The Other Woman

After countless bottles of water, cans among cans of soda, and a few zingy energy drinks, any thoughts of fluid makes me a bit nauseas.

Opening the bathroom door, I force the white cylindrical stick into the tight pockets of my jeans, away from weary and teary eyes.

“You done with the last one?” Jen asks, with Mark looking nervously and anxiously behind her busy figure.
“Yea,” I shakily respond, shutting my eyes tight as I retrieve the white, life altering tube from my pocket and quickly hand it over to her, face down of course.

With open eyes she cups her palms shut, giving me a small, but serious, and knowing look. Like a line of kindergarteners, Jennifer is the line leader and leads myself and Mark into the living room on this dreary night. More tears begin tickling the already wet corners of my eyes as they fix upon the brown and glossy coffee table in the centre of the untidy room. And this mahogany table is not bare. No, on display and lined accordingly at the time I took them is not 1, not 2, but 3 white pregnancy tests; from different brands of course.

“Uhh, Seny” Mark reluctantly requests as we all seat ourselves on the carpeted floor around the table.
“Hmm?”

“You sure you want a male in here right now? Cus you know, in case…whatever.” he mumbles in a finished hurry.

I slowly shake my head, tucking my legs Indian style to be somewhat comfortable for the results. “It’s okay, stay.” I reply with a nervous, sorrowful sigh. “I need someone other than myself to kill,” I add, not a glimpse of humor in my voice.

I inadvertently ignore his next remark as Jen reaches out to add the fourth and final test to the bunch, face down of course, with others.

“Five minutes,” she quickly speaks.

And so we wait, wait five heart clenching, mind racing minutes. Thinking of how a child would change my life. If I should have the child at all? Who’s child could it be? What the hell was I thinking?!

Somewhere between the last several minutes, every calculation in mind had been solved. I knew deep inside who the father was. And I knew I would be keeping that child, I was a liberal democrat, but my republican side showed in my negative views towards abortion.

“Um, five minutes are up,” squawks Mark, placing down his bottle of beer in a careful motion.

Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat, I turn to my two close friends, my eyes already filling with salty and hearty tears.

“It’s going to be alright Serenity,” Jennifer coos, patting my shoulder at the sight of my dejection.
“Yea,” chimes in Mark, rubbing his hands along my back, trying to soothe his friend. “I wouldn’t mind having a little god son running around, trying to deck me in the head with his bottle,” he grins, trying to soften the suffocating gloom in the room.

They didn’t understand though.
It wasn’t about the baby.
It wasn’t about the cost or the care.

It was all about Tre.

I remove my now wet palms from my tearing face and dry them on the denim of my pants.
“Lets just get this over with,” I utter gloomily.

And so, we all crowd around the urinated pregnancy tests, still faced down.

Jennifer grabs one.

Mark grabs one.

And I grab two.

“Alright, on the count of three we all turn them around so we can see the results.” Jennifer announces.

My hands are shaking and slick with sweat from my nerves. The tests are violently shaking in my grasp. And on that final count to three, each test is turned around.

My eyes forward onto the light blue plus sign radiating from the white device in my hand. Correction, devices, in my hands. Both tests are positive.

Fuck.

My head jets to the left, where a springing shade of blue glows from the test launched in Mark’s hand.

Fucking Hell.

My eyes scan further down the row towards Jennifer, who is already biting her lip in anxiety as she reads the results of neighboring tests. And surprise, surprise, a lovely shade of blue emits from her test as well.

Oh. Mother Fucking. Hell

Tears are already streaming down my cheeks as Jennifer and Mark drop the tests to engulf me with plenty of supporting words and hugs galore. None of it mattered though, my life was ruined…well if the baby was Billie Joe’s.

Shit.

Now I had to go about the grueling task of calling and telling Billie Joe about my predicament. He would HAVE to partake in a paternity test to reveal who the daddy is.

“A baby can be a good thing, Seny” Jennifer smiles, letting go of her suffocating grip around my neck.
“Yeah,” Mark quickly agrees. “When my brother had a baby with his girlfriend, it really straightened him out. And he loves that kid like a—“

“It’s not about the damn baby,” I nearly yell, causing my two best friends to flinch in fright. “What if Tre’s not the dad!” I sob, covering my wet face with quivering hands.

And without another word, I manage to stand and march relentlessly into my bedroom away from thoughtful friends, and flop onto my bed to cry.

The following morning is brutal. The apartment is empty, by my request. I had asked Jennifer when she came quietly prodding into my bedroom later that night to comfort me to leave for the day, so I could stew in my thoughts, cry, and get some things done. She reluctantly accepted and left for Mark’s.

