Confessions, Part II

This is an actual post, but I just wanted to say something before I gave it to you. Over the weekend, I was able to go see the Broadway musical Wicked. And it. was. amazing. Seriously, if you're into musicals, and you ever get a chance to go see that one, then take it. You won't regret it. Incredible. But anyway, here's the next "chapter!" hah. Enjoy this as much as I enjoyed Wicked!

I let Jenna lead me to a table in her favorite café, and sat down in silence. I knew Jenna had picked up a menu and was talking to the waitress, ordering water for me and an iced tea for herself. I tried to stare out the window, and I didn’t turn to my friend when I felt her eyes searching my face. I was beginning to regret asking Jen to lunch. Normally, I immediately go to her with all of my boy problems or embarrassing situations. But this time, I knew I had messed up badly. I was so ashamed. I felt myself shrinking under her gaze.

“Oh my God, you did something awful. What was it!?”

I sank lower in my seat, not wanting to answer. Luckily, the waitress somehow heard my silent screams and brought the drinks to our table. She quickly took our orders and left Jenna and me alone again.

“Kayla, if you don’t tell me, I swear I’ll…”

“Okay, okay,” I sighed. “No reason to get all dramatic.” She smirked, but waited for me to continue. “I’m…” I began, unable to complete my sentence. My mouth dried up and my brain instantly started thinking of other things, as if it was trying to make me forget. I swallowed loudly and pressed forward. “Gosh, okay. I’m pregnant.”

Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together. “Oh! Kayla, I’m so happy for you! You and Evan are going to be excellent parents! Now, when’s the baby shower? I’ve got so much PLANNING to do! This is so exciting!” She continued to babble on about something virtually meaningless, and I was glad that the news of the baby had pushed any thought that something was wrong out of her mind. Maybe I won’t have to reveal what a horrible person I am. “Wait a sec,” she interrupted my thoughts. “Why is that a bad thing?”

I groaned. Damnit, Jenna. “Um, you know my mom is gonna kill me when she finds out.”

Her eyes immediately formed little slits. “Is that all?” she asked accusingly.

“Ye--”

“No it’s not. What’s the problem?”

“What? Ye-yes it is.”

“Kayla, I know you.” Ughhhhh. Fine, I’ll just tell her. She’s my best friend, she’ll understand. Right? Deep breath…

“I don’t know who the father is.”

The waitress brought our food at that moment, and I was glad for the interruption of the silence surrounding our table. I immediately dove into my BLT wrap, occasionally sneaking glances at Jenna. The shocked expression didn’t leave her face for what felt like an hour. When I popped open my bag of barbecue potato chips, the crinkling sound seemed to wake her up. I sheepishly looked back down at my food, but I felt her eyes searching my face for any shred of what I just said being a lie.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN--”

“Shut up!” I hissed. She looked around the café and silently apologized for her shouting. Unfortunately, she turned back to me to finish her statement.

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know who the father is!? Who else could it be?” Instead of answering, I turned my attention to the slowly decreasing amount of potato chips on my plate. I heard a sharp gasp, and knew Jenna had figured it out. “Noooooo. No no no no no. No! Kayla, how could you? What were you thinking!?”

“I wasn’t thinking. That’s the problem. If I’m actually able to think about right and wrong when he enters my life, then I wouldn’t be in this situation! I mean, what am I supposed to do? This is the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life!” I snuck a glance at Jenna’s face and saw her features soften. But they immediately snapped back into the angry expression she wore a few seconds ago.

“What, do you want my sympathy? You want me to feel sorry for you and hide this from Evan? He’s my cousin for God’s sake, Kayla! Why the hell would you come to me with this?”

She was right. I knew I shouldn’t be telling her the second after I asked her out for lunch. But I didn’t have a choice. I don’t have a lot of really close friends, and the few I did were also Evan’s best friends. Plus, none of them are really good at the advice thing or telling me in the sweetest way what an idiot I am. But Jenna is.

“Yeah, but you’re also my best friend. This is probably a mistake, and I wouldn’t blame you if you want to go tell Evan, but I just need help. I don’t know what else to do.”

