Best Laid Plans

Knocked Up

Perrie

Well, say goodbye to any plans I had for the immediate future – because Jade knocked me up.

Motherhood wasn't really in my short-term plans, but it's fine because I'm an adaptable girl. I've always been able to do anything I set my mind to, and this won't be any different. It won't. Besides, I always imagined I'd have kids. Not this second, not like this. But someday, I'd really wanted to have them.

Someday.

It turns out someday is arriving in seven months.

From a single lady to a single mom. And no, I don't have anyone who would put a ring on it. But who cares, I've got this. I'll just have to quit my job and buy expandable pants but I'm on top of it.

But first things first. I have to tell the woman who knocked me up that she knocked me up.

And that woman is impossible to get hold of.

Can you imagine?

I know who she is, I know her name, but I have no way to reach her.

Not to imply that I don't normally know the names of the people I sleep with. I do, I always do. I'm not that much of a slut – no offense to those girls, obviously. To each their own and all that, but I can count the number of one-night stands I've had on one hand, and that includes even college, which everyone knows shouldn't even count.

Anyway, I have to tell Jade. She deserves to know even though this is my problem, not hers. Well, it's sort of her problem too, but let's face it, it's always the pregnant lady's problem. But she still deserves to know, I guess. No, she definitely deserves to know.

I don't want anything from her, not a thing. I can and will do this without her, but it's only fair she knows. Even if she turns out to be a first-class jerk and an idiot. Even if it's totally unfair that she knocked me up. I take responsibility for breaking my dick diet, but the condom malfunction is on her.

So, I'll tell her, because it's the courteous thing to do, like recycling. God, I can't stand people who don't recycle. Especially when the bin is right there, you know? You know those people? It's the worst kind of selfishness, to toss something into a landfill for eternity when you could simply toss it into the recycle bin located right next to the trash and it'll be repurposed into printer paper or a pair of millennial-approved sneakers. Also, recycling is crazy sexy, don't you think? I just read a book where the hero tossed an empty water bottle into a recycle bin and I almost came.

True story.

Anyway, the point is, I recycle, and when someone knocks me up, I tell her. This is the first time, though. Even though she fucked up her job with the condom. Leave it to someone with a dick to fuck up the job with long-term consequences while excelling at the one providing instant gratification. Typical, isn't it?

Ugh.

I'm not mad, not really. It takes two to tango and all that. I should have brought my own condoms. Or picked a person smart enough to use them properly. Did it break? Was it old? Google tells me condoms are ninety-eight percent effective in theory, but that in practice horny men – or in this case, women – are idiots and on average about fifteen out of one hundred people using nothing but condoms will get pregnant.

Okay, I'm a little mad. I'm peeing on sticks and asking how much caffeine is in a chai tea latte. Meanwhile Jade is out there somewhere living her life and drinking all the caffeine she wants.

It doesn't change the fact that someday this baby is going to ask about their other parent, and I'll need to have answers. I can provide my son or daughter at least that much since I've already fucked up their two-parent, white-picket-fence childhood. It's my responsibility, this baby, but someday, if and when this child wants to meet their other parent, I'll need to facilitate that meeting.

And in order to facilitate that future meeting, I'll need to be able to get in touch with Jade. I know, you'd think that would be the easy part, reaching her. You'd think the hard part would be spitting out the words, 'Hey, remember me? I'm pregnant.' I'm not saying that part will be easy, but it'll be easier than reaching her has been.

It turns out my one-night stand is the heiress to a chain of department stores founded on family values and low prices. I've got a secret for you. There's nothing 'family values' about Jade Thirlwall. By that I mean she's dirty. Deliciously dirty. I suppose that's why they keep her off the promotional materials. Their ads are nothing but families and retired couples smiling at each other over the low prices of canned green beans and paper towels. I suppose an advertising campaign featuring Jade with a value pack of condoms isn't the market they're after.

The problem is, girls like that don't have a Facebook account. Or Twitter. No Instagram or Pinterest or even a personal website. There's no way to reach a girl like that.

Must be convenient for ditching the casual hook-ups.

Just like she ditched me.

Bitch.

Do you have any idea how aggravating it is to be unable to reach someone? It's the twenty-first century. I know who she is, where she works and the city she lives in, yet I can't reach her. It's infuriating. It's ten times worse than when a friend accidentally puts their phone on silent and you're forced to wait hours for them to realize and notice your text messages.

I tried calling the corporate office – that got me nowhere. Which should come as a shock to no one, but you can't just call a major corporation and ask to speak to the woman in charge. Hell, you can't even call a small company and ask to speak to, well, anyone. I thought about using the 'contact us' box on the store website because none of the other categories applied to me. No, I don't have a problem with an order. No, I don't have a question about a warranty. And no, I don't need help processing a return.

Oddly, 'your CEO knocked me up' was not an option on the website. After ten minutes of frustration, I exited the contact us screen and placed an order for pre-natal vitamins instead. And a tote bag made out of recycled water bottles. I wanted to hold a grudge, but they really do have great prices.

Anyways, it's time for my Plan B.