I looked at her. Now it was Hannah’s turn to avoid eye contact.
The weight of her words settled on me—never—and I sat in silence, stunned by how much I wanted what she didn’t. A little Matt-Hannah person. A family. Fucking hell …
“I only thought…,” I started. “Well, I wanted—one day—it’s only occurred to me lately—”
“I basically raised my brother and sister.”
“What?” I frowned.
“Yeah. Um, Jay is nine years younger than I am. Chrissy is six years younger. Honestly, I thought it was normal … until I made friends in high school and realized, well, that it wasn’t normal.” She shrugged. “Dad worked really hard and Mom had some anxiety issues when we were growing up. She was a stay-at-home mom, technically, but a lot of times she just … wasn’t around. I knew how to change a diaper when I was seven. I got, like, CPR certified at ten.”
“Is that even legal?”
Hannah nodded. “The older I got, the more Mom relied on me. She would come home and I had fed the kids and put them to bed. And they would ask me stuff before even thinking to ask her. Could they go to a friend’s house, have a snack before dinner, watch TV?”
“Damn…”
“Yeah. By the time I went to college, Jay and Chrissy could fend for themselves, and Mom got some of her issues figured out. She got on medication and started working and stuff. But from ten to nineteen”—Hannah looked at me earnestly—“I sort of had to be a mother, and I didn’t like it. I don’t know if it would be different if the child was mine, or if it would be the same … crushing responsibility, total loss of freedom…”
“Mm.” I reached for her hands, which were knotted on her lap. Hannah’s reasoning made sense. And now, her fiercely protective feeling for Chrissy made more sense.
“And pregnancy freaks me out,” she persisted. “The idea of something alive inside me? That’s scary and weird for me … Say something.”
“What is there to say?” I released her hands. “I get it.”
“Do you? But you’re upset. Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I stared ahead.
“There’s plenty to talk about. I mean … are you … pro-life?” she blurted.
“What? God, no. Why?”
“I don’t know. The way you reacted to the idea of Chrissy getting an abortion. And, I mean, I know you’re … some sort of Christian.”
“Oh, yes, let the generalities fly.” I scowled.
“Why are you so touchy about your faith?”
“Because I don’t have much faith left,” I snapped, “and what little I’ve got shouldn’t be used to make me out as some Bible-thumping hypocrite, all right? It’s personal.”
She wiggled her hand out of mine.
“I am not doing that. Stop ruining our nice night.”
I frowned and looked down at Hannah. She was right, as usual. Any time she mentioned my faith, I bit her head off.
“It’s … her choice,” I said. It was Chrissy’s choice. If Hannah were pregnant, though, I wouldn’t be so indifferent, and I knew it. We’d called one another Auntie Hannah and Uncle Matthew, playfully. That kind of play is dangerous. In that moment, I had imagined Hannah with our niece or nephew, and the idea was sweet. If that idea became an impossibility, it would be a loss for me, no two ways about it.
“You look unhappy.” She touched my cheek. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I said, which might turn out to be true.
Chapter 21
HANNAH
I wheeled my chair into Pam’s office. Matt sat across from Pam’s desk. Pam sat behind it like the presiding judge.
Matt held the Last Light manuscript, which looked a little worse for wear since I’d chucked it at him on our balcony.
I bit my lip, fighting inappropriate laughter
“I’ll start by stating the obvious,” Matt said. “Hannah is uneasy about Last Light’s publication—how it could affect our image, my career, et cetera.”
“Valid concerns,” said Pam. “There will be a lot of speculation with the book. Your detractors will love it—gives them ammo to call you a liar. Your loyal readers will love it, too. It’s a bold story. Whatever the case, the response will be loud, which is good for sales.”
“I’m not particularly worried about sales.” Matt slouched, his long legs extending under Pam’s desk. It was fascinating to watch them interact. Matt appeared unconcerned with Pam’s opinion, when I knew he cared deeply, and Pam threw her weight around, when I knew how much she valued Matt.
Also, sweet Lord, my future husband in serious mode is hot.
I flushed, dismissing the thought.
When would I get used to being around him? Maybe never.
Matt and Pam bickered lazily and I felt useless. Ignore me; I’m just here for decoration. I sighed too deeply. They both went silent and glared at me. I smiled. Oops …
Their banter resumed.
“All I’m suggesting…” Matt was on his feet.
Pam was gesturing. “Could have told me…”
“And risk having you tell the authorities?”
“Have I ever told anyone anything?”
“That’s hardly what this is about!”
I cleared my throat.
Again, two pairs of irate eyes landed on me.
“I … have an idea,” I said.
“By all means,” Pam said.
Matt’s expression softened. He retook his seat and reached for my hand. I smiled and squeezed his fingers.
“I’ve been thinking about the book,” I said, “which, well, I don’t exactly want published.” I glanced at Pam. She was watching us with a flat “get a room” sort of look. “But I know how important it is to Matt. I also know everyone who reads it is going to think it’s true, and I don’t think we can risk looking like we lied to the media. Not in such a bold-faced way, without addressing the issue. So, let’s publish it with a proviso. An open-ended disclaimer. I mean, something more than the usual ‘this is a work of fiction’ stuff.”