from her minivan window as I stand alone in my pajamas in the Big Y parking lot carrying a watermelon.

Step 5: Read a life-changing book at the town pool.

I haven’t read a book in years. Reflecting on my life, I may never have actually finished a full novel. What if I’m in a job interview and the interviewer asks me what my favorite book is? I need to have something truthful and profound to say. The Fault in Our Stars isn’t going to cut it. I could maybe swing saying that the Game of Thrones series is my favorite, because I’m pretty sure they were books before a TV show? But that feels like it’d be super transparent at this point.

I can’t go into an intellectual discussion with some alternative, experimental book all confident like, “Have you read The Girl with the Chastity Belt’s Lullaby? It’s my favorite.”

No, you need something absolutely classic like To Kill a Mockingbird or Don Quixote or Fifty Shades of Grey. I’ll probably pick up War and Peace and call it a day. Been meaning to read that one. And then off to the pool I go.

I see myself spending a super relaxing time by the pool with my book. There are no annoying kids splashing around the day I decide to go and conquer my book. It’ll be closed off for academics on their sabbaticals just like me who want to peacefully read and feed their brains.

As I flip around War and Peace, I see a ton of pages, and a ton of words I don’t know. I suck at reading. I don’t know how to read. I can read the words, but the whole time my mind is thinking about potential boyfriends and potential parties and potential conversations. All which might never happen.

War and Peace spirals me into an anxiety k hole, which I think is actually just an anxiety attack, and I storm out of the pool without even buying french fries from the snack bar.

That’s as far as I’m going to make it into step 5.

And there we have it my friends. Graduating without a job isn’t that scary if you embrace my perfect five-step post-graduation plan. Because, believe me, once you do it all - once you’ve watched eight seasons of Game of Thrones, hit Sweet Frog a couple hundred times, toned a few muscles, run into lots of moms, and “read” War and Peace … you will be ready to hightail it back to NYC - and maybe even land a job.

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Published by The Rival at Fordham University on May 3, 2019

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