Page 8 of Expecting an Argument
“Beau is not a family man like you,” I replied. “He doesn’t want to see me, and frankly, I never want to see him again either.”
Baby Tarik clapped his chubby hands and giggled as if Tyson had bounced him.
“Come on, Liv,” Tyson scolded. “You can’t do that to a man and you know it.”
In the background, I swore I heard Tarik babble “Dada.” I held my breath as my stomach tightened into a knot.
“He’s right,” Ashley said. “You have to tell him.”
If the pregnancy wasn’t making me queasy, their guilt trip definitely was. What was the point of having friends if they didn’t let you run away from your problems?
I bit my lip. “I don’t have his contact information.”
“We do, from his reunion registration,” Ashley replied. “I’ll send it right now so you don’t have an excuse.”
My hand trembled as it gripped my phone. Telling Beau about the pregnancy didn’t mean involving him. I could still raise my baby myself, on my own terms. I wasn’t beholden to him.
I didn’t need him. I didn’t needanyone.I just…needed to enter this new phase of my life with a clear conscience.
I blew out my breath and suddenly my knees felt weak. “OK, just…send it now and I’ll do it before I fall back into denial again.”
“Give me two minutes,” Ashley said. “And good luck—tell me what happens.”
“Nothinghasto happen!” I stressed. “I can tell him, he blocks me, and then we live happily ever after!”
“Oh...youarein denial,” Ashley said with a smile in her voice. “See you at Thanksgiving! Love you!”
My stomach filled with dread. “Love you too.”
“You’re doing the right thin–!” Tyson called as Ashley hung up.
With a groan, I fell backward onto my bed. I rested my sleeve over my glasses to block out the light, but my head still spun. My trashcan was beside the edge of the bed, but somehow I was too sick to even vomit.
I was pregnant. A baby was growing inside me. Beau fucking Fontaine was the father. How was I supposed to tell him? What was I going to say?
My phone vibrated and a shock raced down my spine. I slowly lowered my sleeve from my eyes and peeked at my phone screen—there was the fateful text from Ashley with the number of my child’s father.
I swiped to open the message. Sure enough, there was the contact information for…Beau Louis Fontaine III. Of course that douchebag had registered with his full fucking name!
And those douchebag genes were inside me, building a whole person.
The thought of packing everything and moving to the woods crossed my mind, but I shook the thought away and started a message to Beau’s number. I held my breath, forcing myself to type out the message before I let myself breathe again.
The time crunch made me decide what I was going to say, and fast. My fingers quickly typed out the message and then I gave myself a cleansing gulp of air.
As I read the message over again, my thumb hovered over the “delete” button—my way out of the mess I was about to throw myself into. As I almost gave into the temptation, my mom’svoice crept through my mind again.
“I can do hard things,” I whispered.
And I hit send.
Every time I started a run, I couldn’t wait for it to end.
But I still ran every damn morning.
The sun had just risen as I came to the end of my five-mile run. The crisp chill in the air was melting with the buttery sunlight. Tiny rocks and dry grass crunched under my feet as I followed the country road to the manor.
My heart was pounding, but my thoughts were quiet.
