Breaking Hearts Has Never Looked So Cool

I love lazy, balmy days in the height of summer when the lazily golden sun just bathes you in glimmering rays, and the pleasantly cooling breezes have absolutely no sharp edge to them. One such breeze washed over my face congenially as I enjoyed a perfect summer’s day doing absolutely nothing.

“July is by far the best month of the year,” I said quietly out loud, flipping the page of the fashion magazine I was reading through. I was sitting out on my porch enjoying the enveloping heat and the overall perfection of the day. Although I wasn’t dressed for company in simple faded denim cut-off shorts and a slightly baggy white t shirt, I was in such a good mood that I would have welcomed any company.

I turned a page, bearing the words ‘Attention! Fake eyelashes are back!’ I contemplated the idea of wearing false eyelashes for a moment, but immediately dismissed it. I was so afraid of getting hurt that I would hardly let water get in my eyes in the shower; there was no way that I was going to put glue anywhere near my eye cavity.
I swung my leg sedately, as if in time with a silent song that played only inside my head. The street was almost totally deserted, and it seemed that most people were planning on spending their weekends at the beach, even though they were more likely to spend it stuck in traffic trying to get there.

I became fully immersed in my magazine again, barely noticing next door’s black cat streaking out in front of me to vex my dog. The faint rumble of a car engine roused me, however, and I raised my head up a little like a bloodhound on the trail of a drug.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Gerard was perhaps coming to see me. It was going to be our 6 months soon, much to my delight. It was hardly believable that at one point, I was adamant that he didn’t think of me in a romantic way.

A slightly banged up red car pulled up in my driveway, and I perked up with an altogether different feeling.

Annabelle was striding towards me, having closed her car door with an intimidating and loud crash.

“Hey,” I said, standing up to greet her with a customary hug which she only half-heartedly reciprocated.

“Hey,” she said quietly with a downcast look, “you alright?”
“I’m great thanks,” I said, wondering how one earth anyone could possibly look so miserable when the weather was so good, “are you ok?” I asked, knowing that she always needed prompting when she was upset.

She made an indistinct sound, “I could be better,” she said slowly, “but can we talk about it?”

I nodded enthusiastically, making to sit back down on the porch steps so that she could join me in the heat of the day.
“Inside?” she questioned, “Or is your mom home?”

“No she’s out,” I narrowed my eyes at Annabelle, sensing that not all was completely right with her.

“Well can we go in then?” she asked almost impatiently,

“Sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes when she wasn’t looking, and then heading for the door to lead her inside.

The house was pleasantly cool, and the faint humming of the air conditioning was soothing.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked,

“No,” was Annabelle’s monosyllabic answer.

I pulled a bottle of diet coke out of the fridge for myself and then set about pulling out some sandwich ingredients, “lunch?” I asked, waving a piece of bread at her.

“No,” she replied again, looking at the bread as if it had murdered her mother.

“So,” I asked, looking worriedly at her expression, “what’s up?”

“Well,” I noted with fear that her voice was quavering, “I don’t know how to say this but...”
I began chopping up come cucumber for my sandwich.

“Spit out,” I demanded, assuming that what she had to tell me wouldn’t be that important, considering her slight tendency to overreact.

“I missed my period,” she said simply, causing my eyes to bulge wide open. I had to focus on cutting the cucumber to not look as though I was judging her, “we can go out and get you a pregnancy test,” I told her, pausing for a moment and hoping that I sounded at least vaguely supportive.
“Done three already,” Annabelle told me miserably, carefully extracting three identical white sticks out of her bag. I didn’t even need to read the results on each test, because Annabelle’s worry-creased brow told me everything I needed to know.

“Oh my goodness, Annabelle,” I uttered gently, going back to cutting the cucumber whilst I tried to think of what to do,

“I know,” she said, sounding tearful. I offered her a friendly hug but she did not accept it. Instead, she looked skywards as though making a silent appeal to God before turning back to me looking more sombre than ever.

“You have options,” I told her, enjoying the chopping sound the cucumber was making, “you don’t have to keep it – but remember you definitely don’t have to have an abortion! It’s going to take a lot of thinking!”

“I know,” said Annabelle, putting her head in her hands, “It’s just the worst timing,”

She sounded oddly acceptant of her fate, which made me admire her, because in the same situation I would have been in a state of complete disarray.

“It would probably really help to talk to Mikey,” I told her matter-of-factly, pausing in chopping for a split second to tear the image of Mikey and Annabelle with a baby together out of my mind. “You have told him, haven’t you?” I added, but only as a formality. As far as I was concerned, the most obvious person to tell about a pregnancy is the father.

She shook her head, “No,” she said, her voice sounding more ashamed than ever, “because you see...”

“See what?” I asked, still chopping and still coming up with potential plans to deal with the pregnancy in my head. I reeled off the list; a doctor’s surgery down the road, a pharmacy in town, the hospital just a few miles away.

“Mikey may not be the father,” she dropped a bombshell on me, and causing me to completely stop slicing the watery cucumber. I held the sharp knife above the vegetable in a ready motion, but with my muscles stock still.

“Annabelle!” I said indignantly, when I had found my voice again, “are you sure? Who else could the father be?”

“This is the part where I wish you didn’t have a knife in your hand,” said Annabelle, her voice consistently decreasing in volume.
I felt the whiplash of impending doom before her horrific news impacted upon my ears.

“Gerard,” whispered Annabelle, “Gerard could also be the father.”