Things You Shouldn’t Do With Your College Boyfriend: Fake A Pregnancy


Read also: Things You Shouldn’t Do With Your College Boyfriend: Move In Together, Things You Shouldn’t Do With Your College Boyfriend: Make A Big Purchase, Things You Shouldn’t Do With Your College Boyfriend: Sign A Lease, and Things You Shouldn’t Do With Your College Boyfriend: Give Him An Ultimatum

She glanced up from her phone just in time to see her boyfriend Michael’s head duck into the restaurant.

“Here. Keep the change,” she sputtered, tossing back the last of her Rosé and throwing the bartender a $20.

She slid off her stool and let her Louboutin-clad feet (thanks, Mom) hit the dark, hardwood floor of the bar with a resounding click. She saw Michael approach the hostess station with a stressed look on his usually carefree face. Gosh, he was cute. To be honest, she wasn’t entirely sure how this was going to play out. She didn’t normally get in over her head, but as she stalked off to the bathroom and ran a freshly manicured hand through her hair, she felt panic hit her stomach. When she sent him the “I think I’m pregnant” text two days ago, she didn’t have an exact plan. Or any plan, for that matter. Seeing him with his arm around that slutty brunette on Instagram had made her act without reason. And now, she had to either fess up or play out this lie until she got what she wanted.

Obviously, she was choosing option two.

Whatever, it will be fine, she thought, as she pushed her way into the ladies bathroom and squeezed up to the sink. She glanced at her flushed reflection and grabbed her compact. Thanks to the two glasses of wine she’d had to pregame this conversation, she had total alcohol face right now. Just pretend you think you might be pregnant, she coached herself as she fished some gum out of her Kate Spade. She always lowkey had dreams of being an actress (and being swept off her feet by a Hemsworth), so all she had to do was act the part. Time to make those $1,000 acting classes she insisted she needed in high school worth it.

“It could totallyyyyy be true,” her best friend Alex had assured her when they scrambled to figured out how to recover from her drunken, angry text. “I mean, you guys like, never, use condoms.”

“That’s true…” she replied, calculating how to do this so she would not only win Michael back but not look like an asshole and still move in together in a few months. “What if I just say my period is late?” She had reasoned, reaching for her Macbook and typing the words “pregnancy scare” into the search bar. “I mean, I’m not supposed to get it until next week, but there’s no way he would know that.”

So after some brief roleplay sessions with Alex (all fueled by Grey Goose and reading “I’m scared I’m pregnant” posts on the internet), they put a plan in motion. She finally, tearfully answered Michael’s relentless calls and agreed to meet him for dinner to discuss what was going on. As long as it had white table clothes and an extensive wine list (no she wasn’t drinking, she just liked the glamour!), serving as the perfect setting to create a dramatic scene, she’d agree to see him. Sure it was cruel, but so was trying to back out of their agreement to get an apartment together and touching another female in a photo.

With one last glance at her reflection, she pasted her best “I’m relieved to see you but there’s some heavy shit going on” look on her face and marched out the door. She clicked past the bar that she was just chugging vino at, and headed to the hostess, who she had tipped off an hour ago.

“Where is he?” she murmured, thanking her founders that she was smart enough to promise this restaurant worker a snap bid if she agreed to help her out.

“Right over there,” the girl whispered, and pointed a finger with cheap, chipped polished finger towards a handsome man in a light blue Mizzen and Main. She could see his back muscles straining against the shirt, and more than anything she wanted to practice making a baby, right there on the exquisitely set table.

“Did he see me?” she hissed, straightening her LBD and tucking a flyaway behind her ear.

“No, no. I sent him in the other direction,” the mousy hostess said, eager to please the girl who bribed her with sisterhood.

“Perfect, thanks,” she glanced at the hostess’s elegant name tag, “Bethany. Now real quick, do I smell like alcohol?” She shoved her face over the podium and breathed her warm breath into the girl’s unsuspecting face.”

“Uh, no?” Bethany murmured, avoiding eye contact as a blush spread over her face. “You smell like mint. Spearmint to be exact.”

She felt a small, devious smile play on her lips.

“Alright, then. Let’s do this Beth,” she muttered, stepping back to let the hostess lead the way.

They approached Michael, and she could feel her heartbeat increase at the site of his perfectly disheveled, dark brown hair. This is it, she told herself, as she took a deep breath and sauntered around him, watching as he quickly scanned her bodycon up and down for signs of a baby. After two days? What an idiot. Trying to hide her smirk, she hesitated as he got up to pull out her plush chair, obviously nervous. She settled against the rich upholstery and flashed a tentative smile at him before turning again to glance at Bethany.

“Uh hi. Hello. Welcome to Vespaio. Here are some, uh, some menus. I’ll just, uh, get your waitress and you can, you know. Talk. Okay. Enjoy,” Bethany stuttered, handing them heavy menus and scampered back to her hostess island. Michael, too distracted by the fact that he might soon be a father, thanked her quickly and leaned forward, a look of compassion playing on his chiseled face.

“How are you? How have you been?” He cleared his throat and grasped her hands in his nervous, clammy ones. “You look beautiful,” he added with an air of hidden meaning behind his words.

