Page 9 of The Little Black Rose

“I have an announcement,” I say, my voice shaky.

“You look so serious. We’re not closing down, are we?” Sasha asks, and the others instantly shoot me worried looks.

“No,” I say, holding up a hand. “We’re not closing down. Jesus, Sasha, why do you always jump to the worst conclusions?”

“Sorry,” she says, a small laugh tittering out of her. “Please, go on.”

I inhale deeply, my eyes falling closed for a beat before popping back open. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, my God,” Hayley shouts, darting forward to hug me. “That’s great, Ava.”

“Congratulations,” Sasha says, pulling me into her tight embrace when Hayley releases me.

“Can I be an honorary uncle?” Chuck asks, giving me a warm smile.

They’re acting like it such wonderful news, and I can’t help but feel a little warm inside. These people are much older than me. They’ve lived their lives, raised children, and experienced everything this world has to offer. They’re wiser than me, that’s for sure.

So, maybe having a baby as a single mother isn’t the end of the world?

“How far along are you?” Sasha asks, eyeballing my abdomen.

“About three months,” I say softly.

“You can’t clean the litterboxes, anymore,” Hayley says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know. That’s part of the reason I called this meeting. I didn’t want you guys to think I’m neglecting my duties, or anything.”

“Oh, pshaw,” Chuck says, waving a hand in the air. “That’s why we’re here. You do too much of the work as it is, leaving us twiddling our thumbs half the time. We’re happy to take over litterbox duty.”

After a few more heartfelt congratulations, they disperse to get to work. I go to my office and slump down into my chair, Pepperoni hot on my heels and mewling for more attention. He jumps into my lap, and I pet him absentmindedly while my mind whirls with random thoughts.

How else is this baby going to change my life? I can’t clean the cat boxes. I can’t go out and drink and party with my friends, anymore. I suppose I could join them every once in a while, after the baby is born. Shit, I can’t drink if I breastfeed, can I? Do I even want to breastfeed? Fuck, I need to Google that.

How am I supposed to take care of a fragile, defenseless infant? I can’t even keep a fucking plant alive, and all they need is water and sunshine.Fuck. This is never going to work. I can’t do this.

My gaze drops to Pepperoni as he headbutts my tit, looking for more attention. I scratch him behind the ears, and my tense muscles relax slightly. These cats depend on me. I take care of them, make sure they’re healthy and happy, and I make sure their bellies are full and their cages are clean.

That’s closer to taking care of a baby than taking care of plants is, right?

An electronic ding meets my ears, and I set Pepperoni on my desk so I can go out to greet the guest who walked in. I don’t have any appointments scheduled this morning, but we welcome walk-ins as long as I’m here to assist them in the adoption process.

The sound of a baby wailing meets my ears as I walk into the lobby, and I stumble to a halt. I watch as a woman sets a baby carrier on the floor and begins to unbuckle the straps holding the wailing banshee safely inside. A small boy who looks to be around five years old bounds toward the windows, banging his little fists on the glass as he yells for his mom to come see the kitties. The young mother looks frazzled as she lifts the baby and coos at it, bouncing it a little while telling her son to stop punching the glass.

“I’m sorry,” she says when she turns to me for the first time. “Do you have a restroom where I can change him?”

“Yes, of course,” I say, pointing to the restroom behind her.

“Thank you,” she says gratefully, looping a giant diaper bag over her shoulder and calling out for her son to come with her.

“But Mo-o-om,” he shouts. “I want to look at the kitties!”

“We can look at the kitties after I change your brother. Now, do as Mommy says and come over here, right now.”

His little shoulders slump, and he walks slow as molasses toward her, dragging his feet so his shoes squeak against the tile floor. She shakes her outstretched hand, and he sighs dramatically as he takes it and goes with her to the bathroom, that little creature in her arms screaming the entire time.

Is this what my life will be in a few short months? Apologizing for a wailing baby while looking for the nearest private space to whip out a titty or change a shitty diaper?

And by the time it’s all said and done, will there be any part of pre-baby me that still remains?

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