Out On a Limb
: Chapter 6

“You’re moving in with us.” Sarah’s grip tightens even further around my forearm. She’s taking the sudden, life-altering news as she normally does—by attempting to take control. It’s our way.

“Sar, you’re being ridiculous. I have my own apartment. You and Caleb don’t even want your own kids.” I sigh out through my nose, chewing my lip. “Plus, I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.”

“You’re going to keep it, Win. We both know that.”

She’s probably right.

The moment I left the office—before I’d even worked up the courage to tell Sarah—I took a prenatal vitamin and added the reminder to my phone, hitting repeat for the next nine months without another thought.

But I could delete that reminder. Easily. I could.

“I should consider it, right? An abortion?” I ask.

“Have you?” Sarah asks, her tone free of judgement.

“Not yet.”

We sit in silence, our eyes on each other absently.

I begin drafting a list in my head entitled reasons to not have this baby. And while Sarah shouldn’t be such a snob, she is right. My apartment building is trash. There’s been pretty much every kind of vermin imaginable, and when they manage to get rid of one, another always seems to show up.

My neighbours are loud and inconsiderate. The train passes at four every morning, so loudly that the walls shake. And there’s mould growing under the kitchen sink that my absentee landlord claims is “healthy bacteria like yoghurt.” But kids have grown up in worse. Sarah and I did. And we turned out fine… ish.

I also add my job to the baby-don’t list. The café pays slightly above minimum wage, and I’m fairly certain that parental leave in Canada is about 50 percent of your normal income. I don’t know if I could reasonably live off that. Money is tight as it is. If I did need to get a new apartment, it would probably mean paying more for rent, and then I’d have even less money to work with. On top of that, I’d have another mouth to feed, a second body to clothe, and diapers to buy.

But our moms always got by on next to nothing. And growing up without money builds character. I think. I hope.

Of course, there’s the factor of the other parent. Bo, even from our brief evening together, didn’t strike me as the type of guy to leave the mother of his child high and dry. But ultimately, I don’t know him at all. And I didn’t really intend to ever get to know him. That’s sort of the whole point of what we did. Still, maybe he’d help? I’d have to tell him first. Which would mean having to see him again. Something he may not be interested in.

Something, which is another reason for concern, I am interested in.

I struggle to think of any reasons that I can’t dismiss after a little thought. And, clearly, I know what side of the debate my heart is on when I’m desperate to not think of another reason against keeping the pregnancy.

Hesitantly, even inside the privacy of my own thoughts, I allow myself to say it. I want to have this baby. Deep down, in an I-know-it in-my-bones type of way, it feels right. So I think it again. And again. Testing my reaction to it each time. Waiting for a hint of panic or a rush of fear. But nothing comes. Just… resolve. A tiny kindling of excitement, actually.

I’ve always known I wanted a kid or two. It was the life partner I haven’t been so sure about since Jack. Maybe this is the way to get the best of both worlds. An accidental baby for an intentionally independent life.

“I’m keeping it,” I say out loud, hoping it feels right. Nodding, I repeat myself, a touch more certain. “I’m going to have the baby.”

“You sure?” Sarah asks gently.

“Yes.” I look at her, smiling for the first time since I got the news, though tears still sit lodged in the corners of my eyes.

“Win?” she asks, twisting her lips from a soft smile to unease. “I’m trying to replace a delicate way to ask this, but… who’s the dad?”

Ah, yes. The elephant in the room. Well, in the car. The elephant in the car. “I have a confession to make,” I say, wincing.

She sits up straighter, putting two tight fists around the steering wheel, though the car’s still parked. “Ooh, what did you do?” she whispers, her eyes lit with mischievous curiosity. “Is it an affair? Is he much, much older? A mafioso? Your childhood best friend? Oh, wait—that’s me.”

She reads too much, and it’s addled her brain.

“It happened on Halloween,” I confess.

