“I think you need to tell him, Daisy,” Damien agrees.
All I can do is nod. But it’s not because I agree. It’s because they both seem so hopeful that I can’t find the courage to tell them that my immigration interview is tomorrow, and thanks to me, Flynn won’t be there.
Yeah, but are you going to be there?
I look down at my stomach, where, I now know, sits a tiny baby that’s growing inside me. A baby who deserves a mom and a dad and a happy, healthy home.
“I’ve fucked this up for more than just myself,” I mutter, and both Gwen and Damien look at me in confusion.
But neither has time to say anything, because the battery on my phone chooses that exact moment to give up the good fight. The screen goes black, and I’m on my own again.
And all I can do is stare down at the wedding band that sits on my left hand. The ring I don’t seem to ever take off.
Now what are you going to do?
Friday, May 31st
Daisy
I stand outside the massive federal building and check the time on my phone again.
8:00 a.m. glares back at me.
Time is almost up, Daisy.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing outside the USCIS building, but considering I checked out of my room at six this morning, I know it’s been a while.
So long, in fact, the security guard at the door is probably starting to wonder if you’re casing the place…
“Hi,” I greet him from across the sidewalk, the courage to speak just barely popping out of its hole like a little prairie dog. “I have an interview. At nine.”
He doesn’t respond or alter the deadpan stare from his face. He’s all business, and I’m the furthest thing from it. Truth be told, I’m one small skip away from emotionally exploding all over this city sidewalk.
“I guess you could say I’m a little nervous.”
When I realize I’m not going to get anything out of Stone Cold Steve Austin at the door, I take a few steps away and force myself to sit on a bench that’s positioned off to the side of the building. Far away from Officer Serious but still close enough to actually walk into the building.
That is, if I decide to follow through with the interview.
I lean my head back and look up at the early morning sky. The clouds are shades of pinks and blues and silently make me wonder which color will soon become a staple in my life.
Pink or blue? A daughter or a son?
Hand to my stomach, I feel around my belly for any sign of pregnancy. I’d like to think I can feel a slight fullness in my lower abdomen, but truthfully, besides my out-of-whack emotions, the only reason I know I’m pregnant is because of Dr. Fields and the twenty or so sticks I peed on last night.
I’m pregnant. With Flynn’s baby. And I don’t know what to do.
You do know. You need to woman the hell up and go to that interview and make damn sure you can stay in this country long enough to tell Flynn you love him and you’re having his child.
But how do I explain the obvious reality that my husband isn’t at my interview?
The question urges me to stand back to my feet and play the all-too-familiar role of crazy-lady-pacing-outside-the-building.
My husband really wanted to be here, but see, there was an emergency. He fell off—
That is not going to work.
Flynn is very ill. We had Taco Bell last night, and I’m sure you can understand how that can end badly. You definitely wouldn’t want him here, stinking up your bathroom. Ha-ha…I’m an idiot.
My husband is—
Out of nowhere, two arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me back into a hard, firm chest. I shriek out in surprise and start to fling my arms at my attacker, but that’s quickly stopped when “Daisy, calm down. It’s me.” fills my ears.
I spin on my heels and come face-to-face with the one person, the only person, I want to see right now—Flynn.
“W-what are you doing here?”
“We don’t have much time, babe,” he says, and in a matter of seconds, my feet are off the ground and I’m in his arms, cradled close to his chest. Across the street and into an empty alleyway, Flynn doesn’t set me on my feet until we’re completely alone.
“I’m calling in my IOU.”
My head jerks back. “What?”
“The night we got married, you said you owed me, and whenever I wanted to call it in, I just needed to tell you. Well, I’m calling it in now.”
Normally, I’m not the quiet one in our conversations, but right now, that’s exactly what I am.
“I don’t want you to leave, Daisy. I want you to stay and make a real go of this with me. And quite frankly, I think you owe me the chance to try.”
He wants me to stay?
“You want to try to make a real go of it with me?” I repeat back, my whole body shaking with the overwhelmingly relieving feeling of my adrenaline crashing. I’m not going to have to fight at life alone anymore?
“More than anything I’ve ever wanted,” he says and takes both of my hands into his. “You make me better, Daisy.”
But will he still want that when he finds out the truth? That our lives are going to be a lot more complicated than a couple of raging horndog fake spouses?
“I don’t want to go back to my quiet life without you. I don’t want to do anything without you. I—”
The urge to tell him everything, to lay it all out on the table, is too strong, and without thinking, I blurt out the words right in the middle of him talking.
“I’m pregnant!” I exclaim just as Flynn finishes with, “love you.”
Holy hell, he loves me? He loves me?!
“I love you too!” I shout at the same time he asks, “You’re pregnant?”
Tears threaten and a giggle bursts uninvited from deep, deep in my chest. For once in my life, I’m going to shut up and let someone else do the talking. Flynn deserves that. Flynn deserves everything.
“You’re pregnant?” Flynn repeats again, this time on an awed whisper.
I nod, and emotion floods my eyes for what feels like a million reasons. Worry, happiness, elation, concern, fear, it’s a kaleidoscope of feelings rushing through my veins.
“You’re pregnant,” he states this time, as if he needs to hear the words out loud for himself.
“Yes,” I answer, and the need to give him an explanation—to assure him I haven’t been hiding this—is too strong to deny. I can’t be quiet anymore. “But I didn’t know until last night. After I left The Penrose. The doctor who did my physical called me, and yeah, even though I didn’t really believe her, it only took a two-hundred-dollar trip to Walgreens and a gallon of Sunny Delight for me to comprehend that I am, in fact, pregnant. Apparently, seven to eight weeks along.”
“My baby is inside you,” he says and reaches out to gently place his left hand—the one that still showcases his gold wedding band—onto my stomach. “Right there. That’s our baby.”