Why am I doing this? I wonder, looking at my reflection in the mirror for the ten thousandth time.
It’s Saturday night, and for some ungodly reason, I let Dee talk me into going on a blind date. Why she thinks I should be dating being almost four months pregnant is beyond me. No man is going to look at all of this lovely baggage I’m carrying around and think that this is a sure bet.
The phone starts ringing right when I finish applying the last of my makeup. After making my way down the short hallway and into the living/dining room of my apartment, I quickly grab the phone before it rolls over to voicemail.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you! Are you excited for your date tonight?” Dee’s voice comes through the phone thick with excitement.
“Uh, no. You know I don’t want to be doing this, Dee. I don’t see the point. It’s not like I can hide the fact that I’m pregnant if I plan on seeing him again. I would feel dishonest not telling him.”
She pauses for a second. “It doesn’t have to be the focus of your date, Chelc. Just because you’re about to have a perfect little bundle of love doesn’t mean that defines your life. You deserve to be happy too. I know you don’t want to go out with Nikolas tonight, but he’s really a nice guy. Who knows? You might hit it off, and then you can thank me at your wedding.” She snickers when she finishes, and I can just picture her laughing at herself.
Ever since Dee and Beck worked out their issues—and boy, there were some heavy issues—she’s gone from being lukewarm about relationships to being a walking, talking advocate. She’s happy, so she wants everyone else around her to feel the same happiness and love that she does.
I’ve got to give her some credit though. She really lucked out with John Beckett, and I would probably feel the same way if I were in her shoes. The love that those two have for each other is almost too much to watch.
“Jesus, Dee. I just don’t think this is the right time, you know?” I complain. Even to my own ears, I just sound like I’m bitching. Which I am.
“Yeah, and when will be the right time? When the baby is here? When the baby is older? When you’re seventy? I get it. Really, I do. But you can’t just keep living your life, working, and sitting at home.”
“I don’t just sit at home,” I bristle.
“Ah, yeah, you do.”
I can feel myself getting frustrated with this conversation, and the last thing I want to do is snap at Dee when she is clearly just trying to do something nice. Even if it is unwarranted.
“I do other things,” I weakly argue.
“HA! Like what?” The challenge is clear in her words.
“I…uh… The other day, I…”
Shit. She’s right. There really isn’t much I do. I work with her. I go to weekly dinners with the group. I help—er, used to help—Asher. And I write.
“I know!” I yelp a little too loud. “I went to my first creative writing class the other day!” I throw my fist up in the air, realizing that I have her there.
Writing has always been a passion of mine. Nothing I’ve ever had the guts to pursue at a deeper level other than dabbling. It wasn’t until everything with Coop happened that I realized just how precious life was. From that day on, I’ve made a point to work on things I’ve always been afraid to try. I might never do anything with the book I’ve been working on for the last four years, but it’s there, and more importantly, it makes me happy.
“As proud of you that I am, there is no way that counts. I’m talking about going out, meeting a m-a-n.”
“I don’t need a man, Dee. Just because I’ve got a baby on the way in no way means that I need a man to take care of me. My mom managed just fine. Not only was she a single mother, but also she never made me feel like I was a burden on her life. She was the best parent I could ever imagine. A man doesn’t define whether I, or my child for that matter, have a good life.” I can feel my throat burning with unshed tears just begging to get out when I think about my mom.
It’s been almost five years since I lost my mom to breast cancer. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her. She had been struggling for a good year before she passed away. It wasn’t sudden, and even though we had time to come to terms with her immanent death, it wasn’t easy. One thing that keeps me going is knowing that, wherever she is now, she’s proud of me. I know she is. Sure, she wouldn’t have wanted me to be a single mother like she was. No mother wants her child to deal with being a single parent. But she taught me everything I know about love and, more importantly, how to love a child. So I know she’s happy.