“Oh my god.” Her whole face comes alive. “You fucked someone at my party?” She gasps. “Your baby was conceived in my house?” She laughs, tilting her head back as if it’s all too much. “How did you sneak a guy up there? Sneak him out? Is this how our mothers felt when we were in high school? You are in so much trouble, young lady!”

“The guest bedroom was out of condoms,” I whine, throwing my head back against the passenger seat’s headrest.

“See, you make fun of me, but this is why I take restocking so seriously.”

“Maybe focus on the life-changing toiletries next time and not the six extra bottles of travel-sized shampoo in your drawer.”

“Caleb and I like to mess around in there sometimes and pretend we’re at a hotel—sue me. Wait, this means the baby daddy is another friend of ours. Who is it?” She leans forward, her intense eyes attempting to pierce through my soul.

“A friend of Caleb’s that I hadn’t met before. Bo?”

“Who the fuck is Bo? Caleb doesn’t have friends I don’t—oh my god,” she gasps again. “You slept with an intruder!”

I glare at her. “Listen, he said he knew Caleb through a mutual friend and…” I feel guilty, knowing this is similar to how I’ve been identified in the past and not loving that fact, but it is the easiest identifiable feature. “He has a prosthetic leg.”

“Wait,” she laughs dryly, “Robbie?”

“No!” I cry out. “The friend Caleb wanted me to hook up with?”

“He’s going to love this.” Sarah beams. “I haven’t even met the guy.”

“I fucked a guy named Robbie?”

“You’re having a kid with a guy named Robbie, babe.”

“The with part is tentative.”

“You’re going to have to tell Robbie. You know that, right?”

“Stop calling him that.”

“You know you’re going to have to tell Bo, right?” Sarah says sternly.

“Yes,” I grumble.

“Soon?”

“Sure.” I throw my hands up before crossing them in front of my chest.

We both fall back into our seats, letting out a long breath at the same time. I stare out the moonroof and watch the withered, empty branches of a tree above us blow in the wind. We’re due for snow tomorrow, and yet my brain is stuck in July. Next July, that is.

“I’m due July twenty-fourth,” I say diffidently.

“We have plenty of time,” Sarah says, reaching across the centre console for my hand, tugging me toward her and lowering her head to my shoulder. I let my head fall on top of hers. Neither of us turns away from the view above us.

“I bet she’ll arrive August first,” Sarah says solemnly.

I admit, I had forgotten the exact day Sarah’s mom, Marcie, passed until Sarah spoke. I miss her almost every day, so maybe that one day in particular has lost all its meaning.

“Mom would love that day to be good,” she adds when I don’t answer. “She’d have loved to have a granddaughter to spoil.”

“I would love that too.” I kiss the top of her head. “But we don’t know if it’s a girl.”

“If it’s a girl, you should name her Sarah.”

“And if it’s a boy?” I ask.

“Sa-rah-yan,” she fumbles.

“Beautiful,” I say.

“We’ll call him Ryan for short.”

“Can you go home and get knocked up too?” I whisper, half-serious.

“No, definitely not.” She nuzzles into me.

“Rude,” I huff.

“I’m not made to be a mom. We’ve been over this.” She pats my cheek, then sits up, her kind eyes steadying me. “But I am going to be the best auntie ever.”

It hits me all over again. A turning-over feeling in my gut, like the seconds before a tall wave hits. An anticipatory spike of awareness. “I’m having a baby, Sarah.”

“Sure seems that way.”

“There’s a kid floating around in here.” I point to my stomach. “A human being.”

“We should download one of those apps to figure out what it’s got going on.”

“Huh?”

“You know, what size it is. Like if it’s an apple seed or a papaya.”

“It’s probably really tiny at this point.” The thought of that fills me with a nagging sense of dread. How tiny? How fragile? I try to push those thoughts away, but they linger quietly. The realisation that even if I choose to have this baby, it may not stick hits me like a freight train.

“I’ll replace out,” Sarah says, pulling out her phone.

I blow out a breath, trilling my lips. “I was on the pill, for the record,” I say, though Sarah’s preoccupied and not entirely listening.

