Page 7

ROSIE

I think I blacked out somewhere between Jackson Harper knocking on my door and him closing it behind him.

Or maybe I’ve imagined it. Maybe I’ve never even met him and I’m actually still seventeen and going to see Starseeker on the big screen for the first time and my imagination has run away with me.

But, when I wake up the next day and throw up in my bedroom bin, I know it’s not a dream.

I’m still pregnant and the father unknowingly walked back into my life with a cheeky smile and a devilish ability to make me laugh.

I panicked. As soon as I saw him on the other side of the door, any control I was clinging onto disappeared in a flurry of tears and sobs. He immediately went into protective mode, sitting with me and offering up his strength, even when he had no idea what the hell was going on.

Throughout the whole bizarre twenty or so minutes he was in my kitchen, I felt like my body was floating above the room .

I struggle through my day at work avoiding the annoying questions from Kevin and the guys.

It’s early evening by the time I take my headphones off and pack away. I check my phone reflexively and my heart stops at the text on the screen.

JACKSON

Hey, pretty girl. How was your day?

I blink at the screen. How was my day?

I shove my phone in my bag and leave the office without acknowledging anyone. Those seven words tumble around my brain on the long commute home.

How was my day? Does he know ?

I don’t know what I thought he would do with my number but I knew that I would need to use it first. And soon.

I need to tell him. I need to tell him the next time I see him. I should have done it when he first barged into my flat, but the shock didn’t wear off until after he’d left.

I swear to myself that the next time I see him, the first words I speak will be “Hello Jackson. I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”

I tap my card on the barriers, escaping the crowded tube station to the equally crowded street.

I’ve lived in London long enough that I can dodge and weave pedestrians like a pro, but today I barely notice when I’m stuck behind an elderly couple taking up the entire pavement, adding at least forty-five seconds to my journey.

How was my day?

My day? I threw up this morning and can no longer drink milk because your super sperm has had a pretty inconvenient consequence .

I stumble up the stairs to my flat, finally taking my phone out in the safety of my own four walls.

My phone buzzes again as soon as it’s in my hands and I jump out of my skin. It’s just a news notification.

This is ridiculous. I need to get a grip. If this were Anya, I would tell her to rip the bandaid off and tell him. It’s not something I can—should—keep to myself for much longer.

Jackson Harper literally walked back into my life right when I needed him. I have to tell him.

Taking a deep breath, I type out a reply.

ME

I’m good thanks, you?

He replies immediately.

JACKSON

Better now, pretty girl

When are you going to let me take you out on a date?

The thought of blurting out my news in a crowded restaurant is enough to make me type out my reply.

ME

You can come over to mine. I’ll cook.

JACKSON

I like the sound of that? When?

I tug my glasses off and throw them on the kitchen counter, rubbing my eyes until I see spots. I already sound desperate, what’s one more comment? Once I tell him, he’ll run a mile the other way anyway.

ME

Tonight at 8?

JACKSON

I’ll bring the wine ;)

Please don’t , I think miserably.

By the time eight pm rolls around, I’m as calm as I can be given the fact that my unwitting baby daddy is about to walk through my doors and I’m going to change his life over a vegetable curry.

I check my reflection in the mirror. I still look pale no matter how much blush I apply. Whoever said that pregnant women glow was a cruel liar.

The intercom buzzes and I take a deep breath before letting him up.

The walls in this building are old and thin and I can hear him bounding up the stairs before I hear a polite knock on the door.

I brace myself as I open the door. He’s wearing a smart button down and jeans, his hair neat and tucked behind his ears, a few strands curling across his forehead. He grins, his eyes crinkling in the corners and I can’t help the smile that returns.

“Hey pretty girl,” he says, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek.

I let him and try to stop my eyelashes fluttering as his lips meet my skin.

“No tears this time, that’s what I like to see,” he says, lifting his hand for a high five. I laugh and lightly press my palm to his. It’s a weak attempt that he rectifies by clasping his fingers around mine and tugging me closer until our hands rest against his hard chest.

I can’t help but admire the way our hands look, mine swallowed by his. I’ve never been small and dainty; my ex-boyfriends’ clothes have always just fit instead of looking oversized. But Jackson’s hands are twice the size of mine and I can still remember how they felt worshiping my body.

