I shake my head, feeling suddenly embarrassed, though I can’t put my finger on why.
He merges both glasses into one very full one, then takes a sip, swallows, and smiles. “So what can I get you to drink?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m fine,” I say, as we awkwardly stare at each other, and it actually crosses my mind to just say goodbye and gracefully exit.
“Let me at least give you some water,” he says, getting a glass from his cabinet, then filling it from the faucet. He stares at it a beat, then pours it out and hands me a bottle of Poland Spring from his refrigerator instead.
“Thanks,” I say, untwisting the cap.
“Do you want a glass?”
“No, this is fine.”
He gives me a closemouthed smile, nods, then asks when I’m due.
“August third,” I say. “According to our calculations…but we have an appointment next week to check on all of that.”
“So you haven’t been to the doctor yet?”
I shake my head.
“So how do you know for sure that you’re pregnant?” he asks, sounding a little hopeful, though maybe that part is just in my head.
“About five tests tell me I am.” I force a smile.
He smiles back at me, nods, then asks how my parents took the news. “I assume they’re excited, too?”
“I haven’t told them yet.”
“No?”
“Your sister?”
“Nope. Still haven’t talked to her since I left New York….You’re actually the first person I’ve told,” I say with a nervous laugh, suddenly questioning my judgment.
“Wow, Josie…Thank you. That’s so nice….I’m really honored,” he says. “And touched.”
I nod and glance away, mumbling that it’s really no big deal.
“Yeah, it is,” he says kindly, starting to sound like himself again. “And I’m just so happy for you. This is what you wanted—and you got it. Good for you.” He hugs me again; this time it feels warm and genuine.
“Thank you. I really appreciate that,” I say, as we separate. “But there are a couple of drawbacks….” My voice trails off, but I do my best not to look sad.
“Oh?” he replies. “And what are those?”
“Well…for one…I’m going to get really fat.” I laugh.
“Pregnant. Not fat,” he says.
It is the exact right thing to say, and I tell him so.
He smiles and gives me a playful high five. “Gotta love when you say the right thing to a pregnant woman.”
I smile.
“So…what’s the other drawback?”
I take another sip of water, stalling for a few seconds before admitting the truth. How I really feel. “Well, I’m a little sad, too.”
“About?”
“About us…I know this will change things between us.”
Pete nods, now looking unmistakably sad, too. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess it probably will.”
My heart sinks, though I am also relieved by his candor. In fact, his complete lack of bullshit might be one of the things I like best about him. So I press onward—and ask him the question I’ve been wondering since Thanksgiving morning.
“So tell me. If I hadn’t gone down this road…with Gabe…If I weren’t pregnant…?” I stop suddenly and shake my head at the futility of what-ifs. “Never mind,” I say, shaking my head.
“No. Go on,” he insists, holding my gaze. “Please?”
“Okay.” I nod, then take a deep breath and finish. “If I weren’t having a baby, could you have seen a future for us? I mean—any possibility of a future?”
Pete’s eyes say it all, even before he nods and utters a very clear yes.
I chew my lower lip, willing myself not to feel regret. Telling myself we could’ve just as easily broken up in a few months, setting my time line back that much further, bringing me one step closer to my ultimate, inevitable infertility. I also remind myself that this is what I’ve always wanted—that I’m going to be a mother, and although motherhood is a gift, it is also a sacrifice: the ultimate sacrifice. I might as well get used to that now.
“Oh, well,” I finally say, forcing a small shrug and smile. “Story of my life.”
Several long seconds pass before he clears his throat and says, “But ask me the question a different way.”
I hesitate, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Ask me if I can still picture a future for us?” he says, his cheeks now flushed.
My heart racing, I ask the question, our eyes locked: “Can you still picture a future for us?”
He takes one of my hands in his. “Yeah. I can, actually….It’s a long shot…but I still can.”
I shiver, goosebumps rising everywhere—on my arms and legs and the back of my neck. “Really?” I ask, my insides melting, my voice trembling. “Do you really mean that?”
He nods, looking as earnest as he ever has—which is saying a lot. “Yes, Josie, I do mean that. I’ve been thinking about this a lot….And this baby isn’t a deal breaker for me. If anything, it makes me care for you more.”