Crush (22 page)

“How can you say you’ve got no future?” Holly said, looking insulted. “You’ve got the kind of future most people dream of.”

“A future most people
used
to dream about.”

“Wait. Are you saying that because you’re going to have a baby, your entire life is ruined?”

It felt like that was what I was saying, but I was just too damned confused to be sure.

“Because, yeah, a baby’s going to change things, but it’s not going to end your life.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her.

“I love that you’re here for me and are trying to make me feel better, Holly. I really do. But I kind of just need some time to be alone and sort some shit out,” I said. “Okay?”

She looked like she wanted to argue with me but managed to hold herself back. “I’ll have Thomas take LJ tonight so you can have some peace and quiet,” she said. “And then tomorrow you and I are going to find a doctor and make an appointment, because we don’t know if you’re four weeks along or four months along.” I about fainted again, thinking I could be four months pregnant. Surely life wouldn’t be that cruel. I needed as much time as possible to wrap my mind around this grenade that had just gone off in my life, and five and a half months just wasn’t going to cut it.

“And after that, we’ll figure out a way to break the news to Jude and—”

“Holly.” I grabbed her arm. “Too much, too fast. I need some breathing room.”

“You’re right,” she said, raising her hands. “I’m just going to give you one giant hug”—she wrapped her arms around me and gave me one
ginormous
hug—“and then I’ll round up the boys and we’ll be out of here.”

“Thanks, Holly,” I said, curling deeper into the couch. “For everything.”

“You know, Lucy, for what it’s worth, I’m on the same page as Thomas,” she said, heading down the hallway. “I know you’ll be an awesome mom.”

I tried to return her smile, but I couldn’t do it.

All I could think about was shattered dreams. All I could see was Jude’s shocked face when I told him I was pregnant.

I was sobbing silently into my pillow before the door had closed behind Holly, Thomas, and LJ.

I’d lived on saltines and lemon-lime soda for a week. My stomach was either unable or unwilling to keep anything else down. Those were the first things I asked for when I boarded the plane Sunday morning, and the flight attendant had given me a knowing smile, told me, “It gets better,” and kept the crackers coming.

I’d made it through the entire flight having to take only one lavatory vomit break, and thankfully the driver who’d met me at the airport to drive me to Qualcomm Stadium kept a paper bag in the backseat for emergency purposes.

I’d had an emergency.

It was Jude’s first game of the season, and back when he’d purchased the ticket for me, he’d wanted to make it for the entire weekend. But I thought I’d be dancing lead in a school production Saturday night, and I had class Monday morning, so I was doing a round trip from New York to San Diego and back in one day.

I hadn’t danced lead last night. I hadn’t even gone and cheered on the girl who’d been my understudy. I was in something of a “delicate” state.

After setting an appointment for me, driving me there, and basically pushing me into the waiting room, Holly made sure I saw an ob-gyn on Thursday. After some poking, prodding, and a quick ultrasound, she was able to determine how far along I was.

Almost four months to the day.

Just when I thought I didn’t have any more tears left inside me, that day in the examination room I proved myself wrong. I still hadn’t said anything to Jude. In fact, I’d been trying to avoid his calls all week. I just didn’t trust that if he got me on the phone for very long, he wouldn’t be able to figure out what was the matter with me. So we texted a lot, and the timing worked out well, because he was crazy-busy getting ready for his first big game.

That was how I’d convinced Holly to keep her mouth shut when we left my appointment on Thursday. She insisted Jude needed to know. Like, now. She said he’d need just as much time as I would to get used to the idea of being parents in less than six months. That had, of course, started a whole new batch of tears. I blamed my emotions on the hormones, but I knew they played only a very small role.

I told Holly I couldn’t tell Jude a couple of days before he was playing his first game as starting quarterback in the NFL that I was pregnant. Talk about messing with a guy’s game. Holly had seen the reason in that, but insisted I tell him the week after, or she threatened she would tell him herself.

