I didn’t argue with him, despite the fact there was a chance that Tim could see him and it might make my day even worse than it already was going to be fighting morning sickness and Tim’s odd obsession with me. I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not even a little bit. Atticus’s hand went to the back of my neck and I fought the urge to roll my head back.
Five steps from the door. Four. Three. Two. One.
Atticus swung me against him, his other hand biting into the bone of my hip, something desperate in the touch that made me want to melt in a puddle at his feet.
“What time should I pick you up?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I have class tonight at six. I’ll just catch the bus to my studio and pick up my car.”
He smiled at me. “What time, Hazel?”
“Five.”
“I’ll be right here waiting.”
“But it’s not necessary. I—”
“Hazel,” he interrupted, “I’ll be right here.”
“Okay,” I agreed as his lips swept over mine.
He took a deep breath against my skin as if he was inhaling everything in the moment and when his tongue found mine, I knew he was tasting it as well. He pulled away too soon and started to walk backward away from me.
“Five o’clock, Hazel Stone.”
“Five o’clock, Atticus Kelly.”
I turned away from him and swung open the door to the artist’s studio. Madison wasn’t there yet but Tim was. He stood by my desk, his arms crossed against his chest, facing the window and looking out into the courtyard Atticus and I were just in.
“So you must be the Hazel on all those flyers,” Tim spit out, disbelief in his tone.
I cleared my throat and hung my bag on the side hook of my workstation. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”
Tim pointed into the empty courtyard. “And that’s the guy who put them up,” he stated more than asked.
“Yes,” I confirmed, sitting at my desk and tossing my apron over my shoulders.
I began to open my watercolors and inspect all my brushes.
“Did you sleep with him last night? Is that why he dropped you off today?” he asked.
The questions caught me off guard and I spilled blue watercolor all over the top of my desk. “Damn it!”
Instead of helping me, Tim turned toward me, a look of pure disgust on his face. I fought the urge to slap him so I didn’t have to look at it anymore. I grabbed a bunch of rags from my rag pile and tried to sop up all the expensive paint.
“That’s coming out of your paycheck,” he said.
I shot daggers at him. “The hell it will,” I told him.
He leaned over me, his palms on the flat of my worktable. “Excuse me?”
“I said the hell it will, Tim. You are going to replace the paint out of your pocket, actually. Or I could go to Terry and tell him about your interest in my personal sex life. Which would you prefer?”
He looked incensed, but he didn’t argue with me. He stood, stomped over to the paint cabinet, and grabbed a replacement of the blue paint I’d spilled. He walked back over to me and slammed the bottle in front of me, making me jump.
“Did you spend the night with him or not?” Tim insisted.
I snorted, tired of his shit and starting to feel nauseated; I couldn’t care less about anything else. “You think because you set that bottle there,” I said, gesturing to the paint, “that it entitles you to an answer?”
“I don’t know why you just don’t tell me already. I mean, just confirm it. I know you did. Why else would he be driving you to work?”
“Well, if you know that I did, I wonder why you ask,” I sarcastically bit.
“Because I have to know!” he practically shouted. His chest panted. “I have to know, Hazel. Did you sleep with that guy?”
I stood in a rush, knocking my chair over. “No, Tim! No, you don’t have to know. The only thing you need to know about me is if I can or can’t do the job I’m being paid to do. Other than that, you don’t have to know anything! Do I make myself clear?” I asked.
Flashes of emotion crossed his face over and over like a flipping Rolodex. He opened his mouth to speak but I interrupted him.
I doubled over the trash bin near my desk and vomited over and over. I tried to leave the workroom, but Madison chose that exact moment to walk through the door. She rushed over to me.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked, pulling my hair back for me.
I couldn’t respond, too busy getting sick.
She led me toward the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of Tim from the corner of my eye. There was a look of pure astonishment and incredulity on his face.
Once in the bathroom, Madison helped me get cleaned up and I rinsed my bin out. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and blotted a tissue underneath my eyes. Madison leaned against the tiled wall.
“Hazel,” she said, a worried look in her eyes.
I couldn’t look directly at her. “Yeah?”
“What’s going on?”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Tim was harassing me again this morning and I let him have it.”
“Hazel,” she said with inflection.
This time my eyes met hers. “It wasn’t the flu, Mads.”
All the blood drained from her face. “It’s that boy’s?”
I nodded. “Atticus’s, yeah.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked in a concerned tone.
I tugged out the headscarf I kept in my back pocket and wrapped it around my head, pulling pieces of hair out for aesthetic reasons.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I told her.
“That’s understandable,” she replied. “Does he know?”
“Yes, he knows. He’s been pretty chill about it, actually. He took me to the doctor this morning then dropped me off here.” I pointed at the bathroom door toward the workroom. “Thus the freak-out.”
Madison studied me.
“What?” I asked her.
“Well, I mean, I hope you’re not relying on him or anything?”