I gently tug my hand free, avoiding his gaze as I step back. “Come in, I’ve got food ready to go.” I return to the table, anxiously straightening the plates so I don’t have to watch him follow.

“I brought wine,” he says once he reaches my side.

I nod mutely. How long should I keep up the charade? Can’t have wine, sorry. You put a baby in me.

“Glasses are over there.” I gesture to the bar rack installed above the fridge where wine glasses dangle upside down.

He reaches around me and plucks them off the shelf. He’s so tall, and my flat so tiny, that he barely has to stretch to reach from one end of the room to the other.

“I hope you like vegetarian,” I say, allowing him to hand me a glass that I know I won’t touch.

“I didn’t know you were veggie,” Jackson says as we finally take a seat at the table.

I nod. “Yeah, I picked it up a while ago and got hooked on some of the food I made. I experimented a lot with fake meat and I got a bit obsessed with trying to perfect the perfect dish.”

“Is this your perfect dish?” he asks.

“Close enough. I once tried this amazing vegan couscous when I was visiting Anya in LA, but I haven’t been able to find all the ingredients over here.

Also the measurements are all weird over there.

How do you even measure a cup? It’s a nightmare because you have to translate everything into measurements you recognize before you can even begin to cook, and then all the recipes have the writer’s most recent marriage problem that you have to scroll through just to get to the good part. ”

I look up from my food and see Jackson’s staring at me with a bemused look on his face. I feel my face flush. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay, I like your rambling.”

I take a bite to distract myself from the look in his eye.

“Send me the restaurant in LA. I’ll have to go when I’m back Stateside.”

My heart flutters in my chest. Soon he’ll be back on the other side of the world. What are me and the baby going to do then?

Stop it, I tell myself. He might want nothing to do with either of you. At least then he’ll be far away.

“When do you go back?” I ask, taking another bite so I don’t blurt it out too soon.

“Shoot for six months and then I’ll probably head over. My family is back in Wellington, so it’s not like I’m heading back for them.”

“How often do you go to New Zealand?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “When I can. It’s a long flight, but I miss home. They come over sometimes. My older sister loves coming to LA.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Two. One older and one younger.”

My smile grows. “So you’re the middle child”

“Yeah, but the only boy so I still get all the attention.” He grins.

“What about your parents?”

“My mum is the best. ”

“And your dad?”

He shifts in his seat. “He died when I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, wanting to reach across the table and grab his hand.

“It’s fine,” he brushes me off. “What about you? Where are your family?”

“Oh, uh. I’m the youngest of two and my parents live back in Wicklow. It’s near Gloucester.”

At Jackson’s blank look, I laugh and say, “North east of here.”

“Are you close?”

I stare at my hand as I grip my fork. “No, not really. I have a grandma that I’m really close with, but she was put into a home just after Christmas. I try to visit her every few weekends though, and we talk on the phone every Sunday.”

“I bet that makes her day.”

I laugh. “Yeah, the nurses said she waits by the phone for my call and doesn’t stop talking about me afterwards. The first time I visited, all the staff already knew me by name.”

I don’t tell him that I ring her so often because I don’t want her to forget me, because I want to have one member of my family who wants to spend time with me.

Jackson lifts the wine bottle and motions to my empty glass. I quickly halt him by covering the rim. He looks at me with concerned eyes. “You don’t like white?” he asks, as if he’s horrified he got the wrong bottle.

“No, no,” I say, swallowing against my dry throat. “I—uh, I’m going to have a Coke instead, do you want one?” I jump out of my seat and head to the fridge without looking at him.

“White wine and coke, I’ve heard that before.”

I wince at the memory of catching him doing drugs in Anya’s bathroom.

I’ve never done anything more than the half a spliff Anya split with me when we were nineteen and watching the Da Vinci Code.

I spent the first half of the evening loudly rewriting the film, and the second half holding Anya’s hair as she threw it all back up.

“Just to get it out there,” Jackson holds his hands up. “That time at Dan’s party wasn’t my…finest moment. It’s not something I really do anymore, I think that was the last time I even touched the stuff.”

