Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Plus, I can already imagine Jamie’s shock if I told her that I was expecting a baby with her dad. It would be her first sibling, and granted, the family ties would be incredibly tangled. Yet it would be okay. Jamie’s an understanding person, and while she’d be surprised, I have no doubt that my friend would come around because she only wants what’s best for me, as well as her father. Besides, I’m sure my buddy already suspects that something’s brewing. After all, I’ve been living in her childhood bedroom for two months now. Clearly, something’s keeping me here, and it’s not her collection of stuffed animals.
Now, however, I’m just enjoying myself. I’ve done my required reading for the day, and the lecture on entomology was incredibly boring, as expected. As a reward for sitting through the entire thing without nodding off, I’m allotting myself some time to do free reading. Ed’s got a ton of books in his study, and I’m sure I’ll find something that will captivate me.
I walk around to the bookshelf behind his desk. Hmm. There’s Nietzsche, Voltaire and Noam Chomsky. Okay, this isn’t the right section because I was looking for something more along the lines of a beach read, and these tomes are way too serious. There! Across the room, I spy some books with yellow and pink spines. Maybe Ed doesn’t read romance, but surely, those books have to be more lighthearted than the very serious philosophers in this corner.
But as I sweep my gaze towards the other side of the office, my eyes land on a piece of paper on Ed’s desk. It’s unfolded, and I don’t mean to read it. It’s just that the words are practically staring up at me, and the message is succinct.
Mr. Ventura,
Your appointment for a vasectomy at Concorde Medical is confirmed for Thursday, June 7, at 2 p.m. Please arrive ten minutes before your stated appointment time.
Yours,
Concorde Medical
I gape at the piece of paper, unable to process for a moment. What is this? Ed’s getting a vasectomy? But why? How? I thought we were trying to conceive together.
A horrific realization assaults me then. Ed’s been lying this entire time. We haven’t been using protection, and he’s been telling me that he’s excited to become a father again. He’s been coming in me non-stop, breeding me repeatedly, and yet all this time, he’s been planning to get a vasectomy.
Betrayal rushes through my veins, so strong that it makes me feel faint. My balance falters, and I reach a hand out to steady myself against the wooden desk. How can this be happening? And why would Ed do this? If he doesn’t want to have more children, why didn’t he just tell me? Why wasn’t he honest?
It's because he’s an older dude who wants to keep a good thing going, the voice in my head whispers sibilantly. Ed knows you’ll leave him if he told you that he doesn’t want kids. So he kept mum in order to get the free sex.
I blink, unable to process. Is this true? Yet in my heart of hearts, I know it’s true because I was being upfront and honest when I said I wanted to be a young mom. I absolutely want to have children, and if not in the next year, then sometime in the next five years. Yet this vasectomy speaks of another reality altogether. The appointment means that Ed has no intention of giving me children, either now or ever.
Hurt crashes in waves on my head. A pain rips through my chest, so powerful that I fall to my knees in the study, gasping for breath. I lower my face, trying to get oxygen into my lungs because this is too much. Ed doesn’t want children. Not with me, and not with anyone. A vasectomy is permanent … and these last two months have been nothing but a lie.
12
Kimber
I rush into the kitchen of my parents’ house. My face is flushed and my hair askew, but I don’t care. I had to get away from Ed Ventura, and this is the only place I know.
“Mom? Steve?” I call.
There’s no answer for a moment, but then the kitchen door swings open and my stepfather slinks into the cheery yellow space.
“Hey there,” he says in a sibilant voice. “How’s it going Kimber? We weren’t expecting you.”
My chin trembles as I struggle not to cry.
“Is my mom here?” I ask. “Where’s Sandra?”
Steve shrugs.
“Probably at her job. It is the middle of the day.”
I grip the kitchen counter, about to hyperventilate again. This is the last thing I want – being stuck in a small space with my stepdad, the pervert.
“Hey, are you okay, sweet ‘ums?” he asks, suddenly concerned. “You’re looking mighty faint there.” I grit my teeth. More likely, I look like I’m about to have a heart attack, and the middle-aged man doesn’t want to have an emergency on his hands.