they taught me was to fend for myself, and I don't even do that well half the time. If it wasn't for Andrés keeping me sane, I don't know where I'd be. And though he's been my rock these past six months, this situation is totally different, because it doesn't just involve me and him. It involves our child, too.
"We're going to get married, anyway," he's saying, "plus we've both got good jobs."
"I haven't even started my new job." Another wave of dizziness washes over me, and I close my eyes because the room tilts to one side.
"You think your mom is going to fire you?" Andrés asks with laughter in his voice.
So glad someone thinks this is funny. "How can I be a wedding designer and raise a baby?"
It all seems too daunting. My mom and I haven't even gotten this design company off the ground yet, and I'm pregnant. I remember Karri's pregnancy. She was always rushing to the OB for stomach cramping. She threw up about every meal, even through the last trimester. More than once, we thought she was going to miscarry. I'm already starting to feel sick, really sick. What if I'm too sick to work?
"Your mom is raising two kids," he says, lacing his fingers through mine, squeezing my hand. "And designing furniture, and managing galleries."
"Yeah," I argue, "but my mom is almost forty, and she's had years of practice being a responsible adult."
Andrés leans closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck. I don't dare open my eyes because I'm afraid this queasy feeling will return. He strokes my face with the tips of his fingers. "It's my baby, too. You think I won't help you? Your mom will help us, and my cousins, and don't forget Tio and Tia. We'll be lucky if Tia lets us see our baby at all."
I resist the urge to melt beneath his touch. I love it when Andrés caresses me.
"I love you, mija." He feathers soft kisses on my earlobe and down my neck. "It will all work out. I promise."
A soft moan escapes my lips. Andrés's touch is exquisite, and so enticing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Andrés was trying to distract me from the ugly reality that I'm going to be a parent and I'm not ready.
I jerk, and my eyes fly open at the sound of the rumble coming from my mid-section.
"Was that your stomach?" Andrés asks.
"I'm hungry." I shrug apologetically. I had a huge dinner last night, but I'm famished. I realize this is probably one of those wonderful side-effects of being pregnant. I wish Andrés would take me out to eat. Though I normally crave chorizo and egg tacos, I can't get my mind off a heaping plate of pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream. Plus, crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs and a big cup of coffee would be nice. I'm eating for two, but I'll probably gain enough weight for three.
"Do you want to go to IHOP?" he asks.
Andrés is either a mind reader or an angel from heaven.
I struggle to sit up and will the dizziness to subside. Worrying over my pregnancy isn't going to solve my hunger issue. We'll go discuss our doomed future over pancakes.
***
I normally don't like sweets for breakfast, but after I practically inhale blueberry pancakes loaded with extra whipped cream, scrambled eggs and two sides of bacon, I sit back and sip my coffee while dabbing the sides of my mouth with a napkin. Andrés is in the booth across from me, smirking at my empty plate.
"You sure you got enough, mija? Should I ask them to bring out the whole pig?"
"You're funny," I say, snatching a leftover wedge of toast from his tray. "I haven't had an appetite all week with this sinus infection. I'm just making up for lost time." I sniffle loudly, as if to prove my point, although I'm feeling a lot better today. The antibiotics must finally be working.
I slather the toast with strawberry spread and take a bite. Mmmmm. I can't believe I'm still hungry.
Andrés's smile widens as he nods at my pilfered toast. "Who said I was finished?"
I give him a sharp look: after all, he's partially responsible for my
"We're going to get married, anyway," he's saying, "plus we've both got good jobs."
"I haven't even started my new job." Another wave of dizziness washes over me, and I close my eyes because the room tilts to one side.
"You think your mom is going to fire you?" Andrés asks with laughter in his voice.
So glad someone thinks this is funny. "How can I be a wedding designer and raise a baby?"
It all seems too daunting. My mom and I haven't even gotten this design company off the ground yet, and I'm pregnant. I remember Karri's pregnancy. She was always rushing to the OB for stomach cramping. She threw up about every meal, even through the last trimester. More than once, we thought she was going to miscarry. I'm already starting to feel sick, really sick. What if I'm too sick to work?
"Your mom is raising two kids," he says, lacing his fingers through mine, squeezing my hand. "And designing furniture, and managing galleries."
"Yeah," I argue, "but my mom is almost forty, and she's had years of practice being a responsible adult."
Andrés leans closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck. I don't dare open my eyes because I'm afraid this queasy feeling will return. He strokes my face with the tips of his fingers. "It's my baby, too. You think I won't help you? Your mom will help us, and my cousins, and don't forget Tio and Tia. We'll be lucky if Tia lets us see our baby at all."
I resist the urge to melt beneath his touch. I love it when Andrés caresses me.
"I love you, mija." He feathers soft kisses on my earlobe and down my neck. "It will all work out. I promise."
A soft moan escapes my lips. Andrés's touch is exquisite, and so enticing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Andrés was trying to distract me from the ugly reality that I'm going to be a parent and I'm not ready.
I jerk, and my eyes fly open at the sound of the rumble coming from my mid-section.
"Was that your stomach?" Andrés asks.
"I'm hungry." I shrug apologetically. I had a huge dinner last night, but I'm famished. I realize this is probably one of those wonderful side-effects of being pregnant. I wish Andrés would take me out to eat. Though I normally crave chorizo and egg tacos, I can't get my mind off a heaping plate of pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream. Plus, crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs and a big cup of coffee would be nice. I'm eating for two, but I'll probably gain enough weight for three.
"Do you want to go to IHOP?" he asks.
Andrés is either a mind reader or an angel from heaven.
I struggle to sit up and will the dizziness to subside. Worrying over my pregnancy isn't going to solve my hunger issue. We'll go discuss our doomed future over pancakes.
***
I normally don't like sweets for breakfast, but after I practically inhale blueberry pancakes loaded with extra whipped cream, scrambled eggs and two sides of bacon, I sit back and sip my coffee while dabbing the sides of my mouth with a napkin. Andrés is in the booth across from me, smirking at my empty plate.
"You sure you got enough, mija? Should I ask them to bring out the whole pig?"
"You're funny," I say, snatching a leftover wedge of toast from his tray. "I haven't had an appetite all week with this sinus infection. I'm just making up for lost time." I sniffle loudly, as if to prove my point, although I'm feeling a lot better today. The antibiotics must finally be working.
I slather the toast with strawberry spread and take a bite. Mmmmm. I can't believe I'm still hungry.
Andrés's smile widens as he nods at my pilfered toast. "Who said I was finished?"
I give him a sharp look: after all, he's partially responsible for my
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