She stared at me for a while, and then I saw her roll her eyes. Great.

“God, don’t cry.” I hadn’t even noticed, but tears were freely falling down my cheeks. I’m not usually this emotional, but I’m pregnant! Hormones, right? I started laughing at that point, realizing that I’d finally wore her down.

“Fine, I’ll help you. Just start from the beginning.”

Call and Answer

“Hello?” the groggy voice answered. I heard a muffled yawn before replying.

“Hey Jen. It’s me.”

“Oh my God, Kayla. Why the hell are you calling me?”

“…what?” I asked, a little put off by her tone.

“You know that I can’t fall back asleep after I’ve woken up.” Confused, I turned to look at my alarm clock. 12:48. Oops.

“Gosh, I am so sorry. But, now that you’re up…”

“Goodbye, Kayla.”

Well, that was a complete waste of time. I briefly considered calling my other best friend, but he hasn't really been himself for a while. He's been too depressed ever since his girlfriend moved to even listen to me. Plus, I decided that if I was actually going to be able to get to work on time, I would need a few hours of sleep too. I stumbled into my bedroom and pulled off my jeans before diving into the warm covers.

“Goooood morning listeners! DJ Tabby here with the greatest wake-up songs on the charts. Let’s start things off with a little Katy Perry…”

I groaned and slammed my hand on my alarm clock’s snooze button. Jenna may not be able to fall back asleep after waking, but I was an expert at it. Eight glorious minutes went by before Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA” rang throughout my bedroom. “Why do they play such annoying music in the morning…” I grumbled before rolling out of bed. I sat for a few minutes, letting my eyes adjust to the sunlight pouring in my windows. I contemplated falling back down into a nice slumber, but knew that if I wanted to keep my job, I needed to get a move on. I staggered into my closet, throwing on the first things I could find. I then proceeded to make my way into the kitchen and stuff a strawberry Pop Tart into my toaster. I think I need to start buying “real food.” When I started feeling more awake, and could actually open my eyes without feeling blinded, I took a look at my ensemble in the mirror. Unfortunately, my sleepy state this morning didn’t have the best taste. I ran back into my closet to find a top that was a little more professional than the bright orange one I currently had on. Brushing a comb through my hair and swiping on some mascara and lip gloss, I grabbed my Pop Tart and headed out the door.

Mondays are the worst. Every other day of the week, I wake up with enough time to make myself completely presentable, but everyone in my office knows that on Mondays I can’t be held responsible for how I look. I am definitely not a morning person. Come to think of it, I’m not really a night owl, either. I like nothing more than crawling into my fluffy bed with a good book around 10:30. On the weekends, my friends liked to drag me out until the wee hours of the morning, knowing that they would interrupt my nighttime ritual. But they don’t really care. Jenna always tells me that I need a life. However, Jenna’s got enough “life” for the both of us. While afternoons are my high point of the day, she’s energetic for the full 24 hours. She could stay out late and still come to work at 8 AM the next day. And she would come in at 8 AM the next day looking completely primped and polished. I have no idea how she does it. At 8 AM! I ended the little tirade in my head as the elevator arrived at my office floor. Saying a quick hello to the co-workers I passed, I reached my cubicle and immediately sent the intern for hot chocolate. I felt a little bad as I barked my order to the young man, but even the interns know not to take what I say in the mornings personally. Gosh, I'm hopeless.

The elevator dinged once more, and I looked up to see Jenna walking in. The shine that usually radiated from her was a little dimmed, probably from my waking at midnight. But even though she hadn’t gotten the best sleep last night, she still looked a thousand times better than I ever could. She made a beeline for my desk immediately after checking reception for messages. I shrunk back a little in my seat, knowing that our conversation probably wouldn’t be a happy social call.

“What. Were. You. Thinking.” she said, taking one step closer to me with each word.

“Ahh, I’m sorry, Jen. I didn’t realize how late it was, and I really needed your advice. This is one huuuuge piece of gossip.” I stifled a laugh as her ears perked up at my last word. Jenna is always a sucker for news.

Turning to walk away, she issued a small demand before leaving, “I have to go meet with Angie, but you better be on IM when I get done.”