“Thanks,” she said, leaning back and feeling the rush of playing a part washing over her. She. was. killing it. “I feel like shit, though,” she declared dramatically, pulling her hands away and turning to a passing waiter. “Excuse me? Can we get some bread? I have just been craving carbs all day.” She glanced at Michael and was pleased to see a look of panic cross his face.

The waiter nodded and hurried away as Michael leaned back and heaved a heavy sigh.

“So tell me. What’s, uh, what’s the situation? What’s up?” He wiped his hands on his pants and reached out to his water glass, chugging back half the liquid before she could answer.

Situation? She could feel herself bristling at the callousness of his tone. What if she WAS pregnant? Huh? This is how he would treat her? She narrowed her eyes slightly and reached for her own glass of water. Tap? Ugh. Calm down. Count to five, she told herself, trying to remain composed.

“Well Michael,” she started, taking a pointed sip and slamming the cup back down on the table so that he jumped, “What’s UP is that my period is late, my boobs are tender, I’m hormonal ay eff, and considering how we haven’t used condoms in years, I’m pretty sure I can do the math as to what this means.” She watched the color drain from his face as the magnitude of what she said hit him.

“Oh my gosh baby, that’s uh…that’s,” Michael stopped as their waitress hopped up to the table to introduce herself.

“Good evening, welcome to Vespaio. My name is Claire. Have you dined with us before?” The perky waitress glanced at the tense looking couple and her smile diminished slightly.

“Hi, yes, Claire,” she said, with an air of frustration. “We’re just like, in the middle of a super serious conversation. Could you maybe come back in a few minutes?”

The waitress apologized and quickly retreated, casting a side-eye at them as she went to check on a different table. Michael straightened up and leaned forward again, a look of determination on his face.

“Listen, baby. I know we didn’t plan this, but I love you. I’m willing to do whatever you want. I’ll be by your side through it all. Okay? I know it’s not ideal but life isn’t, is it?” She could see him swallowing back a lump in his throat, and she almost died over how adorable the whole thing was. He was willing to have her baby? Hers? That must mean he would still live with her.

“You mean that?” she purred, grabbing his hands, a feeling of pleasure flushing her. “But what about that girl?” she pushed. She had him right where she wanted him. Now she just needed answers.

“What girl?” He asked, clearly at a loss for what she was talking about.

“The, uh, the one from Instagram,” she murmured, willing herself not to kill him in public if it became obvious that he fucked her.

“Oh her?” he responded with a chuckle. “That’s Tommy’s sister. She’s just visiting. I think she’s seeing a guy back home and wanted to make him jealous or something. Why? You didn’t think I was –?”

“No, no!” she cut him off, not wanting to seem psycho. “Of course not. I was just checking.” She reached for a roll from the basket a waiter had dropped off, and mentally tried to figure out if she had enough room in her diet for these empty carbs. Whatever, she reasoned, taking a big bite. I’m eating for two now, she thought with a giggle.

“So, does that mean you think we should still live together?” she pressed, ready to checkmate him.

“Yes! Baby, of course. I’m so sorry. Yes to the whole thing. The lease, all of it. I can’t believe I was such a dick about it,” he looked down, obviously embarrassed. “Can we just pretend it never happened?”

Success. She took another sip to hide her smile and gently reached out to touch his forearm.

“Of course. I’d like that. Now I still have to take a test…” she started, trailing off at the look on his face. “And I’d like you to be there for it.”

“Of course of course!” He sputtered, sweat pilling on his smooth forehead.

“But even if I’m not, you know,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “pregnant, do you still want to live with me?” The question hung in the air as the whole of their relationship hung on the thread. She moved her hands into her lap and glanced at her peach shellac manicure. What if he said no? She twisted her fingers, too scared to look into his eyes.

“Yes, baby. 100 percent yes,” he murmured.

Relief washed over her as visions of king sized beds, 900 square foot apartments, and maybe, hopefully getting a dog danced in her head. Michael watched her gaze into space, a look of peace on her face, and he knew he did the right thing. Sure, it wouldn’t be easy, but he loved her. And honestly, the chances of him landing a hotter girl was pretty slim. If she was pregnant he would just have to deal and dig into his trust fund a little earlier.

“Why don’t you come over after dinner, we’ll cuddle and watch whatever you want on Netflix, and tomorrow we can go sign the lease?

She nodded at him vigorously and looked around for their waitress.

“Claire! Claire! Get us a bottle of champagne. Something in the like, $60 region,” she started, before glancing at the look of horror on her boyfriend’s face. “Just kidding, Claire. Maybe some lemon for my water?” She leaned forward to kiss Michael, gazing deeply into his eyes. “We are celebrating, after all.”

Image via Shutterstock

Email this to a friend

Rachel Varina

(yeahokaywhat) Aspiring to be the next Tina Fey, Rachel spends her free time doing nothing to reach that goal. While judging people based on how they use "they're" vs. "there" on social media, she likes eating buffalo chicken dip, watching other people's Netflix, and wearing sweatpants way more than is socially acceptable.

For More Photos and Videos

Latest podcasts

New Stories

Load More