Wanted For Pleasure

Chapter Fifty-nine: the one where the pregnant lady is manic

"I will help you sing away the fury, but I will not bear it for you."

Morgan Ann Bennett

Thanksgiving came and went. It was a holiday well spent, as well as my first Thanksgiving without Quinn and Callie could be.

Everyone felt bad for me and I hated that. I tried hard to stop moping around but I just wasn't back to my normal self.

I've been sad before but never felt this type of pain, physically or otherwise. This is the depression Callie was always talking about, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
I'm sorry that I ever tried speaking on her diagnoses when I never even experienced anything slightly like this before they- before their loss.

I wanted so badly to believe the three-month-old baby inside of me was an upside, something to look forward to - a distraction. I made sure I ate and drank water to nourish the baby, other than that, I didn't care as much as you'd expect a first time mother to.

With my mental state, I can't help but think that I'll be like Callie once this baby is born - negligent. I've always wondered how she could take care of another life when she wasn't even in control of her own? I suppose she managed, I mean, before Quinn was born, Callie raised me since I was eight.

I don't know if I'm that strong, though.

I didn't want to talk to any professionals, only Mary. She was a light through all of this, practically my guardian angel.

My parents had been in contact with me more since they left Penshaw. Of course, it's mostly because they lost a daughter and grandchild and want to be apart of my baby's future.

Chris, poor thing, he'd been hassling me about going shopping for the nursery. I've done a good job stalling, questioning where we'd put all the baby stuff. His loft definitely wasn't baby-friend as I've mentioned time and time again, and I didn't want to use The Vaughn's home as a storage unit.
It's something we had to figure out, for sure.

Clearly, he's prepared, or at least, he's convinced himself he is.

That's why I made dinner for us two so we could try and regroup, or plan.

Click. I turned down the stove to 'low.'

Some old Elvis song serenaded the interior of Chris's apartment as I walked around the island with a half-full glass of wine in my hands.

I popped it open again and took a gulp. Or two or three.

The sound of the lock turning in the door made me pull the bottle from my lips and return to the food.

With the flick of my wrist, I stirred the dish one final time and pushed the pot onto another burner, turning the first one off.

"Hey, babe," I rang with a smile. "you're home early."

"Hey, baby," Chris returned with a bright smile.

"I was hungry," he added, kicking his shoes off.

He forced the door shut and tried walking towards the kitchen but the rise of my eyebrow reminded him to lock it.