Angie was the editor of Mascara magazine. Jenna was the assistant editor. Most of her job was spent locked up in Angie’s office, holding meetings in the conference room, or sneakily chatting with me at my desk. I don’t really know why Angie gave her such an extraordinary office of her own, since she spends so much time running around. But, if you’ve got a fancy title, you need a big, fancy office to go with it I suppose. Anyway, Jenna is my best friend. She’s also my boss. Okay, yes, the editor is technically “in charge,” but Angie mostly stayed in her office on the phone. She left it to Jenna to make sure that all of us journalists were getting our jobs done. When Jenna got promoted, I was a little afraid of how our work relationship would turn out. Sure, I was a little jealous, but Jenna had been working for Mascara much longer than I had, and she was amazing at her job. It was only common sense that she get the coveted “assistant editor” position. But anyway, it wasn’t as awkward as I thought it was going to be. We still had time for our gossip sessions, and she never yelled at me like a boss normally might. Of course, she never had reason to yell at me. Not to brag, but I was a great journalist. I always turned my stories in on time, and I always put 110% into everything I wrote. If I was a bad employee, maybe things with Jenna and I would have gotten tense, but I wasn’t. She always jokes about how one day Angie will realize what a great job I’m doing, and promote me to Jenna’s position. I always laugh it off, but secretly, I hope that actually happens someday. Not that Jenna isn’t doing a great job as assistant editor, but I can’t see myself spending my entire life writing about beauty products and celebrity fashion trends. I love my job, and it’s exactly what I see myself doing and where I want to be. Right now. But I also don’t want to limit myself to being “just a journalist” for the remainder of my life.

However, I don’t see Jenna getting fired anytime soon, so I’ll have to look for a different step up. Maybe once Angie leaves, Jenna will take over and make me her right hand. Gosh, we could make this magazine great. Just then, I was snapped out of my daydream by the incredibly loud sound of an IM coming from my computer. My cheeks instantly flushed as I quickly shut off my computer speakers and directed my attention to the screen.

jaylei: hey heeeey.

jaylei: whoa, nice speakers. way 2 blow ur non-working cover. ill have 2 yell atchu later.

jaylei: now, what was so important last nite that you had 2 interrupt my precious z’s?

I sighed and realized that I’d have to tell her my whole shameful story. Why did I even want to tell her again? Oh, right. The whole “advice” thing. Dang myself for never being able to come up with an answer on my own.

mickey: ugh, not here. wanna grab lunch in a couple hours? then i’ll let you in on the whole sordid affair.

jaylei: ooh, sounds juicy. count me in.

Yet another author's note...

Aahhhhhhhhh okay. I promise I won't post one of these little "author's notes" every time I add a story post to my blog. But this time, it's necessary.

So, I totally neglected this blog over the weekend. Weekends are really busy for me, and I really don't think I'll be able to update during them. Which means that my last blogging schedule was a fail. So I decided to do a Monday, Wednesday, Friday thing. I don't have to work on these days, and I only have 3 classes, so I'll definitely always have time. Hopefully I won't go like four freaking days without posting like I did this weekend. Sorry, by the way :D

AND, I don't know if anyone noticed, but I also didn't update my "quote of the week." I keep telling myself that it's because I really like the current quote, but it's really because I simply forgot. But I'll leave it up for the rest of this week, and (try to) put up a new one on Monday.

Anyway, keep reading! I WILL get these updates in on time, I promise!

Desperate

Around 11, Evan decided it was time to go home. I protested, and “We both have work tomorrow…” was his pathetic excuse. I kissed him at the door and aimlessly wandered around my living room. His kiss sent me so far over the edge, I’m surprised I could even stand. Evan always put me in such a high. When I’m with him, it’s a paradox. Time seems to stop completely, leaving us alone in the world. But it also flies by much too quickly. When he leaves, I count the seconds until I can see him again. We have so much emotional, mental, and.. ehem..physical chemistry, which is why we make the perfect couple. Which is why I couldn’t tell him about Brock.