I’d bought time, but not much. While I didn’t want to mess with Jude’s head right before the game, it was more a matter of not knowing what I’d say to him. A girl just didn’t discover she was pregnant at twenty-one and get used to the idea in a few days’ time. I’d gone through about every stage of coping: fear, anger, depression, uncertainty, and everything in between. Occasionally I’d have a twinge of excitement—I was having Jude’s baby, after all—but then I’d have a reality check. I’d gone on an emotional roller-coaster ride in one week’s time, and I was exhausted.

I was so tired, I passed out the second half of the ride to the stadium. The driver had to wake me up and remind me where I was. It was official. I was a wreck.

As I was making my way through the gates, I got a text from Jude.
ARE YOU HERE YET?

Following the usher to wherever they stuffed the wives and girlfriends of the players, I texted him back.
JUST GOT HERE. U NERVOUS?

I smiled when I got his reply.
NOT ANYMORE.

Following the usher into an elevator, I punched in my reply.
SO PROUD OF YOU, BABE. KICK SOME ASS OUT THERE.

His response came instantly.
RIGHT BACK AT YOU. WILL DO.

LOVE YA, JUDE.

LOVE YA, LUCE.

I didn’t know how he had time to be texting when the game was set to start in a few minutes, but I’d known from the beginning that Jude did what Jude wanted to.

It felt good to have a smile on my face. A real one. It might not have won any blue ribbons for biggest or best, but it was a genuine one. That smile ran away the moment the usher walked me into a big room lined with windows. The football field seemed like it was a mile below us.

Had I mistaken a nightclub for a football stadium?

Most of the same women I’d been hanging with on and off all summer, and a few new faces, were milling about the room, drinking their champagne or sparkling water, wearing dresses and heels. They had on their fancy jewelry and their evening makeup.

I was sporting my standard-issue game-day gear: black leggings, riding boots, and a jersey with Jude’s name and number on the back. I looked like a country bumpkin in comparison to these Rodeo Drive glamazons.

After the initial glances over, no one noticed me as I walked across the room. Well, they noticed me, but they tried to keep the curled noses and
what the hell?
faces to themselves.

All I wanted to do was watch a football game, cheer Jude on, and forget about my life for a couple hours. I wanted to fade into the crowd.

Fading wasn’t in the cards when you showed up looking like you were headed to a slumber party when everyone else was heading to a Miss January party at the Playboy Mansion. I grabbed a bottle of water from the end of the table that was lined with food and drinks, and beelined to the end chair in the corner.

I made myself forget about the room and everyone in it and focused on the game. I picked out Jude immediately. It was funny how he finally blended in more with the players. In high school, he’d looked like a hybrid giant on the field. In college, he’d still had a few inches and a good twenty pounds on a lot of the players, but now, out there with the best in the nation, he was about par for the course. I almost stood up and started cheering my head off, but caught myself. No one in here was cheering. No one was even watching. Sure, kickoff hadn’t happened yet, but a survey of the stands proved that people were hooting and hollering, because that was just what you did at a football game—from the time you entered the stadium till the time you left it.

I knew we were supposed to have the nicest seats in the house up here, but I was jealous of even the fans in the nosebleed section. I’d have to talk with Jude and see if he could score me some tickets out in the stands. I missed my front-and-center seat, where I could scream his name and pretend that he heard me. I missed seeing his ass in spandex from up close, and I knew I’d miss our post-touchdown kiss even more.

A minute or so before kickoff, the door burst open and a familiar face waltzed in. “What’s up, bitches?” Sybill said, filling the room with her voice and energy. I was able to release the breath I’d been holding for I didn’t know how long. Greeting a few of the girls as she headed to the food table, she stopped when she saw me.

I waved.

“What the hell are you doing stuffed in the corner, Lucy?” she said, snatching a cola from the table as she crossed the room toward me. Another smile, a real one, blossomed when I checked out her wardrobe: jeans, sneakers, and a jersey. “These bitches put you in a time-out for your fashion offenses?” She winked as she took a seat next to me. “I mean, come on. What are you thinking, showing up to a football game without your Saturday-night streetwalking finest?”

Was that a laugh I just heard? Coming from me?