“Who? Tim?” I asked. “I rely on him freaking the hell out on a daily basis, yeah.”
“No,” Madison prodded with a finger at my shoulder, “on Atticus. You don’t know him. I just hope you’re doing what’s best for you.”
I nodded and leaned a hip into the sink. “I get what you’re saying.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“I get you.” I hesitated but eventually said, “He feels different, though, Madison.”
She smiled sadly at me and bumped her bum against the door to swing it open. As she left, she said, “They always do, Hazel.”
Over the next few weeks, Atticus picked me up every morning to drive me to work and every night at five to take me to my car for school. When I would get home from class, he was always there waiting for me with a bag of something protein rich. Eventually the constant morning sickness subsided and I entered my second trimester feeling a little bit more comfortable about presenting my senior exit project without ralphing on the shoes of the judging professors.
I was set to graduate Saturday, December 10, at ten a.m. and come hell or high water I was going to be there. I was too close to the finish line to back out so I powered through some pretty tough times to attend class. I was determined for it to pay off. Atticus worked insane hours. I’d discovered during those weeks that most musicians didn’t like work during the day. I once asked him how he could work all night only to be able to show up at my door every morning for doctor’s appointments or just to drive me to work. “I’m fine,” he’d always say with a smile.
“What are we going to do for Thanksgiving?” Atticus asked me early November.
I was approaching fourteen weeks and two days. Before Thanksgiving we were set to find out the sex of the baby. We were both so busy getting to know one another and dealing with the logistics of seeing each other that we had yet to discuss our plans in any way. I sometimes had the feeling Atti
cus was only prolonging the inevitable, knowing time would steer me one direction over another and by one direction, I meant his direction.
“Listen,” he said, falling onto my couch, “you’re far enough along that I think it’s time to tell your grandma, Haze.”
“What are you talking about? I’m barely showing.”
“Haze,” he said with a smile, “it’s time.” He held his arms out and I tumbled on top of him. He wrapped his hands around my body, one hand on the back of my neck, the other at the small of my back. “God, I love the way you feel,” he promised in my ear, making me smile and my stomach flip.
His perfect teeth bit into my shoulder and I giggled. “I can’t tell her,” I told him.
He sighed. “Yes, you can, Haze. Just call her up. I’ll be right here with you.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, my mom said you can invite her over to our house for Thanksgiving if you want.”
I was touched and surprised Sarah offered. She hadn’t necessarily warmed up to the idea of our baby, and she was having trouble hiding it. She was a sweet woman but had serious reservations.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let me up so I can get my phone.”
He slapped my butt as I walked away. “Yeah, baby,” I teased over my shoulder.
It was strange because although we were insanely attracted to one another and despite our sleeping together the one night, we hadn’t yet repeated the act. It just didn’t feel right yet. We didn’t love each other. We weren’t married. It wasn’t time.
But I was falling in love with him. And fast.
I set my phone on the coffee table and pressed Gram on my phone. I put it on speaker and sat with shaking hands.
“Am I introducing you? Pretending you’re not here?” I asked in a rush as it rang.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
“Hello, darlin’!” Gram answered.
“Hey, Gram. How are you?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, same old, same old, honey. About to head out to bingo with my new beau. Name’s Carl. Real nice gentleman. You’d like him.”
I smiled at Atticus, who smiled back. “That’s amazing, Gram. Hey, uh, do you have a quick second, though?”
“For you, baby, always.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Well, I have something to tell you.”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Were you in an accident? Do you need money?” she asked excitedly.
“No, no, no, Gram,” I reassured her. “I’m all right. I just have a bit of news to share with you is all.”
She sighed on her side of the phone. “Okay, spit it out, child.”
“Well, I met a boy,” I began.
“Ohhhh,” she sang teasingly, “you’ve got yourself a little boyfriend, have ya?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I cleared my throat and Atticus held my hand. “He’s here actually. On speaker.”
“Well, hot dog!” she said. “Nice to speak to you, son. What’s your name?” she asked.
Atticus sat up as if she was in the room. “Nice to speak to you as well, Hazel. I’m Atticus.”
“My word, listen to that voice! A nice, deep voice, Hazel. And a nice old-fashioned name. I like it.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling.
“Listen, Gram, before we go any further,” I began, “Atticus and I need to tell you something.” Gram got quiet, really quiet. “Gram?”
“Yes,” I barely heard.
My biggest fear was that I would shock her and from the sound of her voice, it sounded like she’d already figured it out and that’s exactly what had happened.
“Well, I’m expecting a baby, Gram,” I said.
The other end of the line went dead silent. Atticus and I looked at one another, worried.
“Gram?” I asked.
“I’m here,” she said, her voice a jumbled mess, like she’d started crying.
“Oh, Gram, are you okay?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m, well, I just don’t know how that could happen, Hazel. You had a plan, darlin’! You had plans.”
I started to tear up. “I know, Gram, and I’m going to finish my classes. I’m set to graduate in early December. I promise I’ll finish.”
