Page 62 of Ghosted By Texas

“At least you got the job teaching at both schools next year, that still enables you to be a twelve-month employee, right?”

“Yeah, I get to keep my full-time status, benefits, and the thrill of being paid less all year so that I have bills covered in the summertime. What I don’t get is tenure at either school because technically, I’m only part time at each.”

“No!” Clea grumbled. “That’s not fair. At least you’re staying in my house now, so you have plenty of room for the new baby without having to upgrade to a two-bedroom.”

I could honestly kiss my best friend for her generosity. A week ago, she offered her house up to me, for the same amount of rent I was paying on my crappy one-bedroom apartment, and she’d included my utilities with that, which actually lowered my monthly expenses.

Clea had inherited the house free and clear from some crazy aunt when she passed and now, I was going to benefit because she and Houston decided to move in together. I didn’t even have to worry about moving all my stuff. She left most of her furniture behind, since Houston’s house was already furnished, and he didn’t want anything she’s shared with Jeff to accidentally come to his place. It left me with far better furniture and her boyfriend found people to move the rest of my shit for me, too. The transition had been easy as could be.

I shrugged thinking about just how easy the move to my new house had been in comparison with my job situation. “That’s the life of an art or music teacher,” I explained to my best friend. “We are always at the mercy of people who think culture and creativity doesn’t matter as much as sports. Do you know the elementary school got all brand-new gym equipment this year and the other stuff was only a couple years old?”

“That’s not okay,” Clea murmured.

“No, it’s not. I had to buy the clay the kids used for their pots this year out of my own pocket, but there was no way I could skip that lesson. What if one of them ends up being a famous sculptor one day? What if they didn’t because there wasn’t enough money in the damn budget for some stinking clay?”

“Aw, I love how you love them so much.”

“I just wish the schools loved them enough to give them the arts full time,” I griped before taking a sip of decaf latte that tasted just like caramel milk with a splash of defective coffee in it. I scrunched my nose up at the offensive drink. “The things I do for the little people,” I added as I pushed the cup further away from me.

Clea glanced around nervously, then settled her eyes back on mine. “So, have you heard from Austin lately?”

“I hear from him every day.”

“Seriously? Why haven’t you told me?”

“It’s not important. He sends at least one text a day.”

“Do you respond to them?”

“Only the ones that directly relate to the baby.”

“Are there ones that don’t?” She asked curiously, while eyeing something in the café behind me. I turned to look and Clea shouted, “Damn!”

I turned back around immediately, to see my best friend picking up her purse that had been hanging off the side of her chair. Her cheeks were suspiciously red, though.

“I guess someone bumped it,” she stated without looking up at me. Something was going on with my best friend. She was acting weird. “So, you were talking about Austin,” she encouraged.

“No, I wasn’t. You were asking about him, and I was trying to give you short answers that hinted at how much I didn’t enjoy the subject.”

Clea giggled. “At some point, you’re going to have to get used to it, since you know,” she pointed at my belly as if it was too taboo to say out loud that I was pregnant with his baby.

“Fine, he’s been sending gifts.”

“What kind of gifts?”

“The kind that are meant to help care for a baby when it gets here.” I rolled my eyes and poked a finger at the stupid drink that taunted me. It was so not what I wanted, but at the same time I was hungry. “I think another muffin sounds good,” I mumbled.

“Way to lose your train of thought,” Clea teased. “This pregnancy thing is really doing your brain in, isn’t it?”

“Well, there are all these stupid emotions, then there are the things I can’t enjoy anymore.” I stared longingly at the coffee she sipped before slowly putting it down, like it might bite her for the simple fact that I wasn’t able to enjoy it. “Then there are all the irrational fears and the real worries.”

“What worries?” Clea asked, suddenly more serious than she’d been all morning.

“What if something goes wrong? What if no one is around to help me? What if I need to be on bedrest and can’t go to work, so then I can’t pay my bills and my insurance gets canceled before I have the baby? What if the hospital then tells me my baby is dead, but really they’re selling it to the highest bidder on e-Bay by disguising the sale as some ancient diaper pack that no longer exists, but everyone knows that’s code for a baby girl or a baby boy?”

“Wow, that escalated so quickly into a whole black market, underground baby-selling conspiracy. Are you okay?”

I groaned and leaned forward to bang my head on the table. “No. No, I’m not okay. See, I just went from rational to completely irrational in two point five seconds flat. That’s my brain these days.”

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