This is the fourteenth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, and Part XIII before continuing.
I was feeling much better after my therapy session.
Until I looked at my phone.
I opened Instagram, hoping to get a dopamine boost from all the puppy accounts I follow, when I saw it.
I had forgotten to unfollow Nikki on Instagram, and because she had been my best friend until a few days ago, she appeared at the top of my feed because we had always engaged with each other’s posts.
In this one, she and Randy were smiling at the camera while holding a picture between them … a picture of an ultrasound.
I saw red.
It took all my self-control and breathing exercises to not throw my phone across the room. I had to remind myself that I liked my phone. I needed my phone. And those assholes had taken enough from me already. They would not take my phone away from me, too!
What made me so furious was that Randy and I had talked about having kids. I hadn’t really wanted kids until I met Randy, but I had always thought he would be such a good dad that it made me want to have kids with him.
He hadn’t felt the same way.
He said he didn’t want kids at all.
Now, looking at his smiling face, eyes wide open in glee, I saw what he hadn’t said: he did want to have kids. Just not with me.
I managed not to throw my phone across the room, but I did throw it on the couch because my self-control is limited.
Since I had just gotten off with my therapist, I knew I wouldn’t be able to schedule an emergency meeting with them.
So, I did the next best thing. I practiced the five senses exercise they had taught me, and felt instantly better … until I remembered Randy telling me how annoying people became when they had kids and suddenly lost the ability to talk about anything else.
Then I thought about him and Nikki becoming those people and saw red again.
So, I went to my backup therapist: Jessica.
I knocked on her door, not even sure she was home. It took her a few minutes to open the door, and I was just about to turn around and go back downstairs to my own apartment when her door swung open.
She looked at me in confusion as I sobbed on her doorstep. Finally, I was able to say, “They’re pregnant.”
It took a moment for her to work that out with zero context. Then the confusion was replaced by sympathy, and she took me into her arms.
To be continued…