Chapter 69 We are broke
They spent the weekend in a fog of research and discussion.
Doctor’s appointments to confirm the pregnancy. Calculating due dates.
October, probably. Reading about options, timelines, and what each choice would mean.
“We could not continue this,” Aiden said Saturday night. “If that’s what you want. I’ll support whatever you decide.”
“I know. But I also…” Ariella put a hand on her still-flat stomach. “I kind of want to? Which is insane because we’re nineteen and broke and still in school.”
“We’re not broke. I have the trust fund…”
“Which you were saving for after graduation. For starting your firm.”
“Plans change. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. All of it.”
“Are we doing this?”
“I think so? If you want to?”
They looked at each other, both terrified, both somehow sure.
“Let’s do it,” Ariella said. “Let’s have a baby and figure out the rest as we go.”
“We’re going to be terrible at this.”
“Absolutely terrible.”
“But together.”
“Always together.”
They told their families on Sunday.
Claire cried happy tears, shocked tears, overwhelmed tears. “You’re nineteen. You’re babies yourselves.”
“We know, Mom.”
“But you’re sure? You’ve thought about this?”
“We’re sure. Terrified, but sure.”
Claire pulled her into a fierce hug. “Then I’m here. Whatever you need. Babysitting, advice, panic calls at three a.m., I’m here.”
Lily’s reaction was simpler: “I’m going to be an aunt? Oh my god, I’m going to be an aunt! Can I teach them swear words?”
“No.”
“Can I teach them slightly inappropriate songs?”
“Also no.”
“You’re no fun.”
Marcus, when they told him, looked thoughtful. “This is unexpected.”
“Very.”
“But you’re keeping it?”
“We are.”
“Then congratulations. You’ll need lawyers to update your wills, set up trusts for the child, establish guardianship parameters…”
“Marcus,” Aiden interrupted. “We’re nineteen. We don’t need wills yet.”
“Everyone needs a will. Especially people with children and substantial assets. I’ll draft something next week.”
Because even surprise pregnancies came with Frost Industries-level logistics.
The first trimester was brutal.
Ariella was nauseous constantly, exhausted beyond belief, and trying to hide it from her culinary instructors while working with food all day.
“This is ironic,” she told Aiden after throwing up for the third time that morning. “I’m training to be a chef and I can’t keep food down.”
“Can you defer the semester?”
“And do what? I’d just be sitting home being pregnant and miserable instead of being pregnant and miserable while learning things.”
“Fair point.”
She pushed through. Made it to class, worked through nausea, survived on crackers and ginger tea. Her instructors noticed but didn’t pry, assuming stress or illness.
By April, she couldn’t hide it anymore. Started showing just enough that her chef whites fit differently.
Chef Laurent pulled her aside after class. “Are you pregnant?”
No point lying. “Yes, chef.”
“How far along?”
“Fourteen weeks.”
He nodded slowly. “Can you continue the program?”
“I want to. I can work until…I don’t know, late summer probably? Then I’d need to take the fall semester off. But I want to come back after.”
“We don’t typically allow interruptions in the program.”
Ariella’s heart sank. “I understand.”
“However,” he continued, “we also don’t typically have students with your skill level. You’ve earned some flexibility. Take the semester off. Come back in January. We’ll make it work.”
Relief flooded through her. “Thank you, chef.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You’ll have to work twice as hard to catch up.”
“I can do that.”
Aiden’s professors were similarly accommodating when he explained the situation. Architecture programs were intense, but they’d work with him on scheduling.
“Everyone’s being so nice about this,” Ariella said. “I expected judgment.”
“Maybe people are more understanding than we think.”
“Or maybe we’re just lucky.”
“Can’t it be both?”
In May, they went for the anatomy scan.
The technician squirted gel on Ariella’s now-visible bump. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The screen flickered to life. Tiny hands, tiny feet, a face that was somehow both alien and perfect.
“Everything looks healthy,” the technician said. “Good size, good heartbeat. Want to know the sex?”
Ariella looked at Aiden. “Do we?”
“I think so?”
“It’s a girl,” the technician said.
A girl. They were having a daughter.
Ariella burst into tears. “We’re having a daughter.”
“We’re having a daughter,” Aiden echoed, looking dazed.
The technician smiled. “Congratulations. She looks perfect.”
They left with photos, grainy black and white images of their perfect daughter. In the car, they sat staring at them.
“A girl,” Aiden said. “We’re going to have a daughter.”
“Are you disappointed? Did you want a boy?”
“God, no. I’m terrified either way, but a girl…” He touched the photo gently. “We’re going to have a daughter.”
“We need to tell people. Choose names. Buy things. Oh god, we need to buy so many things.”
“We have five months.”
“That’s not enough time!”
“It’s plenty of time. We’ll figure it out.”
They did figure it out, slowly. Converted their second bedroom into a nursery. Argued about names, Aiden wanted something traditional, Ariella wanted something unique. Registered for baby things they didn’t understand but the internet said they needed.
Claire helped with everything, her joy infectious. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother.”
“You’re forty-four. That’s not that old.”
“I know, but still. Grandmother. It sounds so adult.”
“We’re all adults now. Allegedly.”
“Allegedly,” Claire agreed.
Lily threw them a baby shower in June, small, just family and close friends. Sophie came down from Seattle with her girlfriend. Marcus brought a ridiculously expensive stroller.
“This is too much,” Ariella protested.
“It’s a Frost grandchild. Nothing is too much.”
They opened gifts, tiny clothes, books, and stuffed animals. Each item makes the reality more concrete. They were having a baby. An actual human baby who would depend on them for everything.
“We’re going to screw this up so badly,” Ariella whispered to Aiden.
“Absolutely. But we’ll screw it up together.”
“Is that comforting?”
“That's all I’ve got.”
July brought a heat wave and Ariella’s growing discomfort.
“I’m huge,” she complained, sprawled on their orange couch with ice on her swollen ankles.
“You’re perfect.”
“I’m a whale.”
“You’re growing our daughter. That’s pretty incredible.”
“Your daughter is using my bladder as a trampoline. Less incredible.”
He laughed, rubbing her feet. “What can I get you?”
“A new body and ice cream. Definitely ice cream.”
They’d settled on a name finally: Elena Marie. Elena for new beginnings. Marie after Catherine. A name that honored the past while looking toward the future.
“Elena,” Ariella said, feeling her daughter kick. “Hi, Elena. We can’t wait to meet you.”
Another kick, stronger this time.
“She hears you,” Aiden said, hand on Ariella’s belly.
“I hope she knows how loved she already is.”
“She’ll know. We’ll make sure she knows.”