Page 8 of Closing the Distance

“Thanks.”

He watches me for a moment and then pats me on the back again, his voice dropping so no one else can hear. “The hollow feeling gets easier after a while.” And then he walks away and heads over to the showers while I’m left sitting with a whole new respect for one of my closest friends.

I had no idea this is what he deals with every game, and I can’t help but think he’s stronger than I ever gave him credit for. Because this feeling?

It fucking sucks.

FIVE

2 WEEKS LATER

This cannot be happening. I grip my fingers curled in my lap, while my thumbnails scrape across each other, hoping I’ll wake up and this will be a dream. Or that my doctor will come through that door and tell me I was mistaken.

I shake my head, trying to banish the negative thoughts. I can’t think that way because if that test is positive, I never want my child to think they weren’t wanted. I know too painfully what that feels like.

The door opens and I sit up, trying to remain calm and steady on the outside, even though there’s a raging storm of whirling emotions happening inside me right now. Not to mention the insane nausea.

“Well, Lexi. Your urine test was positive, so the one you took at home definitely wasn’t a false positive.”

I took three, but I’m not about to confess that to her because I already feel a little panicked.

“We’ll do a blood draw today to check your HCG level, and if everything is normal then we can refer you to an OB-GYN.”

“So, I’m…” Say it. Say the words. “I’m really pregnant.”

The doctor nods and offers me a tender smile. “You’re really pregnant. I’m guessing this wasn’t planned…”

“No,” I confirm, my gaze dropping to the floor. “This definitely wasn’t planned. He wore a condom. I…I just don’t understand how this happened.”

She shrugs. “Condoms aren’t foolproof. They’re only 98% effective. There could’ve been a tear in the condom, or there are any number of causes for accidents to happen, even when you take preventive measures. Do you want to talk about your options?”

My gaze snaps to hers. “I’m keeping it.”

The words are out of my mouth without thinking. Maybe it’s stupid, but I can’t get rid of it. I’ll be a single mom if I have to, but it’ll haunt my nightmares if I don’t follow this through. My baby isn’t unwanted. Unplanned, yes. Unwanted, never.

I’m fortunate enough to be in a position where I can afford a child. I spend very little on myself, and I have a reliable job. The only thing truly terrifying about being pregnant is having to do everything on my own.

The doctor nods in understanding and then moves back toward the door. “Then once the nurse does your bloodwork, you’ll be free to go. I’ll get the referral to an OB-GYN sent off.”

“Thank you,” I say and wait for her to leave before I let my whole body sag on the table.

By the time I get out of there and back to my apartment, exhaustion and reality are hitting me hard.

I’m pregnant.

After my one and only one-night stand with a man who made me feel things he was never supposed to. And now I have to figure out what I’m going to do.

I place my hand on my still-flat belly, emotions bubbling up until my vision blurs and tears spill down my cheeks. I can admit that I’m scared—really scared—but I’m feeling something else too.

Hope.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I won’t be alone. I’m not alone. He or she is in there right now, and yeah, maybe it’s just a cluster of cells right now, but it’s mine.

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I cave and walk to my bedroom, opening the closet and digging out the small shoebox I keep hidden. It’s too painful to pull out very often, but every once in a while, I need to remember, as best I can, what it felt like to be loved.

I was only five when my adoptive parents died in a car accident. I barely remember them anymore, but sometimes I think I remember what it felt like to be loved unconditionally, like I was a gift instead of a burden or another mouth to feed, but it’s like a wisp of air so light you’re not really sure if you felt it or not.

I have one picture of them. The three of us are smiling at the camera, their arms wrapped around me, and we sit in front of a Christmas tree with bright, multicolored lights. It was our last Christmas together. I wish I could still remember their voices, their laughs. Sometimes I dream of her telling me bedtime stories and dropping a kiss to my forehead like I was precious. But so often those memories are shoved aside for all the painful moments that came after they were gone.

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