that changed. Seeing Abby’s baby bump at the wedding? No, now that I think about it, I know the exact moment when something inside me shifted. “She likes Lucky Charms .”
“Who? Abby?” he asks with a confused crease between his dark eyebrows.
“No, the baby.”
“Okay, you lost me,” he says with a grumble and a shake of his head.
“Abby’s been having these food cravings,” I explain. “The baby wants her to eat one of my favorite foods.” And my mom’s. I withhold that one though since my worthless parents are not something I ever want to bring up. Actually, I try to pretend they don’t exist, at least until my dad shows up on my doorstep wanting a handout. He’s never even been inside my house. It’s like a quick and dirty drug deal. He bangs on the door in the middle of the night, and I hand over the cash. Probably best that he doesn’t come inside since my belongings are all much safer if he doesn’t see them. Honestly, breaking and entering is likely more work than the man has ever done in his entire life.
“So…” Mace says, still not getting what I’m trying to say about the significance of the kid’s cereal, one I didn’t have growing up because it was too expensive.
“So,” I start to explain. “I realized that the baby is gonna be like a mini-me, which means she’ll probably be pretty damn awesome.”
“And I’m sure she’ll be just as humble as you as well,” he snorts. “Have you talked to Abby?”
I nod and swipe my palm down my face. “She pretty much shot me right down. Said she didn’t want my money either.”
“Damn,” he says with a shake of his head. “But she can’t just cut you out. I mean, if it’s that important to you, you could go to court and ask for visitation, right? She can’t just make the decision to keep her from you.”
“That would suck to have to go through attorneys and shit, but maybe…” I mutter.
…
Abby
The sight of a pink Mommy’s Little Angel onesie has my sniffles escalating to a full blown sobfest. I quickly weave my way through the racks of tiny clothes in the huge department baby store to collect myself in the restroom. And pee. I do that a lot lately, the crying and peeing.
My phone dings in my purse with a new text message right when I sit down on the toilet, so I pull it out to read it. My sister said she’s in the store and can’t find me. Well, obviously. I shoot her a quick response to tell her I’m in the bathroom.
“ Lucy, I’m home!” my sister, Whitney, says with a fake Cuban accent when she blows into the women’s restroom like a hurricane. “Tossing your cookies again this morning?”
“Nah, just had to go. Be right out,” I assure her, using tissue to dry up my face before I flush and open the door to face her.
“Nice,” she says. “I heard the raccoon look was coming back in style.”
Glancing in the mirror, I see my mascara is smudged all up under both red-rimmed eyes. My braid looks slept in with pieces falling all around my face and the blue floral sundress that fit just last week is now practically indecent. “I’ve surpassed hot mess and entered a whole new level of fucked-up-ness,” I tell her while I wash my hands.
“Aww, but you’re still cute. You look like a little farm girl who got knocked up on Little House on the Prairie. ”
“Not funny,” I say with a glare at my little sister. That’s when I notice Whitney’s wearing her big sunglasses inside and a huge pink, floppy hat over her long, chestnut hair. “What’s with the disguise?” I ask.
“Oh. Well, you know that if Thomas and Vivian found out I was seen in public with you, they would cut me off. Since I’m hoping for a new Audi A5 convertible for my birthday, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Yeah, I mean, a new car is way more important than baby shopping with your knocked-up out-of-wedlock sister,” I tease, reaching next to her for a paper towel to dry my hands.
“Easy for you to say. You have
“Who? Abby?” he asks with a confused crease between his dark eyebrows.
“No, the baby.”
“Okay, you lost me,” he says with a grumble and a shake of his head.
“Abby’s been having these food cravings,” I explain. “The baby wants her to eat one of my favorite foods.” And my mom’s. I withhold that one though since my worthless parents are not something I ever want to bring up. Actually, I try to pretend they don’t exist, at least until my dad shows up on my doorstep wanting a handout. He’s never even been inside my house. It’s like a quick and dirty drug deal. He bangs on the door in the middle of the night, and I hand over the cash. Probably best that he doesn’t come inside since my belongings are all much safer if he doesn’t see them. Honestly, breaking and entering is likely more work than the man has ever done in his entire life.
“So…” Mace says, still not getting what I’m trying to say about the significance of the kid’s cereal, one I didn’t have growing up because it was too expensive.
“So,” I start to explain. “I realized that the baby is gonna be like a mini-me, which means she’ll probably be pretty damn awesome.”
“And I’m sure she’ll be just as humble as you as well,” he snorts. “Have you talked to Abby?”
I nod and swipe my palm down my face. “She pretty much shot me right down. Said she didn’t want my money either.”
“Damn,” he says with a shake of his head. “But she can’t just cut you out. I mean, if it’s that important to you, you could go to court and ask for visitation, right? She can’t just make the decision to keep her from you.”
“That would suck to have to go through attorneys and shit, but maybe…” I mutter.
…
Abby
The sight of a pink Mommy’s Little Angel onesie has my sniffles escalating to a full blown sobfest. I quickly weave my way through the racks of tiny clothes in the huge department baby store to collect myself in the restroom. And pee. I do that a lot lately, the crying and peeing.
My phone dings in my purse with a new text message right when I sit down on the toilet, so I pull it out to read it. My sister said she’s in the store and can’t find me. Well, obviously. I shoot her a quick response to tell her I’m in the bathroom.
“ Lucy, I’m home!” my sister, Whitney, says with a fake Cuban accent when she blows into the women’s restroom like a hurricane. “Tossing your cookies again this morning?”
“Nah, just had to go. Be right out,” I assure her, using tissue to dry up my face before I flush and open the door to face her.
“Nice,” she says. “I heard the raccoon look was coming back in style.”
Glancing in the mirror, I see my mascara is smudged all up under both red-rimmed eyes. My braid looks slept in with pieces falling all around my face and the blue floral sundress that fit just last week is now practically indecent. “I’ve surpassed hot mess and entered a whole new level of fucked-up-ness,” I tell her while I wash my hands.
“Aww, but you’re still cute. You look like a little farm girl who got knocked up on Little House on the Prairie. ”
“Not funny,” I say with a glare at my little sister. That’s when I notice Whitney’s wearing her big sunglasses inside and a huge pink, floppy hat over her long, chestnut hair. “What’s with the disguise?” I ask.
“Oh. Well, you know that if Thomas and Vivian found out I was seen in public with you, they would cut me off. Since I’m hoping for a new Audi A5 convertible for my birthday, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Yeah, I mean, a new car is way more important than baby shopping with your knocked-up out-of-wedlock sister,” I tease, reaching next to her for a paper towel to dry my hands.
“Easy for you to say. You have
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