Chapter Text
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists and turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders
Still remain
Little Wonders - Rob Thomas
Lucy
Lucy drives home on auto-pilot after Tim promises to spend the rest of his life making things up to her, the just-purchased pharmacy bag clutched tightly in her free hand.
She wants to be overjoyed by his promise.
She wants to be hopeful.
And, if it were just her, she would be.
She’d be over the moon.
She wouldn’t give in quickly, of course. She’s not necessarily the type to make him beg, but she is the type to make him prove his dedication to her first.
He’d broken her heart, regardless of why he’d done it, and she would make sure of his intentions before starting over with him.
She knows he’s worth the effort, is the thing.
She knows he’s a good man, an honorable man, and she knows that he hadn’t broken up with her with malicious intent.
She knows these things, but it doesn’t make things any easier.
And now… now her decision is about to be a hundred times harder.
She sits in her car for a long time after parking in front of her building, working up the courage to ascend the stairs and walk into the apartment she now shares with a well-intentioned but somewhat nosy roommate.
She doesn’t think Celina is home yet — she doesn’t see her car in the parking lot, at least — and she knows she needs to hurry before the other woman arrives. She needs to do this and process and figure out what the fuck she’s going to do before she has to make small talk and pretend that everything is alright.
She blows out a breath and glances down, her hand already unconsciously resting on her stomach.
“Let’s do this,” she whispers to her uterus, and then, with a dramatic heave, hauls herself out of the car, tosses her backpack over her shoulder, and quickly jogs up the stairs two at a time. She opens her apartment, kicks off her shoes, and then heads straight into the bathroom.
She locks it behind herself just in case, gathers her dress in her hands, and then sits on the toilet, box clutched tightly in her hands.
It takes less than a minute before she’s finished, the capped test sitting innocently on the counter as she chews on her bottom lip.
How will she feel if it’s negative?
What will she do if it’s positive?
She knows that Tim will have mixed feelings.
The Tim of a few weeks ago would have been overjoyed, but this new Tim? The Tim that’s been uncovering repressed trauma, the one who said I don’t recognize myself anymore? The one who walked away from her even though she’d never imagined, in her darkest nightmare, that he would?
She doesn’t know what that Tim will think.
“We can do this on our own if we have to,” she murmurs to himself, because she already knows that, if the test is positive, she’s keeping the baby.
Her baby.
Tim’s baby.
She’ll raise them alone if that’s what it takes, though she doesn’t imagine there’s a single universe in which Tim won’t be a part of their life.
Even broken, shattered, doubting-himself Tim will be a better father to this child than his was to him.
Lucy watches as the liquid slowly seeps up the test, her heart speeding in her chest as it passes the first line.
She knows she’s supposed to wait the full three minutes, but she finds herself staring at the little window of the test in anticipation, lip between her teeth as it slowly saturates itself.
The pink line comes quickly.
So quickly.
It immediately turns a deep, dark pink even though the control line is barely visible yet, and Lucy squeaks in surprise as she reaches out and gathers it in her hand, holding it up to the light.
Two lines.
Two lines.
Oh, god, she’s pregnant.
With Tim’s baby.
Her ex-boyfriend’s baby.
She feels tears in her eyes but she can’t tell of they’re tears of fear or of happiness.
She’s wanted this for, god, for forever. Since her first date with Tim she’s imagine little babies with her skin and his eyes running around, their faces filled with mischief and their little hands reaching out to her.
Two girls, she thinks.
And a baby boy that looks just like Tim.
She wants them.
She has always wanted them.
But not like this.
Not now.
Not when he’s so far out of her reach.
But…
I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, in whatever small doses you will allow.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Lucy grips the test tightly in her hand and tosses the trash, making sure to cover the pregnancy text box with the pharmacy bag and then a few wads of toilet paper just in case. She flushes the toilet and then walks into her room, quickly changing from her dress into the t-shirt of Tim’s that she still sleeps in.
She sits heavily on the bed in the t-shirt and panties, staring at the test, one hand on her belly beneath the cotton fabric.
A baby.
“Hi,” she whispers, pushing the material of Tim’s t-shirt up far enough that she can see her still-flat belly. “Hey, baby. I’m your mommy.”
Tears spring to her eyes as she sits there, alone, talking to her child.
Tim should be here.
Damn it, Tim should be here!
“Things are a little complicated with your daddy right now,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over her warm skin. “But we’re gonna figure it out. We have to. For you.”
She imagines all of the milestones — the doctor’s appointments, finding out her pants don’t fit anymore, feeling their baby kick, the baby’s birth — and she’s so fucking uninterested in doing it alone that she fumbles for her phone, firing a quick text off to Tim before laying down.
To: Tim Bradford
From: Lucy Chen
We need to talk.
She closes her eyes, one hand splayed over her belly as she imagines a little tiny person growing inside of her, no bigger than a grain of rice.
They’ll figure it out, she muses, sighing as she feels her phone vibrate in the bed next to her.
They have to.