“But what about your plans to travel? To apprentice? You had plans, baby,” she said, her voice sounding dejected.
My hand went to my mouth to prevent the sobs that threatened. I sucked in a deep breath to compose myself.
“I know, Grams, and it wasn’t planned but it is what it is.”
Big fat tears fell down my face and Atticus’s worried expression made them worse. His hands caught as many as he could but there weren’t enough fingers to dispel them all.
“Let me just wrap my head around this, honey, okay? Can I call you back? I’ve got Carl ringing at my door anyway.”
I nodded like she could see me. “Of course, Grams. Call me as soon as you can?”
“Yes, baby. I will.”
“Okay, talk to you soon,” I said, trying to keep it together.
The line went dead and I slid my phone off. I looked at Atticus and burst into tears. He wrapped his arms around me.
“It was a bad idea,” I cried into his T-shirt.
“She had to find out, Haze.”
I nodded against his shoulder as his phone went off. He kept an arm around me as he slid it from his jeans pocket.
“It’s work. I have to take it.”
I made like I was going to get up, but he pulled me back into his embrace.
“Hey, River, what’s up?” he asked another producer from The Sink.
I heard mumbling from the other end but couldn’t make out what River was saying.
My ear was pressed against Atticus’s chest and his deep voice rumbled through. “No kidding.” Pause. “No kidding. Dude, that is amazing.” Another long pause and Atticus started to laugh. “Get the hell out of here, River. You are lying through your teeth.” Yet another pause. “Okay, yeah. I’ll see you tonight then,” he finished, ending his call and tossing the phone on my coffee table.
Without warning, Atticus started to kiss me deeply. I could feel his smile against my salted cheeks.
“What is this?” I asked, pulling away briefly before he brought me back in.
It was a twenty-minute make-out session before I could get him to tell me anything.
“There’s this artist in LA,” he said when he finally pulled away. “She’s just signed with High Fidelity and her only requirement? She requested that none of their in-house producers work on her stuff, insisting she knew of a producer she wanted and wouldn’t sign unless they agreed.”
I sat on my ankles on the sofa cushion. “Get out, Atticus. Is it you?”
He shook his head in disbelief and laughed. “Me, Haze.”
“Shut the front door, Atticus Kelly! Oh my God!” I screamed, throwing myself on him and peppering his face with kisses. “This is so amazing.”
“I know,” he said, his hands wandering over my shoulders, hair, and neck. “I’m in shock.”
I laughed. “God, this day.”
He sighed and kissed my neck. “Call your Gram back in a few hours, let it settle, and it’ll be all right. Invite her to Thanksgiving.”
I nodded then a thought occurred to me. “Does this mean you have to go to LA?”
He shook his head. “She’s coming here.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow.”
“Wow is right.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Delilah Calvin,” he answered.
I grabbed my phone and looked her up. We listened to two songs and agreed she had real talent. I looked up images of her and was blown away.
“Oh my word,” I said, showing them to him. “She’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing at the photo I held up, then went back to texting River.
“When will she be here?” I asked.
“Next week. Apparently I’ve met her before but I don’t remember it.”<
br />
I had a hard time believing that. If the girl looked anything remotely close to her picture, it was an impossibility.
“Yeah?” I asked, feeling insecure.
There was one thing about being pregnant while single no one had warned me about. The constant insecurities. Madison wasn’t helping either. Though she meant well, she kept encouraging me to consider my options and playing over and over again stories of girls she knew whose men left them after a few months and so on and so on. I told her I couldn’t even think about options when Atticus and I were just getting to know one another. It was too soon to consider anything, despite my private reservations and plans for adoption.
Etta was much more practical in her advice compared to Madison’s passionate guidance. One, because Etta is smart as hell and thinks everything through with intelligent intensity, and two, because she’s just naturally more methodical. Once Etta knows of a problem, she takes down the variables, inevitably works out all the contributing factors, and puzzles out results. She’s a scientist, without a doubt. She was much more encouraging than Madison, but she didn’t sugarcoat anything to me either. I loved and hated her for this. If she wasn’t like a sister to me, I would have written off her advice with a grain of salt, but since she loved me so well, I knew everything she did was from a place of love and took her much more seriously.
Personally, I let my heart guide me too often. A product of being an artist, I thought. I liked to think I was somewhere in the middle of Madison and Etta, though. A balance between the two.
The following week, Atticus had his first recording session with Delilah Calvin.
“You nervous?” I asked him the evening he was set to start.
His fingers trickled over the skin of my forearm, up and down, making me sleepy.
“A little,” he admitted.
“You don’t have to be,” I told him, kissing him at the temple. “Talent doesn’t come along like yours every day, you know. It’s rare, Atticus. You’re ready for this.”
He smiled at me. “Thank you, Hazel.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Hey, Hazel?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m almost in love with you,” he spoke into the air.
I couldn’t fight the smile on my lips. “I’m almost in love with you too, Atticus.”