Baby Steps

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting. I called Grant over two hours ago-did it really take that long to return a call? The sky outside was growing gradually darker, but I didn't get up to turn on a light, just lay there staring at the ceiling even harder, willing him to call. My phone lays beside me, an accusing weight that keeps pulling my hand to it like a magnet, to see if it was on, if it was working. Desperatly, I wanted a cigarette.
My mind is moving two hundred miles per minute, thinking of names, of how it would look, imagining how happy Mom would be with being a Grandma, of how much joy this thing would bring into our family. I thought of holding it, decorating a nursery, seeing it walk and hearing it talk, of how strange it is that something so precious, so beautiful could have come of such an ugly situation.
The phone stays silent and, not being able to bear the anticipation, I get up and drive to the dorms.
Grant seems surprised to me, and not in a good way, "What do you want, Cecillia?" he demands, arms crossed, trying to look tough and intimidating.
I wrap my arms protectively wrapped around my stomach, wanting yo keep my baby safe and whole, away from this man who could be such a monster. "Did you get my message?"
"Yeah. What about it?"
I take a deep breath, feeling my vocal chords constrict. "I'm pregnant." I manage to squeak out.
Grant's reaction reminds me of the Bugs Bunny cartoons that I used to watch when I was a kid and I get the sudden urge to laugh: his jaw drops and his face goes pale white, so pale that Casper, the Friendly Ghost looks Middle Eastern beside him.
"Are you sure it's mine?" he asks, when he's finally able to speak, "I mean, I'm gonna want a DNA test to make sure, of course."
"Of course it's yours!" I stutter. I didn't add "you idiot", but felt as if it were clearly implied in my tone.
He paces around, waving me into his dorm. I sit on the edge of the bed, following him with my eyes.
"Of course, you're going to have to get an abortion."
"Excuse me?" I reply, feeling shell-shocked.
"Yeah. I mean, c'mon, Cecillia, we can't raise a baby! I want to be able to provide for my babies, and we're in no situation where we can do that right now!"
I feel a snide comment coming on, and don't even try to bite it back, "And who was it that decided to not wear the condoms that I bought?"
"Oh, jeez, Cill. This again? I pulled out! There's no way you coulda gotten knocked up by me. Besides, I hated those condoms."
I roll my eyes, "And I'm gonna hate feelin' like crap for the next seven months. I'm gonna hate having to push a baby outta my body. And I'm gonna hate having to give my baby up for adoption because you knocked me up!" my voice is growing more shrill by the moment.
"Don't you dare blame this on me!" he screams, whirrling around. "You don't even know if it's mine! Hell, you're such a slut, you probably don't even know who the father is!"
That hits me like a whip across my face. I stand, "Just because your dad was a runner who didn't give a damn doesn't mean that you have to be, Grant. You get all teary-eyed about the crap that he pulled with you, but you're just like him-someone who doesn't give a damn about anyone but you and who runs away at the first sight of things getting tough."
"Rot in hell!" he yells at my retreating back.
"I hope that I don't 'cause I don't want to be around you for the rest of eternity." I snap back, slamming the door so hard that the windows shake.