Months passed as I did my best to block that fateful night of alcoholic indulgence from my mind. I had sworn off drinking ever again after that night. And I thought puking on Ms. Pillsbury was bad…

It’s not like I had too many opportunities to get in that state again anyways. I quit the football team just two weeks after that little incident and was subsequently removed from the party invite list. I joined the Cheerios squad later that year, but Cheerios parties were more like junior high sleepovers without the popcorn or sugary snacks. Although some of the girls did empty their stomachs without the involvement of alcohol, but we all just pretended like we didn’t notice the retching sounds coming from the bathroom. Pointing out someone’s eating disorder was not polite party etiquette.

So imagine my surprise when I answer my ringing doorbell the first Saturday of May and there stands my one and only one-night- stand.

“Err, hello?” I meant to say this politely but it came out as more of a question. I just couldn’t believe she was here. I mean, how the hell did she even find my house again? She’d been here once, and I’m sure her navigational skills at that time weren’t the greatest.

I realized that I was staring up and openly gaping, never having moved from the doorway. I quickly took a step back and ushered her into the house. She moved slowly but I hardly paid any attention as my mind was still reeling from her mere presence. She didn’t hesitate as she moved from the foyer and into the living room pausing to stand before the sofa with her back to me.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked more out of habit than real courtesy at that moment. She peered over her shoulder at me and smirked. She looked the same, though different somehow. Her face was rounder, softer. It suited her though, she was still amazingly beautiful and there was a kind of glow to her skin that I hadn’t noticed before. Of course, my past memories of her consisted of about an hour and a half, most of which I spent on my own panicked thoughts.

“You’ve gotten taller,” she replied. I blushed, causing her smirk to widen.

“Growth spurt,” I responded dismissively. Her smirk was gone in an instant, her face suddenly much too somber. I stepped forward with my hands out, but paused, unsure of what had upset her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“God, you’re just a kid,” she whispered turning from me to stare at the mantel.

Her remark stung. My inner bitch flared up and before I could stop it I snarked back, “Thanks, Grandma.”

“Ha!”

 She was shaking. Laughing at me. This pissed me off even more. “What is so damn funny?”

Her laughter stopped, but the shaking didn’t. “You’re close, but no fucking cigar.”

“Excuse me?” I was livid at this point. Did she really come back to my home seven months later just to make fun of me? Who the hell does that?

She didn’t answer me. She simply turned and removed the trench coat she’d been wearing when I answered the door. I hadn’t thought about it then, but really it was much too warm to be wearing something so heavy and dark. She dropped the coat to the floor.

Now usually, I detest people just throwing their things around like that. A place for everything and everything in its place and all that jazz. But I didn’t see the coat hit the floor, or even hear the muffled thump of its landing. My entire consciousness was focused in on her. Or more specifically her stomach. Her huge, rounded stomach.

Oh. Shit.

“Please tell me you’re not here to tell me what I think you’re here to tell me,” I pleaded, hoping my convoluted sentence made some sort of sense to her.

Her eyes were sad as she repeated the same line from October. “I could. But I would be lying.”

My mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no words ever made it out. My random mind interjected that I probably looked like a fish out of water.

I didn’t realize that I was backing away from her until I hit the wall, which I promptly slid down, knocking a picture frame to the floor in the process. I grabbed it without thinking and clutched it to my chest. It was the last family photo with my mother, taken just months before she died. I held on to it for dear life.

“Mine?” I managed at last.

She nodded with tears streaming down her face. And that did it for me. I was crying like a baby curled up on the floor while she stood in my living room with the proof of our night causing her back to bow inwards.

I took a few deep breaths, in and out, before wiping my eyes and standing. Leaving the frame on the carpet I made my way to her, holding my hands out in front of me as if approaching a wild animal. She didn’t shy away from my touch as I helped ease her onto the sofa and settled beside her. Neither of us spoke for a long while, she sat there crying silently while my mind worked in overdrive. There were so many questions I needed to ask, but I was afraid that she would start crying harder and then I would start crying and then I’d have to calm both of us down again and ohmyfreakinggodIknockedsomeoneup!

Okay. Deep breath. Okay. Again. Okay. One more for good measure. Okay.

“So I guess we have a few things to discuss,” I said quietly. I was right about her sobbing getting worse, but I kept my own emotions in check. I grabbed her hand and squeezed gently. Her returning grip was fierce. Her sobbing quieted some and she nodded.

“I guess my first question would be why are you telling me now?” I looked up at her as she bit her lip to hold in another sob. “I mean, why did you wait so long?”

“I didn’t even know myself until about six weeks ago,” Simone murmured. This revelation threw me for a loop. How was that even possible? My confusion must have been clear on my face because she smirked at me again, though the effect was ruined by the tear tracks on her face. “I guess I’m one of those lucky rare women who still get their period for the first few months of pregnancy. It’s uncommon but it happens. I was sick for about two weeks in November but since I wasn’t missing I just thought it was a bug. Cold and flu season and all that good shit.” She laughed bitterly, and then winced.

My heart rate doubled when she pressed her free hand to her abdomen with a grimace. Ohmygodsheshavingthebabynowohmygodohmygodohmyfreakinggod!

What I wasn’t expecting was for her to take my left hand that was still gripping hers and shove it against her stomach. My addled brain was still thinking she was in labor and was about to break my hand like you see in the movies when I felt it.

I’d never been around a pregnant woman until this year with Quinn being in Glee. To be totally honest, Quinn scared the living hell out of me with her crazy hormonal mood swings. Even when she was in one of her sweet and sappy moods i had never taken her up on the offer of feeling little Drizzle’s kicks. It weirded me out knowing something was moving in there, like a creature out of a bad sci-fi flick.

But this, this was totally different than I had ever imagined. I felt the baby, our baby, my baby, thumping against the back of my hand, pressing harder than I would have thought it could. I untangled my fingers from Simone’s so I could lay my palm against her stomach and wait for another nudge. I felt it again, stronger this time. It was the most amazing thing I had ever felt in my entire life.

“Wow,” I whispered. I didn’t know when I had started crying again but I wiped the tears from my face on reflex.

“Yeah, he’s quite the kicker,” Simone sighed, relaxing now that the baby’s movements had lessened.

I beamed with pride and spoke without thought, “Gets that from me.”

She laughed at that and gave me a sideways grin. “What makes you think that?”

“I was the kicker for the Titans this year,” I said with a grin. I couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Why else would I have been at that football party last fall?” I paused, her pronoun usage finally registering with me. “He? It’s a boy?”

She smiled and nodded, a pained look on her face. I was immediately on edge again. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t think you would get so emotional about all this. It wasn’t what I intended.” She sighed. “I’m not keeping this kid.”

“Wait, what?” I replied.

“I’m in the United States on an educational visa. I go back to Egypt in August.” She said with finality. “I don’t plan on arriving back home with a baby in tow.”

I was speechless. This wasn’t something that happened often. I was always ready with some kind of snappy comeback or witty reply. My mind had gone blank.

But apparently that didn’t stop my mouth from working on its own.  “I’ll keep him.”

Wait, did I just say that?