Page 61 of Ghosted By Texas

“Yes, because I know that I can count on her to show up.”

The hopeful demeanor he possessed, since I informed the doctor that he was the father, slipped away completely. “I’ll be there,” he promised quietly.

“I don’t trust you.” I turned to walk back to where my car had been parked and didn’t stop moving. I couldn’t feel sorry for him. He had burned me twice now, three times if you counted the first few dates we ever went on and the way everything came out about Jordan outside that movie theater. The thought of movie theaters made me physically ill these days. Considering Austin and Jordan factored twice in breaking my heart at one, it was safe to say I had no plans to go back to one – ever.

When I got to my car, there was no choice but to face the direction of the doctor’s office, where I’d left Austin. He still stood there, watching me as I got into my car and took off. One day, maybe things wouldn’t hurt so much. That day hadn’t come yet, and I imagined it was a long way off since I’d have to deal with Austin for the next nineteen years and then special occasions afterward, too. There would be our child’s college graduation, marriage, grandchildren being born. It seemed so daunting when I thought of that length of time, especially if I allowed myself to throw in that Austin would eventually fall in love with someone else or forgive a certain evil witch and end up playing happy couples with her throughout my child’s life.

~*~

Three days after my appointment, there was a quick knock on my door and by the time I got up to see who it was, no one was there. A rather large box had been left behind though. I struggled to push the damn thing into my apartment, after I checked to make sure it was addressed to me, since I hadn’t ordered anything.

When I opened it up, there was a card on top.

Becs,

I know you don’t believe me yet, but hopefully I’ll convince you one day soon. I’m not going anywhere ever again.

Love Always,

Austin

My hands shook as I dropped the card and started pulling smaller boxes out of the larger one.

The first box had several onesies in it for a baby in neutral colors. The one on top had, My Mom and Dad do great things together! written on it. I wanted to cry because obviously the great thing we had done together was make our baby. I didn’t have the heart to read the rest of them, so I tucked them aside and pulled out the next box.

It had an assortment of burp cloths, baby bath towels, and an assortment of baby shampoos, soaps, lotions, and powders.

“What have you done, Austin?” I asked, even though he wasn’t there to answer.

The next box had an assortment of bottles, pacifiers, and two different breast pumps. The box beneath that, the largest one, was full of clothing. Maternity clothes, to be exact. There were two pairs of jeans with that stretchy material top to fit a growing belly, a couple pair of leggings, and some flowy maternity tops. Buried at the bottom of the box was a top that had been made using the print from Van Gough’s famous Sunflowers.

I couldn’t hold back the tears at how thoughtful the whole box had been. I also didn’t think Austin realized how painful it would be either. His heart was in the right place, but I couldn’t look at Van Gough’s painting without thinking of how the best night of my life turned into the worst morning I’d ever experienced, and I was still dealing with the ramifications. That shirt would never be worn and went right back into the box.

Becs: You should take all the baby stuff to your house, since you’ll need it there. I’ll get my own. Please, take the clothes back, too.

Dickhead Baby Daddy: I wanted you to have everything in that box. It’s all yours.

Becs: So, you purposely meant to remind me of the worst night of my life?

Dickhead Baby Daddy: What? No! You said that our Van Gough date was the best night of your life.

Becs: Obviously, you forgot how that one ended.

He didn’t send a text back right away, so he must have realized what I was talking about. Eventually, as I worked to pack the boxes back up, my phone dinged.

Dickhead Baby Daddy: I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t think of those two events as happening on the same day. The nightmare happened when someone woke us up, not during the best date night ever. Please, don’t let what happened steal that memory from you.

Becs: Too late. That happened the moment she showed up and once again, you didn’t tell her to leave right away. You invited her inside for a chat, that ended with me being discarded and forgotten again.

Dickhead Baby Daddy: You’ll never know how many regrets I have.

“Hey, you never said if you got either of those summer camp art director jobs,” Clea mentioned as she sipped on her coffee. I stared longingly at her cup, wishing I could trade mine for hers. Caffeine was no good for growing fetuses, which sucked. It would be cool, if I could drink all the coffee I wanted, and the side effect was a kid who came out with superpowers.

“Maggy Grayson got the short one and I don’t know who got the summer-long program, but I did hear through the grapevine that they didn’t want an unwed pregnant woman running the show.”

“What is this the 1950s?”

“I know, right? That’s what I said. It’s not like they could come out and say that to me, but still. The rumor is out there, so it must be true.”

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