My Girl

Isn’t it funny how sex can change you so much?

When my best friend Erin had sex for the first time, she became a lot more confident in herself. Not just her physical body but mentally and emotionally as well.

When I had sex for the first time, though, I ended up pregnant.

Yup.

Pregnant.

The saying really is true, guys, it only takes one time.

But what they don’t tell you is that your baby daddy is most likely going to be a complete asshole and avoid you like the plague when you try to tell him he knocked you up.

But that was almost four years ago, and we were about to graduate from high school. I guess old Tanner Taylor didn’t want to ruin his reputation and be seen talking to plain-old boring Savannah Anderson.

And just to rub salt on the wound, your churchgoing parents kick you out of their house for not only disgracing them but, most importantly, for also disgracing God by having sex before marriage and even worse, keeping a bastard child.

I will never be able to put into words the heartbreak I felt when my parents kicked me out. It felt like my heart was ripped out and an eighteen-wheeler drove over it, backed up, then went straight back over it.

My heart still isn’t completely fixed, but it has definitely started to heal with the help of Harry and Mallory Edwards, Erin’s parents, my current boyfriend, Pete.

And of course, the most beautiful three-year-old in the entire world, my daughter, Rosie.

“Momma, is it Christmas?” my beautiful daughter asks me out of the blue from the small kid’s desk she’s currently sitting at.

“No, baby. It’s almost summer,” I tell her, spinning in my desk chair to look at her.

Her dark curly hair is in its usual wild state, her bright-blue eyes shining against her all-year-round perfectly tanned skin that would make Eva Longoria jealous.

I wish I could say she got it from me, but she really is the spitting image of her father, right down to the attitude. Most days it seems like the only thing she inherited from me was the hair, even then just the curls.

“Oh.” She pouts her tiny lips for a second before picking up a purple crayon and drawing on one of the many papers scattered around her completely, hopefully forgetting about Christmas.

“Dreaming about all the presents Santa’s going to bring you, eh, Rosie?” My boss, Lydia, smirks from the computer next to mine.

The best part of my job at the local library is the fact that Rosie is allowed to come along whenever I don’t have a sitter or when my shifts don’t match up with her day care.

“Yeah! He’s going to bring me a uni-corn!” she exclaims happily, mispronouncing unicorn slightly, which makes the corner of my mouth twitch upward.

“A rainbow unicorn?” Lydia gasps.

“Yes!” Rosie squeals in excitement while I mentally cuss out Lydia. Knowing Rosie, she’s not going to shut up about a bloody rainbow unicorn now until she gets the bloody rainbow unicorn.

“You better find her a damn rainbow unicorn,” I mutter when Lydia turns away from Rosie to smirk at me.

“Oh, I will,” she answers with full confidence. Lydia is a miracle worker. Whatever Rosie wants, no matter how out of the woods it is, Lydia sure as hell will find it.

Lydia has such a natural maternal instinct. I was more than surprised that she didn’t have any kids. One day she told me men were a waste of her time, and she never wanted kids, so she never bothered.

But after seeing her with Rosie and all the other kids that come through, I have a hard time believing her.

Then one day she let it slip she couldn’t have them but was happy enough spreading her love to her nephews and now Rosie too.

“Any crazy plans for the weekend?” I ask Lydia, rubbing my eyes and turning away from the bright computer screen, desperate for a break.

“Sounds fun,” I muse.

“What about you two?”

“Probably the park and then Saturday night dinner with Mallory and Harry.”

Saturday night dinners have become a tradition with the Edwardses and us. Nine times out of ten, it’s some takeout, watching a movie, and Harry hyping up Rosie and letting her stay up way past her bedtime.

The other time, Mallory will make us a giant spread and demand we all dress up in our finest clothes because she wants to pretend to be fancy once in a while.

“Oh, Momma! Jax is here!” Rosie interrupts.

I don’t even get my mouth open before she’s up out of her seat and running around the desk toward the teenaged boy, breaking off from his friends, who I swear has sixth sense for when Rosie is near.

“Jax!” she squeals as she runs full force at him.

“Rosie!” he squeals as he scoops her up into his arms.

Jax is a high school senior, also one of Lydia’s nephews, that took a liking to Rosie straightaway and will spend hours with her almost every day after school, usually teaching her how to draw.

“What happened to your arm?” She gasps, looking down. I drop my gaze to his right arm, which is covered in a white plaster cast.

“I might have gotten into a little accident at school,” he answers shyly, cheeks turning a slight pink color.

“Did you punch someone? My daddy used to punch people when he was at school.” Rosie babbles, and I can’t stop the gasp from escaping my lips.

Never once in three years has Rosie mentioned her father. Now she’s saying he punched people, which is true, but how the hell does she know?

“No, no.” Jax laughs, shaking his head. “I fell over during gym,” he explains, lifting his arm so Rosie can inspect the cast closely.

“You need to be careful!” Rosie says sassily while rolling her eyes as Jax places her back on her feet. “My momma always tells me to be careful, but she’s never careful.”