Couldn’t be. I hadn’t been in a laughing mood all week.

“Yeah. My bad. I think next time I’ll be banished to the stands with the rest of the fashion-impaired.” That sounded like even a bit of wit. Was the Lucy Larson snarkiness making a comeback?

I wanted to get up and dance.

And then I remembered I had to take it easy. Because I was pregnant. Doctor’s orders.

A smile and the snark had never disappeared so quickly.

I swore I could feel my belly growing whenever I remembered there was something inside there.

“Are you excited?” Sybill asked, nudging me as she cracked open her cola.

“Yeah. Excited, nervous, you name it,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s always us who worry our heads off. The guys are cool as cucumbers out there,” she said. “But don’t worry. I watched Jude’s warm-up, and that boy is primed and ready to get us to one and zero tonight.”

“You got to watch him warm up?”

“The kids and me always show up an hour before the game to watch the players get ready.”

“You brought the kids?” I turned in my seat, looking for a handful of munchkins. “Where are they?”

“God willing, they’re still in their seats listening to my mama,” she said. “But they’re most likely about to jump down on the field and ask their dad to sing them ‘We Are the Champions.’” She took another sip of her soda. “Not that that happened last season . . .”

“Wait”—I grabbed her arm—“you sit down in the stands?”

“Front row, baby,” she said proudly.

“By choice?”

“Mostly. But it would be so damn funny to see the look on these broads’ faces if I ever dragged my four little twerps up here, I might just give it a go for fun,” she said, glancing at a few of the girls and shaking her head. “This is all a little too Emerald City for me, you know? I’m more a jeans-and-hot-dog kind of girl.”

“Sybill, I know this might seem forward, given that I’ve met you all of a handful of times in my life, but I love you,” I confessed. “Would you mind if I sat with you at future games?”

“I’d love a little company that isn’t my mama or a spawn of mine.”

“Sweet. I’ll talk to Jude about scoring me some tickets with you, because I don’t think I can handle this Barbie brigade for the rest of the season.”

“I’m sure he won’t have a problem getting you a ticket. Deon started me out up here, too.” She laughed, looking lost in a memory. “Lord knows I love that man, but sometimes he’s just too damn overprotective.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Jude said you’ve been real busy this week, being back to school and all. How have you been holding up?”

The waterworks were twisting on. That one question could reduce me to a near blubbering mess was further evidence that I was an emotional, hormonal wreck.

“Not bad,” I said, looking away.

“But not so great either, eh?” Sybill asked.

I’d gone from being happy at seeing her to wishing she’d leave in the span of a couple questions.

“Not so great, either,” I admitted.

“So . . .” She twisted in her seat to face me. Her eyes dropped to my stomach. “How far along are you, sweetie?”

I wasn’t sure if my mouth or my tears dropped first.

“It’s all right, baby,” she said, reaching for my hand.

“How did you know?” I asked, peering around the room. No one was paying us any attention. I doubted they’d pay us any attention if I got naked and started doing jumping jacks.

“I’ve been pregnant so many times in my life, Lucy, I can tell when a woman’s pregnant before she can.”

I stared at my stomach. I wasn’t showing. Yet. But I would be soon. The doctor had said I could expect a bump to start popping through in the next month. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret any longer.

“So?” she asked when I stayed quiet.

“I’m almost four months,” I said, feeling lighter just having admitted it to someone.

“And I take it that since Jude wasn’t bragging and going on about this precious little baby earlier, he doesn’t know yet?”

I shook my head. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

“Oh, Lucy, of course it doesn’t, sweetie.” Sybill draped her arm around my shoulders and tucked my head beneath her chin. She couldn’t have been more than ten years older than me, but the gesture was so nurturing, it was clear she’d been a mom for a while. “It makes you a scared person. A worried person. But not a horrible one. Not even close.”

“Then why do I feel like a horrible person?” I said, choking on a sob.

“Do you feel that way because you’re pregnant or because you haven’t told Jude yet?” She continued to hold me close and wouldn’t let me pull away. I stopped trying.

“Both,” I admitted.