Brock Tucker and I met back in my first year of college. He was a junior taking a freshman-only class. He was the typical bad-boy player that teenage girls couldn’t get enough of. I was eighteen when Brock hit on me. He was twenty-one. I believe his line was “Hey baby. If you like the bad boys, then you're looking at your perfect future boyfriend. But if you like the good ones, then I can get you alcohol.”

“…why does that make you a ‘good guy’?”

“Cause baby. I’m legal. I can get you beer without breakin’ the law. And then, once we’re both drunk, I’ll convince you to turn to the bad boy side.”

I refused, which is what I think sparked his interest. Brock only went after the freshman girls. They were new, they were scared, and they were young. And he was hot, older, and totally bad. Any girl he wanted, he immediately got (and then tossed aside a few days later), mainly because he was able to legally give them alcohol. Even though the girls were underage, they felt like it was still okay to drink since they got it “legally.“ And as we all know, college is all about drinking. However, I kept a few of my Mormon beliefs when I entered college, and staying away from drugs and alcohol was one of them. Brock attacked me with pick-up lines every day for a month after I turned him down. And everyday was the same answer. “Sorry, no thanks.”

One day, however, he didn’t ask me out. He completely ignored me. And while I was satisfied on the outside, I was tearing up on the inside. “Why isn’t he talking to me? Why won’t he look at me? I put on my best make-up for THIS!?”

Even though I had rejected him everyday for many weeks, I was still an eighteen-year-old girl. When he started ignoring me, I began to freak out over every little thing. Was I not smiling enough? Was I smiling too much? Does he not like my outfit? Does he not like my hairstyle? Is he dating someone else?

I pretended not to care when he brushed by me in the hallway. I didn’t show my sadness when he didn’t acknowledge my greeting. I wouldn’t let him see my disappointment when I dropped my books in front of him and he acted like he didn’t notice.

My friends all thought I was crazy. A few of them had actually gone out with Brock once or twice, and tried to convince me that he was no one to cry over. I shrugged them off and went back to my dorm to think. And then I realized. He wasn’t ignoring me because my hair wasn’t perfect or my new perfume smelled gross. It was because I had hurt his ego. Destroyed his reputation. When word got around that a girl had rejected Brock Tucker on multiple occasions, his street cred decreased insanely. The one girl who could have possibly tamed the wild stallion that was Brock Tucker had said no. And he was hurt. He was depressed.

Because I turned him down.

Now, today’s Mikayla would have been pleased with this. But the old Mikayla felt pity. So the old, naïve, stupid Mikayla walked right up to him in World Literature and asked him out for pizza. Today’s Mikayla would have noticed that his sudden smile was just a stupid act, but the old Mikayla thought it was sincere. Thought she made him happy. Thought she mattered.

I had been Brock’s longest relationship, if you could call it that. In fact, to this day I don’t believe he’s dated a girl longer than he dated me. We had been boyfriend and girlfriend for a year and a half, and continued a “friends-with-benefits” relationship with him for many months after. But I’m still not a slut. Our “friends-with-benefits” relationship was more like a “friends-who-make-out-when-Brock-gets-drunk” relationship. And then I met Evan.

I said before that I’ve only been with two men in my life, but that they meshed together. Well, Evan and Brock have been meshing together ever since I’ve known them. Brock was the motorcycle-riding, leather jacket-wearing, alcohol-chugging boy that every girl wants, but Evan’s the sedan-driving, clothes-folding, promise ring-buying man that every girl needs. And I do mean needs. When I met Evan, he became like a drug to me. I wanted to spend every waking moment with him. And while that would scare most guys away, he stuck with me. I did get the occasional weird look when I was being too clingy, but he never ran. Even when he found out I had been messing around with Brock behind his back.

With everything I’ve done to Evan, it probably seems as though I don’t deserve him. I don’t. I’ve messed up so many times in our wonderful relationship, and he hasn’t done a single thing wrong. He’s perfect. He forgave me when he caught me making out with Brock. He stayed by my side when I told him I thought I was falling for Brock again. He didn’t break up with me when he found out I had been calling Brock for weeks at midnight just to hear his raspy voice.

