“I don’t just sit at home,” I bristle.
“Ah, yeah, you do.”
I can feel myself getting frustrated with this conversation, and the last thing I want to do is snap at Dee when she is clearly just trying to do something nice. Even if it is unwarranted.
“I do other things,” I weakly argue.
“HA! Like what?” The challenge is clear in her words.
“I…uh… The other day, I…”
Shit. She’s right. There really isn’t much I do. I work with her. I go to weekly dinners with the group. I help—er, used to help—Asher. And I write.
“I know!” I yelp a little too loud. “I went to my first creative writing class the other day!” I throw my fist up in the air, realizing that I have her there.
Writing has always been a passion of mine. Nothing I’ve ever had the guts to pursue at a deeper level other than dabbling. It wasn’t until everything with Coop happened that I realized just how precious life was. From that day on, I’ve made a point to work on things I’ve always been afraid to try. I might never do anything with the book I’ve been working on for the last four years, but it’s there, and more importantly, it makes me happy.
“As proud of you that I am, there is no way that counts. I’m talking about going out, meeting a m-a-n.”
“I don’t need a man, Dee. Just because I’ve got a baby on the way in no way means that I need a man to take care of me. My mom managed just fine. Not only was she a single mother, but also she never made me feel like I was a burden on her life. She was the best parent I could ever imagine. A man doesn’t define whether I, or my child for that matter, have a good life.” I can feel my throat burning with unshed tears just begging to get out when I think about my mom.
It’s been almost five years since I lost my mom to breast cancer. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. She had been struggling for a good year before she passed away. It wasn’t sudden, and even though we had time to come to terms with her immanent death, it wasn’t easy. One thing that keeps me going is knowing that, wherever she is now, she’s proud of me. I know she is. Sure, she wouldn’t have wanted me to be a single mother like she was. No mother wants her child to deal with being a single parent. But she taught me everything I know about love and, more importantly, how to love a child. So I know she’s happy.
“I didn’t mean that, Chelcie,” Dee whispers into the phone. Her earlier excitement has obviously dimmed because of my attitude. I instantly feel guilty for letting my crazy pregnancy hormones get the best of me.
“I’m sorry, Dee. I know you’re just trying to help. I just don’t know if I want to even be in a relationship. I’m going because—who knows—I might be, and I might meet someone worth taking the chance.” I take a deep breath and realize that everything I just said is true. I might not want to go or even think I need a man right now, but I could also be keeping the door to my own personal happiness locked tight by refusing to go.
“Really?” she questions. The earlier bravado in her voice is completely gone, making me feel like crap.
“Really, Dee. Thanks for everything. I’ll let you know how things go tonight with Nikolas, okay?”
We talk for a few more minutes while I continue to get ready before getting off the phone. I walk back into my bedroom and close the door, turning to face the mirror that is hanging behind it. I take a deep breath and look over myself with a detached eye.
My dark-blonde hair is hanging loose in waves; my makeup is minimal but still flattering. Even to myself, I can admit that I’m good-looking. I won’t be starring on America’s Next Top Model anytime soon, but I can turn heads. My eyes might be a little too large for my face, but they’re a unique gold-brown that I’ve always been told is beautiful. My nose is straight, not too large or wide. And my lips are plump and full.
My eyes travel down my body, taking in the loose, black dress that hangs from my body in a flattering way and successfully hides the little bump my baby gives my stomach. Smiling, I press the fabric to my stomach and rub the slight roundness. It’s you and me, kid.
After turning from the mirror, I grab my heels from the bed, balancing on one foot and then the other before I’m ready to go.
On the way out of the apartment, I let myself think about the man who not even a week ago consumed my every thought—before he made a giant ass of himself, that is. I might still be holding a ridiculous crush on Asher Cooper, but I like to think that even I’m smarter than to let that torch burn when it’s clear he wants to stay in the darkness.
“Have a good night, Joe!” I call to the apartment’s older and friendly doorman.
“You as well, Ms. Avery!” he replies, a smile in his voice.
I walk to my car and, with a deep breath, hope for the best with the night yet to come.
Chapter 4 – Chelcie
My nerves are a wreck by the time I pull up to the restaurant Nikolas told me to meet him at. I hadn’t heard of Slice before, and to be honest, I really didn’t care where I was going. I’m just ready to get this started and over with. Seven on the dot and so nervous I feel as if I’m going to puke all over my brand-new dress.
I press my palm against my belly, rubbing the rounded skin that holds my child within, and say a silent prayer that everything will go well tonight. Dee swears that Nikolas is a great guy, and from the few times that I’ve talked to him on the phone, I have to agree.
“It’s now or never,” I whisper to myself. If I waste another second sitting here, letting my nerves overtake me, then I know I’ll turn the car back on and take off as fast as I can. Go back home, where it’s safe. Where I can pretend that life outside my little bubble isn’t a big fat unknown.
It takes me a second to adjust to the lighting in the restaurant. It isn’t like it is bright outside, being that it’s seven at night, but it’s so dimly lit inside that I have to squint for a second before walking up to the hostess.
Or who I assume is the hostess.
“Yeah?” she questions, looking up from her desk, snapping her gum loudly, and twirling her long, pink, and clearly very unwashed hair.
Uh…okay.
“I think I might be in the wrong place,” I mumble more to myself than to the lovely piece of happiness in front of me.
“Sure,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and picking up the magazine she was reading before I had the audacity to interrupt her.
