Having Nathan's Baby by Fran Louise Page A

that to this?
    I swiped at my tears, too tired for anger. What was I going to do? As quickly as it took for a stick to turn pink, I’d gone from being in control of my life to watching from the sidelines. I sniffed, reaching into my pocket for a tissue. At least that was how it felt, especially now that Nathan had already formed a relationship with this small life inside of me. He’d made a connection … my eyes moistened again. How could he have made a connection, made such a bold decision, when I was still a jumbled mess? Of course he didn’t have to give birth, or nurse, or any of those other all-consuming things…
    My hands were cold and red; I imagined my nose was, too. I wondered for a second if the baby could feel all of this. Staring ahead, I took another deep breath and looked around at the woodland at the other side of the river. This would be a great place to bring up a child. New York was no place to raise children, with all the competitiveness and hierarchy and expectation placed on them so young. Children deserved time to play, to exist without concern for the past or the future. People were young for so little time and old for so long. Youth was something to be cherished. I’d been pushed through the entitled New York education system by my well-meaning parents, with all of its advantages and pressures, but I wouldn’t want that for my child.
    That realization made something collapse inside of me. I held the tissue at the inside corners of my eyes but it was soon soaked through. My throat ached as though the skin had been chafed. I knew what the right thing to do was. The right thing would be to have this baby and devote my life to it. Was it selfish of me to resent that? I might be pressured by my life in New York, but it was my life, and my choice! This all felt so ... I glanced around, trying to isolate the feeling. I felt – what? Cornered? Fearful? I just didn’t know if it was a programmed insistence on retaining my old life, or the scary unknown of a possible new life that was causing all of these emotions.
    I shifted my weight on the seat, and my hand automatically rested against my stomach. It felt comforting after the emotional trauma of the morning. All of this upset couldn’t be good for the baby. It might not feel the cold, but it must surely feel the rise in my heart rate, the adrenaline. I blew out a breath, forcing myself to relax. Why did Mother Nature make pregnancy so awful? Or was it only this awful when the woman refused to give into it? Either way, it seemed absurd to deny the vessel a decent breakfast. I realized I was suddenly ravenous again. The fresh air seemed to have cleared my head and taken away the worst of the nausea.
    I stood up carefully. Looking back up at the market, I wondered if Nathan was picking up any pickles. I had an overwhelming desire for a ham sandwich with lots of butter and pickles. Pickles probably weren’t on his essential supplies list. I blew out a long, shaky breath. I needed more time to think, but I was too cold to sit on this bench any longer. With slow, hesitant movements I stood up, looked around at the breathtaking view, and then started up the hill. I knew my face must be blotchy and red, but I didn’t care. I focused on the simple feeling of hunger. Hunger I could do something about. Hunger had a simple solution. I liked simple solutions.
    I stopped at the top of the hill by the roadside. My eyes ran down the length of the pretty street with its awnings and ornate benches and streetlamps. People bustled from store to store. My eyes searched the market across the other side of the street; I saw Nathan inside, through the glass, almost immediately. My eyes focused on him like a sponge soaking up water. He was laughing at something the woman at the till was saying. My heart rate slowed. It seemed to stop for a moment. I felt absolute calm inside as I watched him. His dark profile was handsome, yes, but it also held an indefinable male beauty