My knee starts bouncing as I think of all the things I’ve done in the past few weeks that a pregnant woman absolutely shouldn’t. I had a drink at Sarah’s last weekend, ate mystery meat from the food truck outside the grocery store, sat in my gym’s sauna after a swim the other night, smoked a joint after a long shift a few days ago. I haven’t even drunk water today. Actually, I might have left my water bottle on the bus, now that I’m thinking about it.

This could explain the intense brain fog I’ve been feeling for the past few weeks.

Sarah snorts sarcastically, as if to say, uh-huh, sure. “I’ve seen you forget to take your pill every time your phone is dead before nine p.m.”

“I was getting better at it,” I say defensively.

She turns toward me, purposefully looking between my stomach and face in a slow, sarcastic sequence. “Clearly.”

“You have to be nice to me now. I’m with child,” I say, dramatically tilting my nose into the air.

“Hey!” Sarah points to her phone. “It’s the size of a coffee bean,” she says, her voice full of adoration, showing me her phone’s screen. “You’re going to have to drink less caffeine. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” I answer snidely.

“I still don’t want you living at your place. Will you please consider moving in?”

“Listen, Daddy Warbucks, I appreciate the offer, but my apartment is fine.”

“It was fumigated two months ago,” Sarah argues.

“Which means the problem should be gone.” I reach for the seat belt behind my shoulder, then buckle myself in.

“Just think about it.” Sarah reaches for her seat belt and drops her phone into the cupholder between us. “Where to now?” she asks.

“Wherever. I took all day off work for this. I convinced myself I was dying when my period was late.”

“Ah, yes. So much more likely than a baby.” Then she stills. “Wait, how long have you been worrying about this? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Just a week. I didn’t want you to stress.”

Sarah frowns. She and I frequently argue about this. Ever since Marcie died nine years ago, I’ve felt even more responsible for her. I’m only three months older, but growing up, I definitely took on the older sister role of looking out for her.

Sure, now she’s got more money than me and a loving husband to share the load with, but Sarah is pure. She is outgoing, a touch naive, and has a tendency to get herself into situations where people take advantage of her kindness. She’s also been through a lot. Too much. I don’t want her to ever worry. Especially not about me.

“Next time, let me.” She turns the ignition and begins pulling out of her parking spot.

“Wait, so where are we going?” I ask.

She smiles, checking her blind spot as she changes lanes. “My place. Caleb is going to flip.”

During the brief car ride to Sarah’s house, I read pamphlets out loud until we’re both sure that pregnancy and babies are completely terrifying and, in equal measure, magical.

I also, quietly, think of Bo.

I wonder where he is today and what his normal workday looks like. What he might look like out of pirate costume but not naked. In his line of work, suits might be required. That, I’d like to see.

I wonder whether he’ll be horrified or glad to hear that he’s going to be a father—or, more likely, somewhere fluctuating between the two.

I wonder if he’ll show up for the baby, unlike my dad or Sarah’s.

I wonder if I want him to, or if I’d rather do it all myself. Lessening the chance of disappointment, the blow of rejection for me or this kid down the line.

Once we arrive, I allow Sarah the honour of telling her husband my news. The moment Caleb walks into the kitchen to greet us, the words burst from her lips, immediately sending him into a state of shock.

“He’s frozen.” I turn to my best friend, who’s giggling into her phone, taking photos of her dumbfounded husband. “You broke him,” I say.

“No, you did.” She laughs again. “He’s just rebooting. He does this sometimes.” Sarah slides her phone into her back pocket. “Caleb,” she singsongs his name. “Come back to us, sweetie.”

“Why is no one else freaking out?” he asks, lowering himself onto a kitchen stool.

“I think it just hasn’t fully hit me yet.” I shrug, throwing back some shredded cheese from a bag in their fridge.

“I had a premonition that this would happen someday.” Sarah does this. She loves to claim that nothing in life catches her by surprise, due to her very much–unconfirmed psychic ability she proclaims to have. I replace it oddly comforting.

