AFTER YOU SAVED ME // ZESSA

Chapter 11: Summer

"You ready to go?" my mom asks, a pang of sadness in her voice as she places a gentle hand on my now large bump.

Taking in a deep breath, I give our street one last glance, before turning away from the window and giving my mom a small smile.

"I mean, I guess," I say exasperatedly.

Nervously biting at the inside of my cheek, I scan my childhood room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything important, ignoring the smiling faces of my childhood stuffed animals peering back at me. I always feel bad leaving them – clear signs I took the movie Toy Story a bit to heart.

"I'll be in the truck. Make sure to pee before we leave," my mom says, her tone a bit condescending. As if I would not pee before I left. I have been peeing more and more by the week thanks to this unknown little thing in my womb, even waking up in the middle of night to waddle to the bathroom.

As I make my way to the toilet and sit down, I let my mind wander to the exact little thing in my womb.

That thing is officially 20 weeks gestation, give or take a few days depending on who the father is...

Which means today is not only a big day for the little fetus, but a big day for all of us. 20-weeks gestation marks the end of summer and the blissful knowledge that I am finally headed back to campus.

Speaking of summer, I would call this one harder than most. Well, harder than all of them if you're me. My mornings were filled with intense morning sickness, afternoons spent napping on the couch, and at night – oh! More morning sickness! Fun fact: Morning sickness does not just happen during the mornings. For some lucky women like me, you get it all day. So when my head was not in a toilet, it was gearing up for the next time it would be. I wouldn't wish that kind of sickness on any woman, but thankfully it has eased up some this past month.

It was not all bad, though. The only light at the end of the tunnel during my hardest days was knowing Zed would be coming every Friday night. Every single Friday after lab, Zed would drive 4 hours to come see me and stay the weekend.

Carol, my mother, wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea. Of course she made him sleep on the couch, even knowing he may be the father of my baby so clearly that no-sex ship has sailed, but at least she let him stay to begin with.

Any doubt in my mind that Zed was not the one for me has completely gone. I have never met someone so committed to loving me and someone I've loved as much in return. Knowing he is waiting for me back on campus fills makes me the happiest girl in all of Washington.

It is not always sunshine and rainbows with us though. He has expressed a few times how he would raise the baby as his own, whether it was his biological child or not. I however am not as willing. If it is Dan's I am still very adamant about putting it up for adoption. I never want to see even a glimmer of Dan's face again – even if it is in my own child's.

When that discussion come up, I try to change the subject, reminding him that we will know soon enough. We will know today, actually.

Today is my 20-week anatomy scan. The first since I found out I was pregnant all those months ago. Though my mother's insurance is a bit better than the schools, it still did not cover any extra scans.

It does however cover a cheek-swab paternity test at 20-weeks. I have been anxiously counting down the days until I can get this done. I want nothing more than to know who the biological father of my baby is and how to plan the rest of my life around that pertinent information.

Through all my paternity worries, surprisingly Anna has been most helpful. The girl from the clinic who ran after me and said she was here to help. I am happy I didn't let my stubbornness get in the way (for once) and accepted her help.

She not only talked with me on the phone every few days to calm my anxieties, but even drove up one weekend to hangout with me and Zed and discuss an actual plan for the baby.

Anna is an excellent resource when it comes to all things maternity and amazing at her job. She even set me up with a great adoption agency for if the baby turns out to be... not Zed's.

I do not know where I'd be without her friendship actually. The fact that she can listen to me ramble on about how horrible morning sickness lollypops are, or how my skin looks dreadful and my sinuses aren't the same, is more than I could ever expect. I am not saying I'm the worst pregnant person to be around, but these days I'm pretty close.

I rarely hear from Landon, the awkwardness of Hardin's whereabouts limiting our discussions. I never want to ask about his family because I don't know if Hardin is there with them. Which means we mainly discuss him and Dakota, which can only take us so far. I'm sad we've fallen out of touch a bit but hope we can get past it eventually.

I've also not heard from Steph. Her and Tristan disappeared the second they weren't needed for any legal matters involving Dan and myself. She did give me a number to call her in case of emergencies, but nothing has really qualified as an "emergency", so I have not reached out. I am not even sure she knows about the baby.

Ugh, this baby. I cannot believe how big I am already and am only halfway done. The women in the movies always had such cute little bumps, even at 9 months pregnant! Well, what a load of bull that was; I look more like a house than human – and I'm only getting bigger.

"Tessa! We don't want to be late meeting the movers!" my mother yells from downstairs, jolting me from my stream of thoughts.

"Coming!" I call down, slowly rising from the toilet, the weight of this baby getting to my lower back and ankles.

Grabbing onto the beige bathroom countertop and waddling my way over to the same leaky sink I have known my whole life, I catch a glimmer of light reflecting from my bed in the mirror. I hear the buzzing of my phone and immediately make my way over to answer it.

If my mother is calling me to tell me to hurry up, I swear I will scream at her like no pregnant woman has –

Before I can finish that thought, my breath catches in my throat as I look down at the name flashing up at me.

Hardin Scott.