She babbles as she slips her small hand into Jax’s uncovered arm and leads him to “their” table.

“Bye, Rosie, talk to you later,” I mutter to myself.

“So her daddy used to punch people?” Lydia asks, trying to sound casual as she raises a graying eyebrow at me.

“He did.” I sigh, leaning back in my seat, wondering how she found out.

“But I have no clue how she knows that. I’ve never once said anything about him, and she’s never asked.” I continue frowning as I watch Jax pulling out some art supplies from his bag.

“It must’ve been Erin,” I think out loud. “That girl needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

Lydia huffs, not bothering to hide her distaste. She has never liked Erin much, which, to be fair, I understand.

For the next hour and a half, I work lazily on the computer, checking out a few books to the even fewer people while watching Rosie and Jax out of the corner of my eye.

I learned not to interrupt them pretty quickly. Every time I would go over to check on them and to make sure Rosie wasn’t annoying Jax, they both would shoo me away with such attitude.

Finally, when five o’clock comes around, Rosie skips up to me, her small arms full of papers. “You ready to go, kiddo?” I ask as I slide my handbag over my shoulder.

“Momma! Jax showed me how to draw a rainbow!” she squeals, completely ignoring me.

“So beautiful. We can hang it on the refrigerator when we get home.” I smile, trying to look at the paper she’s shaking in my face.

“No!” Rosie yells, stomping her foot. “It’s for Jax,” she sasses as she spins around to face her current favorite person. “You pwomise to put it on your refridge?” she says sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes.

“I promise.” Jax laughs, gently taking the paper from her hand with his free hand. “See ya, Jaxy!” Rosie smiles widely as I hold out her small backpack and she slips her arms into it.

“Bye, Rosie Posie.” He winks before he heads out the large glass doors.

“Bye, Lydia, don’t party too hard!” I call out as Rosie begins dragging me out the door.

“Bye!” Rosie adds over her shoulder almost as an afterthought.

I love the Edwardses’ home.

It’s a smaller three-bedroom home, nothing fancy or over the top. But the atmosphere is just warm. Full of love. It always has been.

My parents’ home never felt like that. It was a large, over-the-top, show home ready and just cold.

“Okay, so I was thinking about you all week!” Erin exclaims, slapping her hand down on the kitchen counter in front of us.

“Wow, crazy. It’s not like you live with me or anything,” I reply sarcastically.

When Rosie turned one, the three of us moved into a three-bedroom apartment together.

I was going to get a two-bedroom, but according to Erin, they were all “one step away from being a crack house, and you could never survive without me.”

Really, I think she just wanted to move out and didn’t want to live by herself.

“Hardy, ha ha.” She snorts, rolling her eyes.

“She’s right, sweetie,” Mallory muses, looking over her shoulder at us from the bowl of cake mixture she’s stirring.

“You, Miss Savannah, are twenty-fucking-one years old and have never been to a club!” Erin announces as if this is a new revelation.

“I’m also a mother,” I counter with a pointed look. Yes, I always wanted to do the club/party college scene, but looking after Rosie is and always will be more important.

“You’re missing the point.” Erin groans, throwing her head back. “You’ve got to experience it at least once! You’ve got to go let your hair down, dance your ass off with your BFF, kiss a complete stranger!”

“I have a boyfriend,” I deadpan, looking at my crazy friend.

“Yeah, but he sucks!” She groans, picking up one of the two wine glasses sitting in front of her.

“He’s not that bad,” I defend Pete.

“He’s a defense attorney!” she bites back.

Ever since Erin joined the police force, she’s been anti-lawyers, actually anti–defense attorneys. She says they’re the bad guys trying to keep the even “badder” guys on the streets, therefore making them the worst.

“Erin’s right.” Mallory hums, shooting me a look I can’t quite decipher. “Not about kissing strangers but about going out, dancing, having fun.” She continues.

“Do either of you remember what happened the last time I got drunk?” I ask, giving them both a pointed look.

“You’ve only been drunk once in high school!” Erin exclaims, rolling her eyes so hard I swear they could’ve fallen out of her head.

“And I got pregnant.”

“So? You’ve had sex like a thousand times since then and haven’t gotten knocked up again.”

“Shut up!” I hiss, feeling my cheeks starting to burn and looking at Mallory who seems completely unfazed by the talk of my sex life.

“Mom and Dad are going to watch Rosie, and she even told me she wants a sleepover with Poppycorn and Gigi,” Erin says, referring to the names Rosie came up with for the Edwardses.

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?” I groan, giving in, even though the whole night sounds like torture. My feet already hurt just thinking about being jammed into heels and dancing.

“Wait, did you actually agree?” Erin asks, very clearly shocked.

“Well, if I don’t agree now, I’ll have to hear another million excuses on why I should go and end up going. So I thought I better save myself the torture.” I sigh as dramatically as I can.

I really don’t want to go.

I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something bad is going to happen.