“You don’t have to explain,” I say awkwardly, though relief washes through me.

“I know, but I wanted to,” he says softly.

I hold the fridge door open, letting the cold air cool me down but instead all I can smell is the garlic that has probably passed its use by date. I grab the drinks and breathe through my mouth as I rejoin the table.

“Thanks. Are you okay?” Jackson asks when I sit.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” I say, unconvincingly.

He eyes me warily. God, I probably look like a loser who can’t even hold a conversation with the man without stumbling or rambling. I need to just get it out. Just get it over with. I can’t keep it inside for a second longer.

“This rice is gre?—”

“I’m pregnant.” I announce, placing both hands on the table. I take a deep breath before I let my eyes rise to his face.

Jackson is frozen, his mouth hanging open like he is ready to continue the sentence I just interrupted. He slowly adjusts in his seat, his large body causing my old wooden chair to creak.

I reach to my face for the glasses that I’m not wearing before bringing my hands back to my lap.

He’s not saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything ?

His mouth moves like he’s trying to form words. He tries a few times before he croaks out, “How?”

“Oh, uhm. Well, you know your sperm met my egg and fertilized?—”

“Rosie.”

I take a breath. “At the wedding.”

“You said you were on the pill.” A flicker of something washes across his face.

“I am!” I insist. “Honestly, I never do anything like—I would never have let—I mean I wouldn’t have taken the risk if I thought for even a second that I wouldn’t be protected, but I spoke to my doctor and they said it’s not one hundred percent effective, and because I’d been running around in France and drinking and throwing up, I don’t know, it just decided to not work. ”

He doesn’t blink. I don’t think he’s blinked once since I dropped the bomb.

I wring my hands together. “It was definitely the wedding,” I say.

“I mean I haven’t been with anyone but you for at least ten months.

And I really don’t think sperm can live in the womb for that long.

And even the last few times I saw my ex, I don’t think he even came anywhere near my vagina so it’s been more like ten and a half months without any sperm in the vicinity of my eggs apart from yours. ”

“Rosie,” Jackson says, running his hand across his face. “Please stop talking about sperm.”

I nod my head and mime sealing my mouth shut.

“Pregnant,” he repeats. “You’re pregnant.”

I nod again.

“With my baby.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I only found out last week and I’ve been trying to figure out how to reach you. And then you literally showed up at my door. ”

“Well,” he says wryly. “That explains the tears.”

“It has been very overwhelming.”

He’s silent, staring at the table between us. He releases a breath as he runs his hand through his hair, messing up the combed strands. A wave falls near his face and I almost want to brush it away.

“I think I need some more wine for this conversation.” He reaches for the bottle and tops up his glass. “You don’t have a beer, do you?”

I jump up. “Yeah, of course.”

I grab a can of IPA from the fridge. “It’s not like I’ll be drinking this for the next nine months, so you can have as many as you like.”

He takes it from me, his fingers brushing mine. “So, you’re keeping it then?”

I sit down in my seat, unable to stop my hand brushing my stomach protectively. It’s never been flat to begin with but I know it’s way too early to show.

I’ve been asking myself the question for days, but it’s only when he asks me with that earnest look in his eyes that I know my answer.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, I think I want to keep it. I thought about having an abortion but I wasn’t going to do that without speaking to you about it first. But I just…” I shrug, “I don’t think I want to.”

He’s staring at me, his usually tan skin slightly pale behind his dark beard.

“I’m sorry to put you in this position, Jackson. I honestly didn’t plan for this at all?—”

“Don’t say sorry,” he says, taking a gulp of beer. “This is half on me too.”

I bite my lip, unsure what to say. I thought for sure he would be mad at me .

He nods again, his eyes softening as they land on me. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I ask.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

“Have a baby.”

“Oh, I mean I didn’t expec?—”

He raises his hand, “It’s too late to unbutter the bread, pretty girl, all we can do now is eat our sandwich.”

An incredulous laugh escapes me. “You’re the one who wanted me to stop talking about sperm and you talk about buttering bread ?”

He sends me a cheeky grin, “My butter, my sperm.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the giggle that bubbles in my chest.