some things can be challenging

Chapter 5

Lucy

The day seemed to stretch endlessly, devoid of any real excitement. It was a dull cycle of channel surfing on TV, a feeble attempt to divert my mind from the overwhelming thoughts gnawing at me. Eventually, the craving for peanut butter dragged me out of the house, a mundane task made significant only by the void it sought to fill.

The emotional ache persisted, refusing to be buried under distractions. His absence echoed loudly in every corner of my mind, an ache that intensified as I stood in the grocery aisle, staring at rows of peanut butter jars. The tears, inevitable and uncontrollable, streamed down my cheeks as I navigated through waves of inexplicable grief, perhaps exacerbated by fluctuating hormones.

Returning home, I sought solace in a shower, the warm water cascading over me like a feeble attempt to cleanse both body and soul. The familiar scent of my conditioner, usually comforting, suddenly felt overwhelming, triggering a wave of nausea. Hastily drying off, I slipped into a loose tank top and shorts, desperate for relief from the oppressive heat outside.

Just as I was beginning to settle into this slight respite, a sharp knock shattered the fragile peace. An unexpected visitor. With a sigh, I hurried to answer the door, only to find Lopez and Harper standing there, their expressions a mix of concern and something else—recognition? Did they already know?

It dawned on me, too late, that I was wearing a top that exposed my belly, a detail I had overlooked in my rush to answer the door. Their glance at each other betrayed an unspoken understanding, leaving me to wonder if my anguish was more transparent than I had realized. Did they come here knowing what I couldn't bring myself to say aloud?

"Hey, Lucy, can we talk?" Angela inquired with a sympathetic tone, standing at the door.

"Yeah, sure," I replied, ushering them into the living room. "Do you guys want anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"No, I think we're good," Nyla responded as we settled onto the couch.

"So, Lucy, we know you're pregnant, and about Tim, I—" Angela started, but I interrupted her gently.

"I know. I was planning on telling him this week. I just needed some time," I explained.

"That's understandable. I can't even imagine how it must feel," Angela said softly, reaching out to place her hand reassuringly on mine.

"When did you find out?" Nyla asked, her expression reflecting a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Oh, um, around the same time we broke up, maybe a day after. Yeah, I remember taking the test after helping Tamara pack some of her stuff," I recounted, feeling a slight tug of emotion.

"Wow, Lucy, I'm so sorry," Angela murmured sympathetically. "We're here for you, and we won't tell anyone."

"Yeah, I'm planning on telling Grey after Tim. He deserves to know first, and he deserves to hear it from me, not from my belly or some rumor," I admitted nervously.

"We completely agree. So, do you know how far along you are?" Nyla inquired, shifting the conversation gently.

"I'm about 14 weeks. And today, I found out it's a girl!" I smiled, though a wave of melancholy followed. "I just wish Tim could experience this with me. I know he would want to. I still love him."

"Congratulations!" Nyla exclaimed warmly, leaning over to hug me.

"But, Lucy, you know how much he agonizes over the breakup. He loves you deeply; that's why he felt compelled to do it," Angela added, her hand now resting reassuringly on my arm. "We have to get back to work soon, but we're genuinely happy for you. We just want you to know that we're here for you. You're not alone in this."

As they prepared to leave, I felt a mix of emotions swirling within me—gratitude for their support, sadness over the situation with Tim, and a quiet excitement about the new life growing inside me.

***

It was nearing 6:30 in the evening, and thoughts of Tim weighed heavily on my mind, casting a shadow over my emotions. Was it my fault that Tim was missing out on knowing about our child? Why was it so difficult for me to tell him? The realization slowly dawned on me that perhaps my lingering anger toward him was hindering me from taking action. How could he have broken up with me for shitty reasons like I deserved better, only now I avoid the responsibility of him knowing about our baby? It felt unjust.

Should I muster the courage to go to him and demand a conversation? I needed him to understand that it wasn't fair for him to be absent during this crucial time in our lives. These were moments we were meant to share, not apart.

Finally, I resolved to face what I had been avoiding. getting into my car, tears already streaming down my cheeks, I couldn't deny how much I missed him. Would he forgive me for not telling him sooner? The closer I drove towards his house, the more my nerves intensified. Parking outside, I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I was a mess—red-eyed and visibly shaken from crying—but there was no turning back now.