Fourteen by C.M. Smith (short story to read .txt) 📕

says the kids are yours? They could be the milkman’s.”

He laughed and kissed me. “We don’t have a milkman.”

“That you know of.”

“Macie looks too much like me.” He grinned. “Maybe this baby will look just like you.”

“God help him.”

“Going back to that place again, are we?”

My self-esteem had been low for eighteen years of my life, and Evan had made it his mission in life to raise it. It had been working well until we pulled into the parking lot of this place. I felt like that same girl I’d been while I was there. Pregnancy hormones didn’t help this situation, either.

I’d gotten down to a size eight after Macie was born, thrilled that I hadn’t kept the weight from my pregnancy and had somehow managed to lose a little more. Evan hadn’t been so thrilled about it, pouting when I modeled a new pair of jeans for him. I squealed that I’d never been this small in my life.

He’d told me that I was perfect no matter what size I was—as he often had in the past—and had confessed that he even liked it more when I was heavier. I’d loved him for it but had done my best to keep off the weight. It had worked for a while, until he started bringing home chocolate donuts and cheesecake from my favorite diner in the heart of Manhattan and had never been able to resist.

A month later, I was buying size twelve jeans, which still made me happy—kind of—because again, the smallest size I’d ever been before Macie showed up was a fourteen. I’d made him promise to stop bringing home that crap if I stopped trying to be thinner, and he’d agreed. Now, four years later and pregnant, I felt like a whale. Granted, it was for a good reason, but showing up to my ten-year high school reunion bigger than ever made me want to hide in the car for the rest of the night.

“I can’t help it,” I whined, burying my head in his chest.

“Okay, listen,” he said, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, “this is gonna be a piece of cake, babycakes.”

“Babycakes?” I asked.

“Don’t question it.”

“Can I call you cupcake?”

“You can call me anything you want if it gets you out of this car.”

“In public?”

“Will you get out of the car?”

“Possibly.”

“You do know that Kyle will probably tear off the car door in an attempt to get you out of it, don’t you?”

“He doesn’t know what car we drive.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that we’re the only two still sitting in ours.”

“There’s a lot of people here. It’ll take him a while.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Why did we need to come here again?”

“I already told you.” He laughed, threading his hand through my hair. “We’re going to see all of our old classmates at their worst.”

“Or their best.”

“You’re way too negative for your own good.”

“You knew this when you married me.”

“What do I have to do to make you see that none of it matters?” he whispered, trailing his hand down to my stomach. “The only things that matter are you, me, Macie, this little guy, our families, and our friends. These other people haven’t mattered to us in over ten years, Anna. Don’t give them the satisfaction of thinking that they do.”

I sat back and placed both of my hands over his on my stomach.

“You’re right.”

“I know it.”

I rolled my eyes and he laughed, leaning over to kiss me again.

“Stay here.”

“It’s not like I’m going to go very far.”

He narrowed one eye at me, and I grinned, leaning back in my seat as he climbed out of the car. I tapped my fingers against my stomach, looking down and rubbing it.

“I hope you’re like your father, little guy,” I whispered, smiling when I felt him kick. “He needs some support keeping your momma sane.”

I looked up when my door opened and smiled at Evan, placing my hand in his. He helped me out of the car, closed it, and wrapped an arm around my waist, placing the other on my stomach again.

“Your momma keeps your papa sane, too,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss on my abdomen.

My eyes watered, and I looked up at him as he stood up straight. Flinging my arms around his neck, I kissed his jaw reverently.

“I love you so much.” I sniffled, burying my face into his shirt.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me and kissing my temple.

“I love you too, babycakes.”

I snorted and wiped my eyes on my shirtsleeve. I wound my fingers through his when he grabbed my hand.

“Cupcake,” I retorted, sniffling.

“Yours.”

I blew out a deep breath, squeezed his hand, and looked up at the school again.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“It won’t be that bad, I promise.”

He winked before leading me to the front doors, each footstep echoing in my head as we stepped closer to the entrance.

“And if it is?” I asked as I pulled him to a stop in front of the doors.

“I give you full permission to name our son Jameson.”

About a month after Macie was born, Evan had gone out with some friends as a celebration of becoming a father and had gotten completely hammered. He’d been drinking Jameson whiskey and upon his return home, he kept telling me that he loved the name Jameson and wanted to name our future son after the whiskey; that night, he was determined that we were going to have a son. When I reminded him of that the next morning while his head was in the toilet, he’d told me if I did that, he’d divorce me.

“Done.”

He kissed my cheek as he pushed open the door for me.

“You’re going to lose,” he whispered, placing his hand on the small of my back.

“I hope I do.”

We walked into the lobby of the gymnasium, and I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or turn around and run back to the car when I realized that time really had stood