“I’ll see you soon, okay?” I tell him, not wanting to leave, but knowing my dad and Alec are waiting for me.
“Okay, bye, Lexi.”
Lexi
One Week Later
“What are you doing?” Alec yells over the smoke alarm as I pull the burnt to a crisp bread out of the toaster and toss it into the garbage can.
“I was trying to make toast!” I yell back, swiping my tears off my face.
Alec reaches up and presses the button, turning the alarm off. “Lex, we’ve talked about this. You’re going to burn the place down if you keep trying to cook shit.”
He turns around and when he sees I’m crying, he pulls me into his arms. “Baby, what’s wrong? It’s just burnt toast.”
“It’s not just burnt toast,” I cry out. “How am I supposed to feed my own baby if I can’t even toast bread?”
Alec laughs. “We have a long time before you need to cook for the baby. Plus, don’t babies take bottles until they’re like four?”
“Four?” I glare at him. “I’m pretty sure that’s not accurate. RJ doesn’t take a bottle anymore and he’s only one. But I don’t know,” I hiccup through a sob, “because I have no idea about babies, and apparently neither do you. How the hell are we going to raise a baby if neither of us knows anything?”
Alec almost laughs again, but quickly stifles it. “We have our family and friends. We’ll read up on it all. Every new parent has to start somewhere, but, Lex… no more cooking, please. If I have to, I’ll hire someone to cook for us.”
“Fine,” I huff.
“I love you,” he says, giving me a kiss. “I’ll see tomorrow morning.”
“Love you too.”
One Week After the Burnt Toast
“What are you doing lying in bed?” Georgia accuses.
“What else am I supposed to be doing?” I flip through the shows, trying to find one I haven’t watched yet. “I can’t surf because I’m pregnant. I’m not allowed to cook or bake anything. Alec forbade me from going out and graffitiing the walls…” I roll my eyes as I recall the fight that ensued. I know he was right, and had I gotten caught, being pregnant and in jail would’ve been a bad thing, but I’m fucking bored.
Aside from visiting Aiden every day, I have nothing else to do. “I’m a college drop-out…I can’t figure out how to help Aiden…” I’ve tried calling several organizations but none of them were helpful because Aiden is an adult. The only thing I can do is report him, which would get him arrested. I looked into assisted living for him, but it’s more than I can afford. I would use up my entire trust fund in three years, and then what? “Pretty much, I’m a loser.”
Georgia grabs the remote and turns the TV off. “It’s your birthday. I’m taking you to lunch.”
“Fine.” I can always eat. At fourteen weeks pregnant, the morning sickness is gone and my appetite is plentiful. Since Alec is working and couldn’t get off, we’re planning to celebrate my birthday this weekend.
We arrive in the Arts District and walk to my favorite deli. I haven’t been here since Alec took me on our first date. The walls are filled with art, and it makes my heart both full and sad.
“I miss this,” I tell her, when we walk past one of my drawings.
“Well, maybe instead of creating illegally, create legally.”
I roll my eyes. “Have you ever searched my hashtag?” I pull my phone out and type it in, then show her. “Four million tags. Four million people took pictures of my art.”
“And imagine how many would buy it if you created it on actual canvases instead of on the side of buildings.”
“It’s not about the money. It’s about the purpose of the art. Using it to make a difference. I just…I want to make a difference.”
I continue walking down the sidewalk when I notice Georgia is no longer next to me. “What are you doing?” I ask, looking back and seeing her standing in front of the abandoned building.
“You said you want your art to make a difference,” she says.
“Yeah…”
“And you want to help Aiden…”
“Uh-huh.”
“I have an idea.”
“Well, don’t be all suspenseful. Tell me.”
“An art gallery, here. It can be a non-profit organization to help autistic children and adults. We could create an entire program that allows them to create, and the pieces we sell can help fund the program.”
I stare at the large, empty building and can picture everything she’s saying. Aiden could come here and have a safe place to draw. I could paint and teach and help others like Aiden. There’s only one problem…
“How would I afford this?”
“I said ‘we’,” Georgia says. “In case you forgot, I have money, and I met with my financial advisor the other day, who told me I should consider making donations to help with the tax write-offs at the end of the year.”