Preg-Not

14

The smell of cooking spaghetti and a grumbling belly woke her up. She groaned. She felt the most pregnant whenever she woke up.

"Tiff?"

"No, I'm a kind thief who broke in just to cook you dinner," Tiffany replied.

Raelynn chuckled and sat on the dinning table. Her hooded eyes studied her fingernails. The nail polish was chipped, and the table under them was chipped, too.

Tiffany was in need of new furniture. She was rich in kindness, but that didn't pay the bills, which her clerical job barely did. Raelynn wished she could provide that for her. She was already in so much debt, and hated being in debt to Tiffany, too.

One day, she would pay it all back.

Her job at the supermarket paid minimum age, and the sham she had at Kuznetsov Hotels paid two dollars more. Viktor was in no rush to spoil her.

Hotels. That's what they hid their money laundering behind. A harmless-looking business that was as full of rentable suites as it was in secrets.

Tiffany set down a plate, waving Raelynn off when she thanked her. They talked about their usual topics. Tiffany ranted about a cute guy at work. Once upon a time, Raelynn had been as bubbly. Back when she went home to Maksim's lap and chatted until he forgot they had no television.

She wasn't sure when her light went out. Maybe it was when her morning sickness and therapy started to eat away at her. Maybe it was when she fought her trembling hand to write that goodbye letter, every black-inked word darkening her light some more.

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

She lost Maksim and herself. She mourned both.

Before going to bed, she prepared her next costume for work. It was similar to the one she wore for her first day of work, but it was paired with uglier, more comfortable shoes.

She fed her bump ice cream, tried to say goodnight to it in Russian without butchering the word, failed, and then went to bed with a giggle on her lips.

– • –

"Ladies and gentlemen, due to an accident at..."

"Come on," she groaned, staring at the 'DELAYED' word on the train station monitor. It was green instead of red, teasing her. She was starting to understand why New Yorkers were infamously bitter. She was twenty delayed trains away from becoming one herself.

She arrived five minutes late to her desk, which got her a few glances. She clutched her scarf and purse stiffly in front of her, and got to work. She powered on the computer, inputted her given passwords, and read over emails.

She had an assignment to browse through an archive of past marketing pieces and sort them by themes. She dove right into it, desperate to prove herself.

"Raelynn?"

She turned her head, but kept her belly protected under the desk.

"Hey, I'm Markson. I sit a few desks over. I was wondering if you could email me that Christmas demo we drafted from last year?"

"Sure!" she smiled, probably a bit too wide.

Her co-worker returned the smile and left. She felt something tickling low in her belly. At first she thought it was one of the boys, but then she realized it was simply happiness. This job– although temporary, meant something, because it was a dream.

If only dad could see me now.

Yeah. Pregnant, detested by your baby daddy, broke, a burden to Tiffany, and sick in the head. He would be real proud, that darker part of her whispered.