The bags hanging mercilessly underneath my eyes this morning are enough to hold loads and loads of heavy groceries. The dark circles are drenched in gloom and depression. Chalky white stains of last night’s tears mar my cheeks and chin.

It wasn’t pretty.

After a nutritious breakfast consisting of water and a multivitamin pill, I find myself in the confines of my bedroom once again. The walls seem to be laughing at me as they close in. My eyes are glued to the ceiling, wanting to look at nothings else but an empty white void.

I know what has to be done.

Closing my eyes tightly, a tear escapes from the corner as my arm reaches out to the nightstand to collect my phone.

Billie Joe had to know. And hey, maybe he could actually help and be understanding as he had done in the past.
For a full fledge half hour, I cry again into my pillow, unable to open the phone and scroll to his name, or alias at that.

Why was this so hard?!

In this time and moment I yearned for Tre more than I thought possible. Why couldn’t WE be in this predicament. Then I wouldn’t be crying or unhappy. Hell, I would be ecstatic to have a child with Tre, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he would be too.

After another twenty minutes of thoughts I finally gather the strength to call Billie Joe.

With my back against the headboard of the bed and a grim frown on my lips, my heartbeat is put on hold as his phone begins to ring.

And ring.

And ring.

“Hello?” his awkward voice greets. I bet he wasn’t expecting a phone call from me…

My throat involuntarily closes at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Serenity?” he asks yet again.

“Billie?” I sniffle, my eyes already shutting from the gathering of salty tears. And before he can answer, I’m sobbing into the phone, drenching my Motorola in salt water.

“Seny? What the,” he speaks in sad and surprised confusion, “what’s wrong?”
“Seny…what happened?”
“Is it Tre?”
“What happened Seny?”

His reply is only continuous sobs of sorrow.

I can vaguely hear silence on the other end of the line. My sobs pause for a few minutes as I try to figure if he has hung up and given up. My sniffles are the only thing audible.

“Serenity?” Billie Joe asks once more, caution and concern wafting in his tone.

“I’m” sniff “here” I manage to choke out.

“What happened to you?” he inquires, “why are you crying?”
“I don’t want” sniff “to tell you” sniff “but” sniff “I have to”

My heart and throat are simultaneously jumping, and I know that in a matter of precious seconds, hiccups will consume me.
“Tell me. I’m here for you” he coos.

“Billie Joe…” I begin crying.
“What happened?”

My sobbing starts again, but my words clearly and dangerously register through his ears.

“I’m…” sob “pregnant”.

I await his reaction as I cry into the phone. Nothing besides sobs is audible, and it seems as if the call had been dropped.

Silence.

Moments later, I can hear Billie Joe clearing his throat.
“Serenity, stop crying for a second.” He mumbles in a neutral tone.

My tears slowly begin to halt, and instead a fresh wave of sad sniffles takes precedent.
“Umm,” he falters. “When did,” and then he sighs miserably, unable to finish his sentence.

I already know he’s probably running a tired hand through his hair and stringing together a thousand thoughts of the demise of his marriage in his mind.

“I found out last night,” I reply somberly.

He doesn’t reply. What else more could he actually say?

“Are you there Billie?” I ask, after nearly five minutes of agonizing silence.
“Yea,” he mutters miserably, his pleasantly soft tone from prior completely gone.

“What am I supposed to do?!” I scream in frustration.

And again, he doesn’t respond. Which is when I start crying once again. My eyes are soar from lack of sleep and tears, it almost hurt when they shed.

“Will you quit crying!” he barks into the receiver after a few minutes.

“You’re not even helping me!” I yell in a torrent of screaming tears.
“How can I help if you keep bawling?!”

“I hate you!” I wail in muffled tears as sheer anger begins pumping through my veins. Before his remark is heard, I quickly flip the phone shut before balling it into my hardened fist and hurling it across the room.

I felt alone and abandoned. He wasn’t going to be there for me. Why the hell did I believe him in the first place?! The only thing he cared for was his family, and he's do anything to save it, including discarding me like an old rag.

My phone suddenly rings from the other end of the room. I drag myself to get the howling device, and even more fury heats me when Billie Joe’s name appears on the screen.

“What?” I demand
“I’m gonna stop by either tomorrow or Thursday.” He mutters

“For what? Verification?!” I nastily reply

“No you idiot. Don’t you need to go see a doctor and whatnot? And who knows, maybe I’m not that dad,”
“Whatever Billie Joe,” I sigh. ”Lets just see if you even show up,”

“What are you talking about!? When have I not shown up when I said I would?”

“G'bye,” I reply in a depressingly suicidal tone before closing the phone shut.