Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (71 page)

I jumped out of bed with alarm. “Emma!” I yelled. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

She began jumping up and down on my bed reaching for my stomach. “Is there a little Jameson in there?” She cooed pressing her head against stomach. “Hello little fella,”

I pushed her backwards. “Stop that!”

“Sorry,” she apologized undeterred by my harshness. “I’m so excited. Let’s go get a test. I want to be there when you find out.”

“Emma, I
can’t
be pregnant right now.” My mind was going through all the reasons why this wasn’t a good thing and filing them all away in the you’re-fucked-file. “With Jameson gone all the time, Charlie, the track
...
This is the
last
thing Jameson needs right now.”

“If it was the last thing he needs,” Emma scooted towards the edge of the bed. “why was he so careless?”

“I um
...
shit
...
I don’t know.” I threw my hands up. “What am I going to do now?”

“Jameson has
always
been like a walking billboard for a condom ad.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “He knew damn well, what he was doing. Did he ever use a condom?”

“I think
...
well, the first time but after that he didn’t.”

“Did you tell him you were on birth control pills? Did you guys have that discussion?”

Now that I think about it, we never did. How could we be so stupid? He never asked if I was on the pill, why would he not?

Oh god, what have we done?

Moments later, I was puking with Emma holding my hair.

Another forty-five minutes later, we were in the aisle of the Olympia
Top Foods
grocery store looking over pregnancy tests. We drove to Olympia because I didn’t want any one in town to find out. With Elma being a small town, people talked.

Looking over the tests, I couldn’t believe the selection they had. It was overwhelming.

“Which one do I get?” I asked Emma who was currently slurping down her second mocha. “Stop drinking those. That’s why you’re so short.” I ripped her drink out of her hand and began drinking it.

“Hey,” she reached for it. “You can’t drink caffeine anymore and I can’t get these on the east coast. No one make coffee like the Northwest.”

“I can’t have caffeine?” I asked incredulously. “Why the hell not?”

“Nope, or sushi or chocolate
...
there’s a whole list of things Alley couldn’t eat when she was pregnant with Lane. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Well fuck, it’s like you have to stop living.”

“Pretty much,” she agreed and threw all the pregnancy tests in the cart. “Let’s go.”

Emma went on to explain the details of Alley’s pregnancy since I wasn’t around for much of it. She made it out to sound like some sort of parasite feeding from your body until it took everything you had.

An entire carton of orange juice, nine pregnancy tests, two boxes of tissues, and a half pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream later
...
I was most certainly pregnant.

All the tests were positive.

Every. Single. One. Of. The. Motherfuckers.

Some had smiley faces and some had positive signs, where others just simply spelled the word out in big fat pregnant letters.

I was then curled up on my bed, with Emma, while I cried it out. I wanted to call Jameson, I wanted to scream at him and his camshaft but then I just sat there and cried.

How could I have let this happen?
Was my number one thought.

I was on birth control
...
we used condoms
...
well, no we didn’t. We were pretty fucking careless caught up in our pornographic dirty talking heathen escapades. We were stupid is what we were.

Still
, I was on birth control
...
how could that have happened?

Ninety-nine percent effective my ass. Damn you one percent, damn you.

Mr. Jangles was curled up with us and then it dawned on me, he ate a few of my pills last cycle. “This is all your fault, Mr. Jangles!” He ignored me and snuggled closer to Emma—his newfound friend.

I wanted to tell Jameson but decided on waiting until I saw him in person. This was
not
the kind of news you told someone over the phone that’s for sure.

“It’ll be okay preggers.” Emma tried to assure me walking out into the living room with me. “Everyone loves a baby. Even my pathological asshole of a brother would.”

Charlie, who was watching ESPN in his chair, immediately took notice in my appearance. I was still wearing my pajamas; my face was all red and blotchy and god knows what my hair looked like by now.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked and I could have sworn on a stack of bibles he looked at my stomach. His eyes shifted towards Emma, “Why are you so orange?”

“Jameson.” She answered strolling past casually towards the coffee.

“I see.” Charlie looked back at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I answered quickly avoiding direct eye contact. “Why does anything have to be wrong?”

“You just
...
look like shit!”

“Thanks dad.” I muttered walking into the kitchen. That was the second time I’d been told I resembled feces today.

While pouring myself a glass of water Charlie walked in.

“Sway, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

“Nothing dad, it’s nothing.” I lied slurping the water. “I just have the flu.”

