Home > The Morning After(8)

The Morning After(8)
Author: Raelee May Carpenter

“I get it.” Matt’s voice came out of a tin can through a thin white string stretched all the way to Michigan.

“Thanks.” He hung up.

Huh... Huh.

Matt took a few deep breaths, and the pain in his head eased slowly. He looked around the active studio lot and the busy L.A. traffic, deaf to all that was happening.

He actually was going be a dad.

The flickering light of hope grew a little less dim. The despair slid down Matt’s spine again to the base of his back.

Huh... Could be fun.

A reason to get up in the morning and all that.

His face broke into a grin, in spite of himself, in spite of everything.

Matt’s mother would be thrilled. She wanted grandchildren more than air, and had long since given up hope her only son would give her any.

Matt felt bad for Molly in all this, but…a child? A part of himself left inside Molly, a piece of the two of them growing right now to take on a new life all of its own…

He was excited.

He wanted this baby.

Molly was having his baby.

And a new thought struck him: Matt himself, his birth, had kept his parents together for a few years at least. Couldn’t he do better from his side than a ratbag idiot like Pete Kelly?

Maybe now Matt could get what he’d always actually wanted from his friend.

Four days of bald, tawdry silence.

He hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t emailed. He’d given her nothing. Not. A single. Word.

Molly paced her living room a few times then forced herself to sit down on the couch.

She told herself Matt needed time to adjust. And she got that.

But part of Molly was beyond hurt she hadn’t heard from Matt since she’d told him she was carrying his child.

Another part of her realized Matt had every right to feel angry, confused, afraid, or whatever else he needed to feel. After all, he was in this fix because she, his so-called best friend, had let all of her principles crumble to the ground after about half a second of soft kissing.

A separate part, a part that swelled more and more raw as the hours passed, was just angry. Like, where did he get off with all this muteness? Didn’t Matt know how bad Molly’d need reassurance right now? Hadn’t he been her closest friend once? What kind of friend said nothing when you told them you were having a baby?

A best friend would say something. Do something. Even if said baby was not half made up of the D.N. freaking A. of the aforementioned friend. Which this baby was.

Molly tried to take deep breaths, but her diaphragm locked halfway through each. The baby, see, that was a whole other thing.

Mostly, Molly was confused. As overwhelmed and angry and sorry and hurt as she was about the father of the little person in her womb, she also felt a deep instinct to protect her baby. She would scratch Matt’s eyes out—and possibly deliver a swift kick to the part of him that had caused all this—if he even suggested something that would hurt the tiny life they’d started.

But a chronic ache lived—and grew—in her chest. Molly wanted to get to know this little person, to hold him—or her—in her arms and cover him with kisses. She wanted to watch him grow up. She wondered who he’d look like. Would he have her curls or button nose? Would he have Matt’s eyes? Those eyes could melt her heart… Would he like to tell jokes or write? Would he live in a home full of thrift store furniture like both of his parents did? Would he have Molly’s love of color or would he wear black and navy all the time like Matthew?

But it would never work.

That little person needed more than she could give and deserved better than always having one parent over 2,000 miles away. This child didn’t need Matt Kelly and Molly Cooper doing their own things in their own directions.

The baby needed a family. What Molly and Matt had wasn’t the same thing.

She lay down on the couch and curled up around a throw pillow. Molly mused about her child, and jumped a foot off the couch when her doorbell rang. Expecting a solicitor of some kind, she stood and made her way down to the entry door and peered through the window.

Matt stood on the porch. Molly blinked, rubbed her eyes.

Still there.

He carried a backpack over one shoulder and several wrapped boxes under his arm. Matt stared down at his feet and shuffled them on her raggedy Welcome mat.

Molly hopped down the rest of the stairs and let him in.

He stepped over the threshold, dropped his stuff on the floor, pulled her into his arms, and captured her mouth in a deep, focused kiss.

Molly’s chest went tight and hot, and her head swam.

After a moment, she regained some presence of mind and decided to put an end to this before she lost all motivation to do so. Molly pushed against his chest, gently at first. When Matt didn’t let go, she shoved harder. After several seconds, he released her.

“Are you on crack?” She socked him in the chest again. “What are you doing?”

“I brought prezzies. Here, have a seat.” He grinned.

Matt often brought gifts when he came, but Molly’s brow knit. Wasn’t it supposed to be the expectant mom, not the dad, who “glowed”?

Brain and body numb, she sat on the stairs. Matthew handed Molly the parcels one at a time and urged her to unwrap them. The tissue paper in the boxes was water-marked with the name of a department store where Molly couldn’t afford the clearance items. Lavender-scented candles in crystal holders and chamomile tea in a decorated tin. A super-soft teddy bear with a pale green ribbon around its neck and a tiny white onesie printed allover with yellow duckies.

Molly tried to organize her thoughts. “Matt, this is nice of you, but I’m a little overwhelmed right now.”

“I understand, and I want to help you. My dad left my mom and me, but I’m not a hypocrite loser like him. I’ll be there for you and for our child every step of the way.”

What does that mean? “Every...?”

“I want you to come to Los Angeles and move in with me.”

“You want…? What?”

“We’ll be together, and raise our baby together.”

If Molly opened her eyes wider, they would pop out and roll down the stairs. “Matt, I-I can’t move in with you.”

“Oi, Molly. I know you think I can’t relate to you on a romantic level, because I don’t quote-unquote share your faith. But we’re having a baby now, mate. Isn’t that more important?”

Her eyes now narrowed to a slit. “What were you thinking? You’d waltz in the door with a few token gifts, and then what? I’d take you for another wild visit to my pillows and sheets before riding off into the sunset on the back side of your black horse?” Writer’s aplomb. Yes.

“Molly.” Awkward laugh. “I mean, what? That’s not—” But the flame on Matt’s cheeks and neck told a whole ‘nother story.

“Dude. Just because I made a mistake one night doesn’t mean my beliefs about God and sex have suddenly, completely changed. I’m still the same person. I still know living with you wouldn’t be right.”

“Okay, well…” Matt faltered a little, but she could tell from his wide eyes and loose jaw he was trying to understand. “What if I promised not to touch you until, like, whenever you were comfortable?”

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