“All right. So healthcare is taken care of. What about after you have the baby? You still going to law school?”
“Yes, absolutely.” The thought of quitting hadn’t even occurred to me. “It’s like college. You have three or four hours of classes a day. The rest of the time, I’ll be home studying.”
His mouth thins out in the first sign of any kind of emotion. “With your stepfather?”
It’s hard not to flush with shame. “He’s an asshole, but he’s never touched me.”
“That’s not much of an endorsement.”
I roll the water bottle between my hands a few times. Tucker waits me out. He’s got more patience than a saint.
“I had to quit my job at the club,” I say quietly. “I was banking on that money to help with my law school tuition. I can’t afford to live anywhere else than where I am now. Plus, I’m hoping that Nana will watch the baby when I’m at school.”
“What about me? Do you trust me?”
My head jerks up to meet his slightly frustrated expression. “Of course.”
“Then why don’t I take care of the baby while you’re in class?”
“Because you’ve got to get a job, right? Nana doesn’t work. She lives off her social security money.”
Tucker rubs a hand across his forehead, as if the enormity of the task we’re about to undertake is finally settling in. “You’re right. I need to find a job.”
“You haven’t found a business yet?”
“There are dozens of them, but if there’s anything I learned about business management, it’s that if you don’t love what you’re doing it’s bound to be a failure.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ll sign on to a construction crew for the summer. I’ve done that in the past and it’s good money. During my time off, I’ll keep looking at different opportunities until I find the right one.”
“So until that time, it makes sense for Nana to help.”
He thinks it over, but he can’t come up with a better solution. “For now. Until we can find something better.” He pauses. “I need to tell my mom. And my teammates.”
The churning that starts in my belly has nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with embarrassment. Which triggers a jolt of self-directed annoyance, because getting pregnant isn’t some horrible, shameful occurrence. I’m an adult. I’m having a baby. That’s not a big deal.
“Will you wait a bit longer? I mean, I’m okay with you telling your mom, but can you keep it quiet with your friends for now?” I hesitate, then confess, “I haven’t told anyone.”
“No one?” he says, incredulous.
I nod miserably. “You’re not the only person I’ve been avoiding. I’ve barely seen Carin or Hope.”
“So you admit you’re avoiding me.”
I can’t look him in the eye. Instead, I pretend to be fixated with the wood grain of the picnic tables. I want so badly to tell him how much I’ve missed him. Because I have. I’ve missed kissing him and joking around with him and hearing him call me “darlin’” in his southern drawl.
I’ve been a largely solitary person my whole life, avoiding Nana and Ray when I could. At Briar, I made friends with Carin and Hope but didn’t feel the need for a bigger, more extensive circle. So the acute loneliness brought on by not seeing Tucker took me by surprise.
But how can I be with him knowing that I’m the one who turned his whole world upside down? The weight of guilt would crush me more than the weight of loneliness.
I take a deep breath, pushing out the words that I don’t want to say. “If you want to see other people…you can. I’m not going to. I don’t have time for that, but if you want to, I don’t mind.”
Silence falls between us.
A long finger finds its way under my chin and lifts it up until I either have to shut my eyes or stare into Tucker’s. I choose the latter, but it’s impossible to read his expression.
He gives me a long, contemplative look before saying, “How about this? I’ll tell you if I’ve found anyone new. And you and I, we can just be friends.” He gentles his tone. “If you decide you want more, we can talk about it then.”
“Friends?” I echo faintly. “I’ll take friends.” And then, because he’s so decent, I blurt out, “I’ve never had a boyfriend. I only know how to hook up and how to screw up.”
“Darlin’—”
Hearing those two soft syllables only heightens my panic. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a parent. God, Tuck, I’ve only thought about one thing my entire life—crawling out of my hellhole. And now I have to drag someone down with me and I don’t know if I can do it.”
Tears that I’ve been holding at bay for weeks spill over. Tucker cups my cheek with one warm hand and stares firmly into my eyes.
“You’re not alone,” he says, fierce and low. “And you’re not dragging anyone down. I’m here with you, Sabrina. Every step of the way.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
*