Page 27 of Craving Dahlia

“I do.”

I give her a hug, sliding out of the car into the chilly air. With every step, dread seems to press down harder on my shoulders, weighing me down. The obvious answer should be to end the pregnancy, do my best to forget about Alek, and figure out what I’m going to do about my father’s ultimatum. But every time I think about it, I can’t help but feel that I’m not sure if that’s what I really want to do.

I’m in no position to have a child. I’m arguably in one of theworstpositions—I have emotional support from my friends, but I have no idea what my finances will look like soon, and the father of my child is refusing to even consider that I’m telling the truth.

There should logically be nobutafter that sentence. That should be the end of it—the easiest decision of all to make. All the same, there is. And when I imagine the possibility of actually holding the baby that I’ll have if I go through with this…

Something softens in my chest as I walk up to the apartment building with that thought in my head. It’s easier to imagine than I would have ever thought.Am I crazy to think that even if I want nothing more to do with Alek, that I might want the baby?

And then I step into my building, and all of the memories from that night come crashing back in.

They’re all cast in an entirely different light, now. Up until today, when I remembered him pinning me against the wall in the entryway, or sliding down to his knees in front of me in the elevator, it was with a racing heart and a flush of heat, a pleasant, aching arousal always drifting through me as I remembered what I was sure would be the best sex I’d ever have, the most memorable night.

Now, it’s something else. A passionate night spent with a man who hoped he’d never see me again—something that felt erotic and daring at the time, but now makes me feel tender and faintly raw inside, like a wound I didn’t realize I had. Alek is someone else now—not just a dangerous man in search of a night’s pleasure that I happily gave him, but someone with something dark lurking just under the surface. Something that makes him lash out the way he did today.

Or maybe he’s just an asshole. I lean my head back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, trying not to think about his mouth between my legs, his hand pressed over my mouth. I still feel that prickle of desire, but it’s mingled with that heavy dread now, a sick feeling of having made a mistake settling into the pit of my stomach. I wanted that night to be something daring and wonderful, but instead it’s upended my life completely.

Once inside my apartment, I flip all of the locks on the door and drop onto the couch in my living room, staring out at the view from my window as I hesitantly take out my phone. As expected, the moment I power it on, there’s a flurry of calls and texts from my mother. My phone buzzes as they come in for what feels like a near-endless amount of time, until it finally falls silent and I grit my teeth as I go to look at the messages.

None of it is surprising. She’s upset with me for leaving the party, which I assumed, and tells me that my father doesn’tbelieve I was really ill. She says she came upstairs to check on me and saw that I was already asleep, which makes me feel momentarily touched, but the messages that follow quickly make that feeling vanish.

She’s furious that I went back to New York and didn’t even wait to tell them in person, and apparently my father is, too. I let out a heavy sigh, closing my eyes as I drop the phone onto the couch next to me and bend forward, pressing my forehead against my knees. A wave of nausea washes over me, and I wait for it to pass before I slowly sit up again.

I look at the last few messages. She wants me to come back before the weekend is over, to talk to my father and not leave things the way they are right now. Technically, there’s no way I could get to D.C. and back again without missing at least one day of work right now, but I have plenty of sick days saved up. And if there was ever a time to use them, it might be now.

Even if I decide not to keep the baby, maybe going back and telling my parents about this might fix all of it,I rationalize. I know I’m grasping at straws, but I’m desperate for some solution that doesn’t involve Alek, and doesn’t involve me completely on my own, or married to a man I can’t stand—which now could mean one oftwomen. That all on its own feels insane.

If I go back and tell my father I’m pregnant and I’m not keeping the baby, I still think that Jude might not want to marry me any longer. The scandal of my father’s unwed daughter getting pregnant andnotkeeping the baby might mar Jude’s future political career if he married me. And if Idokeep the baby, I can’t imagine Jude wanting me, either. But with that marriage off the table, maybe my father won’t feel inclined to force me back to D.C. any longer. Maybe things can go back to normal.

It’s the smallest fragment of hope, but itisa fragment. I cling to it with everything I have, because I needsomethingright now. I need to feel like not everything is lost.

Quickly, I type out a message to my mother.

Dahlia:I’m sorry about all of this. I freaked out, and I wanted to see my own doctor here. What if I fly back tomorrow? I want to talk to you both. We’ll figure all of this out.

Several seconds passbefore my phone chimes again, and I see my mother pop up.

Mom:Okay. I’ll try to keep your father mollified until then. Send me your flight info once you get the ticket. Xoxo.

I bite my lip,reading the message over again. The message seems fine, but I can hear it in my mother’s prim voice, the one she used with me before the party last night. I can only imagine the storm I’ll be walking into when I go home, one that will only be made worse by the news that I have to drop on them. But right now, it’s the best solution I can think of.

Even though once again, I still have no idea what I’m going to do.

—

My parents are already waitingin the living room for me as soon as I walk into the house. I can hear their voices down the hall, and I draw in a long, slow breath, trying to steady myself for the conversation that’s about to happen. I’m going to just haveto come out with it before very long…my father isn’t going to sit around and wait for me to give him an answer any longer. Not after the debacle at the party.

My mother is sitting in the same place on the couch as last time, holding a cup of what looks like tea. My father is pacing, and I catch the end of his last sentence just as I walk in the door.

“...she knows what behavior like that could do. If rumors start…”

He stops at the sound of my footsteps, turning abruptly as his expression shutters. “Dahlia,” he says coolly. “I hope you’re back to explain, and give me the answer I’ve been waiting for.”

“What do you mean, rumors? Because I left a party?” I swallow hard, crossing my arms over my chest.

“She said she was sick, dear,” my mother cuts in. “And you look it too,” she adds, glancing back at me. “Dark circles, pale…what did your doctor say?”

“Thanks,” I mutter under my breath. “I ran to the bathroom rather than throwing up on Jude mid-conversation,” I tell my father, frowning. “I was tryingnotto cause a scene.”

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