Page 4 of The Rebound
Whoever said pregnancy is a blessing must have either never been pregnant or had some sort of magical Zen baby growing inside them. My little guy? When he’s not practicing his high kicks, he’s taking a long snooze directly on top of my sciatic nerve. Who can blame him? It’s probably so nice and warm in there. But my precious little angel might be trying to kill me.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration. I’m happy to be having a kid. Happier than I thought I would be when those faint pink lines first appeared on my pregnancy test.
I remember letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding during those excruciating four minutes of waiting. I was sitting on the bathroom floor of my then-boyfriend’s apartment, who I’d just started to see seriously a month prior. Staring at the chipped tile, I debated what to do. He and I were in a brand-new relationship ... could we really raise a baby together? I still wasn’t even sure where our relationship was going.
Nowhere, apparently.
Because when I told him, he responded as I’d expected. He flat-out panicked about how a baby would affecthislife. Then his brain short-circuited and he could only utter monotone one-word responses. I decided to give him time to process the information I’d barely processed myself. One of us had to be an adult.
The next morning, he went to stay with a friend and left me a note that basically said,Good-bye, good luck, and leave the key under the mat.
Awesome.
I still don’t really know what came over me, but after that, I was determined to be the best mom possible. So I moved halfway across the country to be close to the only man I can truly count on—my brother, Walker.
We haven’t been very close in a long time and have drifted apart over the years. But he came through when no one else did. When I finally called him to share the news, he immediately asked what he could do to help me. I swear I almost burst into tears.
Fast forward two months, and I’m moving into the condo directly next to his—that he paid for in full. Too generous? Absolutely. But buying another condo didn’t even make a dent in his bank account. My brother is a professional athlete with plenty to spare.
My career as a digital marketer hasn’t been quite as lucrative. And it wasn’t like I was about to pass up on the opportunity to no longer be homeless, bouncing from one friend’s couch to another. My self-preservation instincts are much stronger than my pride.
Plus, the chance at a fresh start, away from all my mistakes? Sign me up.
I did draw the line at one point. After fully purchasing and furnishing the condo, Walker suggested he cancel his annual surf trip to Mexico to be here for me. It took some convincing on my part, but we eventually settled on these terms: he’d still go on his well-deserved vacation, but only for two weeks instead of four. I agreed to call him if I needed anything ...anything, he emphasized. I’m still surprised he didn’t make me sign a contract.
I’ve been on my own for the majority of this pregnancy, and I know I can take care of the two of us by myself. Having my brother helicopter around me has been undeniably helpful, but an independent woman like myself can only take so much micromanaging.
I’m a freelancer, a profession I slid haphazardly into after one too many arguments with my raging asshole of a boss. I’m good at being my own boss, reveling in the freedom to create my own schedule and work on projects that I actually care about. I answer to no one but myself, and let me tell you, that’s been a game changer for my stress levels.
Now the primary stressor in my life is having this dang baby. That, and carrying this enormous package down the hallway to my condo. My joints scream in protest as I do my best to lift with my legs, taking breaks along the way.
“Little guy, I’m about to rip open this box and start carrying these books one by one,” I mumble, running a soothing hand over my belly. I like talking to him like he’s already a full person. Makes me feel a little less alone, you know?
I groan, struggling with the box. I asked my friend to mail me my library of books that she’s been graciously housing for the last few months while I got my life in order. I just didn’t think she’d send them all in one box.
Holy back pain, Batman.
“Need a hand?”
A man’s voice calls from over my shoulder, and I suddenly realize what I must look like from behind ... leaning heavily against the wall, sweating through my pregnancy romper, my hair piled up on my head and looking like a perfect home for baby birds.
Wait until I turn around, buddy. You have no idea what you’ve signed up for.
I turn around, pregnant belly in full, magnificent view. “I wouldlovea hand.”
But he doesn’t flinch at all when he catches sight of me. The voice belongs to a man in his late twenties, with a shock of dark blond hair that’s messy on top but tapers down into a close crop on the sides. He jogs the rest of the distance and lifts the box with the ease of an experienced weight lifter.
Why, hello.
“Where to?” he asks.
“End of the hall, second to last door on the right.”
“After you.”
I lead the way, talking to him while trying to catch my breath. “Thanks so much. I know that thing weighs a ton and a half.”
“Who’s mailing you bricks?”