When I look back at all of these things, I look like the world’s most horrible girlfriend. I’ll be the first one to admit that I probably am. However, it’s not like I did these things on a regular basis. Brock disappeared from my life when I started dating Evan. He only came back every few months or years and called me immediately every time he did. And I answered. Every time. I know I shouldn’t have, and I’d like to say that I’ve grown and that Today’s Mikayla wouldn’t answer his calls. But she did. A few weeks ago.

Damnit.

I had to stop thinking about Brock. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t thinking about him because I still had feelings for him. It was absolutely the opposite. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I loathed him. About how big of a mistake my life had become the day I went out with Brock Tucker. I turned on my television and tried to pay attention to the people moving across the screen, but it wasn’t helping. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the crushing guilt of Brock’s possible child in my body. The child that Evan would one day call his son. Oh my God, I need to tell someone. I need advice. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the number of the one person I knew I could talk to.

We Are Okay

“I’ve got your faaaavorite!” Evan’s voice rang through every inch of my apartment. After probably walking into all three rooms, I heard his footsteps coming closer to the kitchen archway. “You better not be making dinner, because I didn’t buy this pizza for… nothing…” his voice trailed off upon seeing me on the floor. “Oh my gosh, what’s wrong?” I didn’t answer. He spoke again, with more urgency in his voice. “Mik!?”

I giggled softly at his nickname for me, remembering the first time he said it. The little word just rolled off his tongue like he’d been calling my by it our entire lives.

“Hey Mik? Pizza or Chinese?”

I stared at him for a few seconds before answering. “Did you just call me ‘Mik’?”

“Absolutely,” he responded, looking at me like I was crazy. “Now, pizza or Chinese?”

“Uhhhh Chinese. But really? Mik?”

“You didn’t really expect me to call you ‘Mikayla’ forever, did you?”

“Well no, but I already have a nickname, in case you forgot.”

“I know, but everyone else calls you ‘Kayla.’ I needed a nickname that’s just mine,” he said simply, before turning his attention back to the take-out menu.

I couldn’t stop the gigantic grin that was currently making its way across my face. I like to think that’s when I knew that Evan wouldn’t be leaving my life anytime soon.

“Mikayla, are you okay?” he asked, snapping me out of my flashback.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Um, I… uh…”

“Mik, words,” he joked with a sparkle in his eye. God, I loved those eyes. I sighed, hesitant to respond.

“I’m…” Now or never. “I’m pregnant.” He was still for a moment before wrapping me in his arms and spinning around in my tiny kitchen.

“Oh my gosh, Mik! This is great!” I couldn’t help but smile at his response. Leave it to Evan to turn my bad situation around. Of course, he didn’t have any reason to believe that there was a bad situation in the first place. We stopped spinning and he set me down, grabbing my hands like he never wanted to let go. “Mik, you had me so terrified for a second. I thought something awful had happened. Gosh, why’d you scare me like that!?” A goofy grin is still plastered on his face. I don’t think it’ll ever go away. I can’t tell him. I’m not even sure the baby isn’t his! Why get him freaked out over something that might not even be true?

“Come on, Evan. My mom is going to FREAK.”

He laughed. “Is that it?”

No. No, Evan. A few weeks ago Brock came back. You remember Brock, right? Well, I slept with him. And a couple days later you and I had sex. So it’s a possibility that the baby belongs to my old tool of a boyfriend. Sorry!

“Yes…” He laughed again.

“We’re going to have a baby, and all you can think about is your mother?”

“Come on, Evan! You know my mother! She’s going to kill me!”

“Mik, she’s always going off about how she wants her favorite daughter to hurry up and get married so that she can have more grandchildren…”

“Yeah, from her married daughter! You know, after getting married first! We’re not married!”

“But we will be,” he reminded me, running his thumb across the diamond on my left hand.

“Yeah, but…” I started.

“We’re going to have a baby, Mikayla. A baby!” he interrupted. I could tell he was getting slightly annoyed. We were having a kid, and while he wanted to celebrate, I was just complaining about my mother.

“You’re right, Evan. We’re having a kid! Come on, let’s party!” His eyebrows clenched together even tighter. What did I say now?

