Millie
It’s Thursday night, one of the slowest nights of the week at the bakery. I’ve decided to have dinner with Katherine again as I’m in desperate need of some guidance, or at least an approximation of it.
We meet at our usual spot, and she’s already ordered a bottle of wine for the table in anticipation of another night of confession and secrecy. Of course, that’s exactly what she’s about to get, but not in the way she expects.
“Oh my god, Millie, you need to get some fucking sleep. You look exhausted,” she says as I approach the table, shedding my coat and being encapsulated by one of her famous drunk hugs.
“Yeah, things have been crazy at the bakery,” I lie. I know I have enough time to really ease into the details with her, though I’m not sure how long I can exchange vague niceties before I spill my guts all over the floor.
“Well, maybe you need to close early sometimes. You look like you were left in the microwave too long,” she gushes in her most brutally honest way. It’s a trademark of hers that I love, but sometimes she can be a bit heavyhanded.
“I can’t do that. I need to work as much as humanly possible these days,” I reply.
It’s true. I’ve felt completely unable to be alone with my thoughts for a lot of reasons lately.
There’s a brief lull between us, and I know she’s detected that something is deeply wrong. She’s always had a gift for being able to sense things like this. “What’s really going on, Mill?” she asks, her once-bubbly disposition taking a turn into concerned parent territory.
I pause for a moment. If I say it out loud for the first time, that makes it real. That makes it something I have to face head on, and this isn’t the type of problem to clear up on its own as long as I don’t let it bother me.
Another dreadful few seconds ticks by.
“Kat, I’m pregnant,” I finally confess.
Her eyes widen to the point that they look like they’ll explode right out of her head. “What the fuck? When did you find out? How far along are you?” she asks, keeping her voice down as if anybody in the vicinity could give a shit. For this, I appreciate her.
“I just found out last night. I didn’t realize I’d missed my period by like two weeks,” I reply, taking a sip of my water and wishing desperately that I could drown my anxiety in booze like she is.
“Jesus, on the same day that that fucked up news story came out?” she confirms/
I nod solemnly. “Yeah, as if the situation couldn’t have been any worse. It’s definitely his baby. There’s nobody else. Goddamn it, how did I let this happen?” I say, feeling tears welling up in my eyes. I’d be so embarrassed to begin crying in a place like this, especially under the circumstances. I feel like a broken teenager again, grasping at the walls of the universe for some leverage, for something to make sense.
“Hey, let’s just take a deep breath, okay? You know he can support you, at least. You might never have to work again,” she replies, taking a large sip from her drink. I don’t even like the kind of wine she drinks, but the very fact that I can’t have any makes it the most tempting substance on the planet.
I consider her words, and the reality of them punches me in the chest hard enough to nearly knock my breath from my lungs. The truth is that I’ll have to negotiate some kind of agreement with Viktor, at the very least, and that will involve maintaining ties with him.
I can’t allow my child to be influenced by someone like Viktor. He probably killed somebody and has been acting completely cavalier about it. There’s no way it isn’t something he does often. Will I ever understand the true depth of his depravity?
“I can’t do that! I don’t want to abandon my shop. It’s my… baby,” I reply, feeling stupid for not drawing the parallel, to begin with. My bakery is called Bun in the Oven for fucksake. This was written in the stars.
“So you’re going to try to work something out with him? You can’t just run away from him while keeping a store that you rent from him. You’d have to move locations, maybe even move cities, rebuild your clientele. It would be a major headache, especially with a baby you’re raising by yourself,” she responds.
I know she’s right, and I don’t know for sure that Viktor is a psycho killer. I might be jumping to conclusions a bit too fast.
“Maybe I just have to get used to the idea of co-parenting with him somehow. I mean, how do I justify that? What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” I ask.
Katherine reaches across the table and holds my hand as I fight back years for the fifth time since I sat down. “Just take it one step at a time. Maybe you should just talk with him, and if that doesn’t work out, you could always raise the baby without him.”
“I don’t know how to raise a baby on my own,” I whimper. “My own mother was a horrible example for me, and now she’s off living in an RV somewhere in the desert with a guy that makes dreamcatchers for a living. I have no resources,” I confess, feeling my chest grow heavy with worry and the realization that I’m completely ill-prepared for however this situation shakes out.
“Then talk to him, but eat something first. You look like hell.”
She’s right. I can’t think straight right now. A plate of garlic bread and something sweet will help me get back into the right headspace to take this on.
After dinner, I feel less alone but no more at peace than I was when I arrived. Katherine assures me that I’ll be okay, begging me for frequent updates as she walks me back out to my car. I promise her everything, but I don’t know how easy it will be to confess everything that happens. I’m embarrassed enough about my struggle already.
When I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building, I notice the familiar figure of a man looming around the front door, and a pit forms in my stomach as I recognize him. I’d given anything for it to be Viktor so that I could confront him and learn the truth, but it isn’t.
It’s Erik.
How the fuck did he find me?