“Sway,” he began looking down at my stomach, again. “The worst thing in life you can be is a liar.”

I laughed. “When I was sixteen you told me the worst thing in life I could be was a slut, which is it?”

“You’re right,” Charlie paused for a moment contemplating. “the worst thing in life you can be
is
a slut, then liar. Remember that, for when you have kids. Slut is number one, then liar at a close second.” Once again, he looked at my stomach and then walked away.

Well, that was strange, but surprisingly reassuring that he was still Charlie.

The next few days were spent avoiding Jameson’s question over the phone as to why I was so distant and containing Emma from telling their whole family before I was able to even see a doctor or tell Jameson.

Concerned with my lack of conversation on the phone, he was going to fly here after Pocono so I thought I could tell him then.

By Wednesday, he was threatening to skip the race and fly home if I didn’t tell him what was wrong. I just couldn’t justify telling him over the phone.

I made an appointment with my gynecologist and got in the same day. They didn’t have much going on in Elma so you could get same day appointments.

Emma insisted on going with me, which I was sure was a bad idea. My theory was confirmed when my feet were in the stirrups and Emma conveniently moved south knowing damn well I couldn’t catch her in time. It wasn’t exactly comforting since I was exposed with my bling pad on display for her
and
the doctor.

“Sway, that looks really good.” Emma praised. “What did Jameson say?”

The doctor gave a look of both confusion and wonderment mixed with fright. I’m not sure what he was more frightened from, Emma for checking out her friend’s crankcase and her very bright completion, or me, for blinging out my girlie pad with Jameson Riley’s number and a checkered flag.

Doctor Sears gave me a smirk and continued his exam. “Judging by the size of your uterus, I’d say you are around nine weeks pregnant. Since you don’t know when your last period was I’d like to do an ultrasound to confirm this.” He held up a wand, put a condom on it, and violated me.

Emma giggled. “That’s fun.”

“Emma!” I snapped. “Shut up.”

“Hey Sway,” she exclaimed louder than I felt necessary pointing once again to my crankcase. “They even use protection here.”

Christ almighty, they could hear her in New York.

“Get the fuck out of here Emma, right now!” I yelled abruptly, shocking Dr. Sears.

Emma of course did not leave—instead, she came back up towards my head and rubbed my scalp.

“Calm down, you’re emotional.” She kissed my forehead. “It’s to be expected my love.”

“Emma.” I warned.

“Yes?”

“Stop touching me.”

The last thing I wanted right now was Emma touching me when there was a foot long wand align bore my crankcase.

“Okay,” Dr. Sears interrupted our silly fight. “That right there,” He pointed to a flickering bubble on the screen. “that is your baby. There’s the heartbeat. You are roughly eight weeks, three days.”

I was speechless. Now if only that same speechlessness would plague Emma.

“Oh my goodness?” she was rubbing my head again. “When’s her due date?”

“March seventh.” Dr. Sears answered and pushed a button on the screen.

The said baby was jumping all over the place, flailing around. The tiny flickering on the screen confirmed to me that there was in fact life inside of me. A life created by crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-logic from my dirty car-talking heathen.

Do they have support groups for crazy irrational pigizzles who get knocked up by their dirty heathen out of wedlock?

If they did, I’d be attending meetings after this. Of all the shenanigans I could get into, I get knocked up, at one of the worst times.

The door shut behind Dr. Sears and Emma brought me out of my self-pity trance when she snapped a picture with her phone. I ripped her phone out of her hand. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Showing mom, she wants to see her grandbaby.”

“YOU TOLD HER?”

“Well yeah—but I didn’t tell anyone else.” She looked at me as though there was absolutely nothing wrong with this.

 “Fuck Emma.” I punched her shoulder after removing my legs from confinement. “Did you ever think that maybe I should tell the father first?”

“You can tell him later,” she waived her arm around. “Mom isn’t going to say anything. Besides, he’s racing right now.”

“What do you mean racing?”

It’s Wednesday, why would he be racing?

“He’s racing at Lernerville with Justin and Tyler. It’s a charity event.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I felt sad that I didn’t know, or maybe he’d said something and I wasn’t paying attention, which was possible. I definitely had my mind elsewhere these days.

Emma shrugged. “It was last minute, I guess.”

Later that night, after kicking Emma into the spare bedroom because she wouldn’t keep her goddamn hands off my stomach, I called Jameson.