“Ah, yeah, you do.”
I can feel myself getting frustrated with this conversation, and the last thing I want to do is snap at Dee when she is clearly just trying to do something nice. Even if it is unwarranted.
“I do other things,” I weakly argue.
“HA! Like what?” The challenge is clear in her words.
“I…uh… The other day, I…”
Shit. She’s right. There really isn’t much I do. I work with her. I go to weekly dinners with the group. I help—er, used to help—Asher. And I write.
“I know!” I yelp a little too loud. “I went to my first creative writing class the other day!” I throw my fist up in the air, realizing that I have her there.
Writing has always been a passion of mine. Nothing I’ve ever had the guts to pursue at a deeper level other than dabbling. It wasn’t until everything with Coop happened that I realized just how precious life was. From that day on, I’ve made a point to work on things I’ve always been afraid to try. I might never do anything with the book I’ve been working on for the last four years, but it’s there, and more importantly, it makes me happy.
“As proud of you that I am, there is no way that counts. I’m talking about going out, meeting a m-a-n.”
“I don’t need a man, Dee. Just because I’ve got a baby on the way in no way means that I need a man to take care of me. My mom managed just fine. Not only was she a single mother, but also she never made me feel like I was a burden on her life. She was the best parent I could ever imagine. A man doesn’t define whether I, or my child for that matter, have a good life.” I can feel my throat burning with unshed tears just begging to get out when I think about my mom.
It’s been almost five years since I lost my mom to breast cancer. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. She had been struggling for a good year before she passed away. It wasn’t sudden, and even though we had time to come to terms with her immanent death, it wasn’t easy. One thing that keeps me going is knowing that, wherever she is now, she’s proud of me. I know she is. Sure, she wouldn’t have wanted me to be a single mother like she was. No mother wants her child to deal with being a single parent. But she taught me everything I know about love and, more importantly, how to love a child. So I know she’s happy.
“I didn’t mean that, Chelcie,” Dee whispers into the phone. Her earlier excitement has obviously dimmed because of my attitude. I instantly feel guilty for letting my crazy pregnancy hormones get the best of me.
“I’m sorry, Dee. I know you’re just trying to help. I just don’t know if I want to even be in a relationship. I’m going because—who knows—I might be, and I might meet someone worth taking the chance.” I take a deep breath and realize that everything I just said is true. I might not want to go or even think I need a man right now, but I could also be keeping the door to my own personal happiness locked tight by refusing to go.
“Really?” she questions. The earlier bravado in her voice is completely gone, making me feel like crap.
“Really, Dee. Thanks for everything. I’ll let you know how things go tonight with Nikolas, okay?”
We talk for a few more minutes while I continue to get ready before getting off the phone. I walk back into my bedroom and close the door, turning to face the mirror that is hanging behind it. I take a deep breath and look over myself with a detached eye.
My dark-blonde hair is hanging loose in waves; my makeup is minimal but still flattering. Even to myself, I can admit that I’m good-looking. I won’t be starring on America’s Next Top Model anytime soon, but I can turn heads. My eyes might be a little too large for my face, but they’re a unique gold-brown that I’ve always been told is beautiful. My nose is straight, not too large or wide. And my lips are plump and full.
My eyes travel down my body, taking in the loose, black dress that hangs from my body in a flattering way and successfully hides the little bump my baby gives my stomach. Smiling, I press the fabric to my stomach and rub the slight roundness. It’s you and me, kid.
After turning from the mirror, I grab my heels from the bed, balancing on one foot and then the other before I’m ready to go.
On the way out of the apartment, I let myself think about the man who not even a week ago consumed my every thought—before he made a giant ass of himself, that is. I might still be holding a ridiculous crush on Asher Cooper, but I like to think that even I’m smarter than to let that torch burn when it’s clear he wants to stay in the darkness.
“Have a good night, Joe!” I call to the apartment’s older and friendly doorman.
“You as well, Ms. Avery!” he replies, a smile in his voice.
I walk to my car and, with a deep breath, hope for the best with the night yet to come.
Chapter 4 – Chelcie
My nerves are a wreck by the time I pull up to the restaurant Nikolas told me to meet him at. I hadn’t heard of Slice before, and to be honest, I really didn’t care where I was going. I’m just ready to get this started and over with. Seven on the dot and so nervous I feel as if I’m going to puke all over my brand-new dress.
I press my palm against my belly, rubbing the rounded skin that holds my child within, and say a silent prayer that everything will go well tonight. Dee swears that Nikolas is a great guy, and from the few times that I’ve talked to him on the phone, I have to agree.
“It’s now or never,” I whisper to myself. If I waste another second sitting here, letting my nerves overtake me, then I know I’ll turn the car back on and take off as fast as I can. Go back home, where it’s safe. Where I can pretend that life outside my little bubble isn’t a big fat unknown.
It takes me a second to adjust to the lighting in the restaurant. It isn’t like it is bright outside, being that it’s seven at night, but it’s so dimly lit inside that I have to squint for a second before walking up to the hostess.
Or who I assume is the hostess.
“Yeah?” she questions, looking up from her desk, snapping her gum loudly, and twirling her long, pink, and clearly very unwashed hair.
Uh…okay.
“I think I might be in the wrong place,” I mumble more to myself than to the lovely piece of happiness in front of me.
“Sure,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and picking up the magazine she was reading before I had the audacity to interrupt her.