“Dang it, I wish I would have known. I would have come over and whisked you away to the fanciest restaurant in the city, but instead I just brought you stupid pizza,” he explained, gesturing to my counter.

“Pizza?” I asked, my ears perking up. I heard him chuckle as I dashed over to look. Ooh, Papa Murphy’s. My favorite.

“One small chicken Alfredo for you, and a meat lover’s for me.”

“Evan, I’m not going to eat an entire pizza by myself.”

“Sure you will,” he replied, with that adorable twinkle reclaiming its place in his eye. “You’re eating for two now.”

I rolled my eyes and turned on the oven.

First (real) post below!

Alright kiddos. So I think I've decided on a posting schedule. I'm going to try to update every other day. Now, I'm just starting, and I don't know if this schedule will work out for me in the long run, but it looks good for now. So, since this is an every-other-day thing, posting won't be on the same day each week, if that makes sense. Some weeks I'll post on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, while the next week would be Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. And like I said before, I don't know if I'll stick with this until I figure out that it totally works. So bear with me :)

I've also totally updated the look for my blog, so tell me what you think! I thought it would be fun to add a "quote of the week" section, and I'll try to update that every Monday or Sunday (depending on the posting week), but I'll probably forget. Many times. So it could end up being a "quote of the year" section :D I've also added a list of "blog rules" that I kind of expect everyone to follow. I'll try to do my part by posting on time, so you should do your part by following my rules. Then we'll be good! Don't worry, they're just about being nice and stuff. I don't expect you to do anything extreme.

So anyway, read my first post below and give me your thoughts!

What I've Done

My microwave timer rang out, interrupting the deathly silence in my kitchen. I gathered my courage and took a huge breath before looking down at the little stick in my lap. A pink plus sign stared back up at me.

“Damnit.”

I hardly ever swore, but the current situation called for it. I sat on my kitchen floor for over an hour, trying to let reality sink in. I mean, I should be happy, right? Evan and I want a child. My entire life, I’ve wanted nothing more than to settle down with the perfect man and have 2.5 beautiful children. But at this moment, all I can think about is how disappointed my Mormon mother would be. My entire family is Mormon, which meant that I was completely sheltered throughout my life. In high school, the average teenager would sneak beer or cigarettes into their bedrooms. I, however, snuck in a 2 liter of Pepsi and face cards to play poker with my brother. Never would I think of bringing alcohol into my home. The caffeine was more than enough to make my mom ready to kill me. She made me change dresses on the day of my graduation party because it failed to fall below my knees. What the hell would she think of me now, becoming pregnant before I was even married? Worse than that, becoming pregnant without knowing who the father was?

Oh my God, I don’t know who the father of my child is. I’m honestly not a slut, or someone who goes around sleeping with anything that walks on two legs. In fact, I’ve only been with two men in my entire life, but they sort of meshed together. Now instead of simply freaking out about being pregnant without a husband, I was in hysterics because I don’t even know who to call with the news. At that moment, I began to pray. I’ve never been terribly religious, despite the church-going people who make up my entire family. My brother and I just fell out of our old routine when we left high school. But I still begged God for answers when I was in trouble. And this situation? Screamed trouble.

“Dear God, please let this baby be Evan’s. Please let it be Evan’s. Please, oh please God, let this be Evan’s kid. Amen.”

I repeated it over and over again, as though somehow my chant would become true if I whispered it enough. However, knowing my luck, now matter how many times I say it, or how loud I scream it, or how many people I tell it to, this kid won’t be Evan’s. If it is Evan’s, my life would be too easy. Although, nothing really is easy about having a child out of wedlock, but still. Nothing in my life turned out the way I wanted it. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that the only thing legitimately good in my life is Evan. And if this baby doesn’t turn out to be his, it’s all over. My life won’t have a single good thing in it.

“Damnit.”

Like I said before, I try to refrain from swearing, but sometimes it’s necessary. Sometimes I need to let the bad words drip from my mouth to remind myself that I’ve done something incredibly stupid. Just before I let another batch of tears roll down my face, I heard a lock twist, my front door open, and my fiancé’s sweet voice call my name.

“Damnit.”