The Trouble With Before by Portia Moore Page A

from Stephanie.
    Hey Hun. I hope you’re ok. Not sure what’s going on but wanted to check on you.
    I can’t help but feel a sad smile spread across my face. Stephanie’s worried about me. I wonder if Brett’s said anything to her. Probably not. Brett probably just told her I went back home. That’d be enough for Stephanie to drop it. She’s not pushy at all.
    I start to text back, but then I wonder if Brett put her up to this, if he secretly wants to keep tabs on me through Stephanie. It’s not that I don’t want Brett to know I’m alive and okay, but he could at least be a man about it and call me himself. I exit out of the text screen and lie back on the couch.
    My stomach is growling. I rub my fingers across it, still in disbelief that there’s a baby growing inside it. A second baby I’m not prepared or ready for. Can I go through another pregnancy? Could I go through with an abortion? I’m still not ready to be a mother, but this time, things are different. If I do have the baby, could I just hand it off to a stranger? There’s no one waiting in the wings to swoop in and save the day like my aunt Danni did. I fold my legs and scrunch my knees against my stomach. God, I bet she’s in heaven and wanting to come kick my ass for being so stupid.
    It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The next time I got pregnant, I was supposed to be happy and ready. Now I’m virtually homeless, unemployed, and estranged from the father. The one improvement from the last time is that even though I’m terrified and clueless about what to do, the pain in my chest I felt the last time isn’t here. Last time, I was heartbroken because the man I loved had no clue I had his child inside me. Now I’m supposed to speak with said child’s father about what my arrival in town means for him and our daughter, and I have no clue what it means.
    I sit up as I hear the door open. I turn around to see Aidan with a big brown bag from McDonalds, and I could kiss him.
    “I got you two double cheeseburgers with Mac sauce and some fries,” he says, tossing me the bag.
    He still remembers my order.
    “You’re my hero,” I say with a wide smile, tearing the bag open and almost gulping down my first cheeseburger. “When does Grams get back?”
    He devours his Big Mac, making a fake orgasmic sound, and I nod in understanding.
    “Next Monday,” he says after swallowing the wad of beef.
    “So when she’s gone, is this what’s on the menu?”
    “Pretty much.” He passes me the large orange soda sitting next to his feet and lets out a large belch.
    “That was so freakin’ sexy,” I tease, and he winks, and flashes me a wide grin showing off his dimples.
    I always thought it was unfair that he has those. Dimples should be something only nice guys have. Men who don’t just want to bang you and leave; guys who want relationships and families. Dimples should be a requirement of a gentleman, a tell-tale sign that he’s a keeper, that he could be the one . I know dimples aren’t the only thing that make girls want Aidan though. Aidan is hot in a way that most girls want. I can’t lie—he has a body that looks as if it was sculpted by God himself. I used to hate for him to go parading around with no shirt on, which he does whenever it’s more than seventy degrees. It was so hard not to stare. Plus he has eyelashes that make me envious, and his lips aren’t thin and barely there. They’re plump and heart-shaped, and if he hadn’t been sort of my best friend since we were kids and I didn’t know how much of an asshole he could be and he didn’t annoy me so much . . . but he was and he does.
    “You love it,” he says just as sarcastically, showing off his set of perfect white teeth.
    “So . . . are you, like, unemployed now?” I ask, ignoring the lonely butterfly in my stomach that has gone insane and is attempting to fly around.
    “Yup, I’ve got enough saved up to open up the body shop by the end of this year,” he says