“What—what do we do?” Caleb asks. “What are we going to do?” he asks, nearing hysterical.

“Well, you do nothing,” I answer. “As incestuous as this may often feel, you’re not the father.”

“This is so strange. It’s always just been the three of us.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, his elbow propped up on the counter.

“Oh, darling…” Sarah says, her tone laced with fake amiability. “You will always be our first baby. We love you so much.”

“Who’s the dad?” Caleb asks, ignoring his wife and turning to me as I shut their fridge with an armful of an assortment of snacks.

“Tell him,” Sarah says smugly, moving to stand beside Caleb.

I glare at her, dropping my haul onto their counter. “Bo,” I answer plainly.

“Who the hell is—”

“Robbie,” Sarah interrupts, bursting. “Robbie!”

“Oh… shit,” Caleb says, grimacing.

Sarah and I turn toward each other with urgency, terror in both of our expressions.

“What? Why shit? Is he some sort of… delinquent?” Sarah asks, turning to face Caleb.

“No! He’s just…Well, he’s—”

“You wanted to introduce us, Caleb,” I say, my rage piquing within every syllable. “What do you mean oh shit?”

“I thought you’d have fun together!” he says, holding up his hands, his voice reaching an unbelievably high pitch. “I didn’t think this would happen!”

“Spit it out, man!” Sarah yells.

“He’s Cora’s ex.”

Sarah gasps like she’s in one of our favourite telenovelas.

“What?” I ask, deathly low.

Cora, Caleb’s older sister, is the spawn of Satan. We’ve often joked that Caleb is such a good guy because there was no evil DNA left once she left the womb. Cora told Sarah she looked tired on her wedding day. She also asks me to remind her of my name every time we’re at the same event, even though I’ve been an adjacent part of their family for the better part of fifteen years.

Other than her beguiling personality, all that I’ve heard about her in the last few years is that she was recently engaged to and dumped by a man named… Robert.

“Why is he using so many identities?” Sarah asks what I’m wondering out loud, her voice barely audible. “Why did you tell me about a Robbie and not a Robert?”

“Robert is Robbie and Bo,” Caleb clarifies, as if we haven’t put that together. “Cora insisted on calling him Robert. My dad started calling him Robbie, so I did too. I think he mostly goes by Bo these days.”

“So this is Robert who left his fiancée out of the blue? That Robert?” Sarah asks, pacing in small circles.

Caleb grimaces but nods.

“Cool, cool, great. So what I’m hearing is that my baby daddy is known to fall in love with women who seemingly enjoy hunting children for sport”—I inhale sharply, my voice cutting out—“and then proceeds to drop them like they’re hot garbage?”

“Well, I mean,” Sarah says, crouching closer to me across the counter, “some women are hot garbage.”

“That’s my sister!” Caleb protests.

“You know who she is,” Sarah fires back from behind gritted teeth.

“How did you not know?” I shout at her.

“I avoid Cora like the plague. You know that! I never even met the guy!”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” I say, nausea climbing. But no one is listening. Sarah and Caleb are squared off with each other. Sarah is poking his chest as he backs away slowly.

“Why the fuck would you try to set Win up with Cora’s ex?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Robbie is a good guy. He’s—”

“This is why you have to run all of your decisions past your wife!”

“Wait…” I say, far too quietly for them to hear as I press my palm into the clammy skin on my forehead.

“I didn’t think he’d even come to the party. But he and Win are very similar. Clearly I was right!”

“Oh, because they’re both disabled? You prick.”

No one else seems to notice that the room is spinning on a tilted axis. I walk over to the tap and try to splash cold water on my face.

“Obviously not just that!”

“So what? What would possess you to do this?”

I’m actually, very much, definitely going to be sick.

“Like I said; he’s a good guy! It’s only the Cora thing. It’s not—”

Caleb and Sarah are interrupted by the sound of me barfing into their kitchen sink.