Don't Need A Man

in which she has a baby

"Oh, hell no."

One test is positive. One is negative. Well, isn't that confusing. I drop both tests into the trash. I know I'm pregnant, I know it. Screw what those tests say, I'm a woman and my womanly instincts are telling me I'm with child.

"Well?" My brother, Clover, is more worried than I am. I shrug in response, only annoying his soul. "What does that mean? Are you pregnant or not."

"Yup."

He shakes his head. I know Clove is disappointed in me. What he doesn't know is I did this on purpose. I'm twenty three and impregnated myself purposely. "Who's the father?"

"I have no idea."

"Wow," he chuckles dryly, "that's just-- wow."

I shrug once again. "Artificial insemination is confidential." Clover chokes on his saliva. A smirk replaces my stagnant expression. Ha, sucker. "Wow." My mocking only has his face a deeper shade of red. He's an ass.

"What the hell, Rose? Artificial insemination? Why would you do that?"

"To have a baby. . ." He's stupid too.

"You're twenty three!"

"You're twenty nine!"

Clover slams the door to my apartment. I scoff. He's a drama queen. He is off, no doubt, about to snitch to everyone he knows that I'm pregnant out of wedlock. I've always been the odd child: never wanting to attend church, playing in the mud, promiscuity (not my finest moments), even back talking authority figures in my life. Clover was the model child who participated in school and is now a police officer. Unlike me, who owns several chains of flower shops around the county.

The beeps from my phone make my eyes roll. Without checking who is call I know it's my mother. "Hello?"

"Rosemary Beckett! A baby before marriage!"

"I'm never getting married, don't you people listen?"

She gasps. They're all so overdramatic. "You'll find a man! You're gorgeous--."

"Mom, I know how pretty I am. I just do not want a husband. I am perfectly happy having a few kids myself."

"A few!"

"Keep screaming at me, I dare you."

Nobody speaks for a moment. My mom is the stereotypical religious woman. Jesus hangs in every bedroom and the Virgin Mary staue is in the living room. A cross above the front door, a banner that says 'PRAISE THE LORD!' hangs over the fireplace. Hearing that I am having a child and never getting married is probably breaking her heart.

"How could you?" Her voice is low, hurt. I almost fall for it.

The key word being almost.

She's manipulative and a bad influence for my child. I'm waiting for her to disown me already.

"Because I'm an adult and I wish to have an child. You, Clover, nobody has a say in what I do. I am independent woman. I don't need my mommy or my daddy telling me what to do."

The annoying, constant buzz of an empty line fills my ears. Of course the cuntbag would hang up on me. Because why confront your anger instead of running away?

My eyes roll and I call my best friend to bring me pizza.

➖✖➖

A hand wakes me from my almost peaceful slumber. It would have been peaceful if I wasn't, you know, in labor. My eyes focus on the bubbly blonde bombshell I call a best friend. London White has known me since the fifth grade, hated me until the nineth, and now we're inseparable.

"Doc stays you're ready to push."

"Wouldn't I kn-- Oh sweet syrupy pancakes that hurts!" London giggles at my rush of words. Pain makes me say the strangest things.

The bearded man sits between my open legs and tells me to push. All these people are screaming for me to push. I get it, I got to get this child out, but why do they have to scream?

My body curls forward as I try to expel the parasite that has been feeding off of me for nine months out of my body. Sweat drips down my forehead and chest. I must look a hot mess. London grips my balled up hand. Soon enough the tears start as I try to remain as quiet as possible. Screaming will only tire me out even more.

The tears don't stop. I push and push and push but it seems like nothing is happening. My back hurts and my legs feel numb: it seems like I'm doing this for nothing. Until the doctor speaks again: "He's crowning!"

Those two words spur me to push harder. He's crowning, he's almost here. I let out whimpers of pain, but finally, after what feels like hours of consecutive torture the sweet cries of a newborn baby fill the room.

London and I watch as a naked baby is set on my chest. Tears fall again, this time happy tears. He's adorable, brown puffs on his head and shocking green eyes: just like me. London watches as I cry and cry and kiss him and cry some more.

"I've been waiting so long for you." The nurse takes him away. Minutes later, as I'm being cleaned up, he's set back in my arms. He's wrapped tightly in a white blanket with a blue hat on his head. I press another kiss to his forehead. "You're going to be mommy's boy. My baby boy." He stirs slightly as his eyes flutter closed.

"He looks just like Clover as a baby." My head snaps to my mother standing beside me, where London used to be. Sneaky bitch.

I look back down at my son. "He does."

"I'm happy for you, you know. We all are."

I don't speak. I just cry again. Cry for my son, cry for my family, and cry for me. I'm happy but sad. Confident but confused.

"You have a funny way of showing it. We haven't spoken in seven months."

"I was shocked, that's all."

I rock the sleeping baby in my arms before looking back up at my mom. "Want to hold him?" She nods and bends down to gently take him from my arms. Her brown eyes shine with unshed tears. My brother has two year old sons, fraternal twins, but Mom never cried when they were born. "I'm naming him Basil. You know, to keep up the plant names."

Mom laughs to herself and hands my son back to me. I sigh happily. Me and my son are going to be just fine.