25
After
I bite at Sawyer’s bottom lip in his parents’ kitchen; I run my hands up over the fuzz where his hair used to be. “There you are,” he says after a minute, two palms on either side of my face like he wants to make sure I’m not planning to go anywhere. He’s smiling hard and bright against my mouth.
“Hi.” Kissing him feels familiar but also new, a song they haven’t played on the radio in a really long time. “Risotto needs a stir.”
“Who cares?” He’s got his teeth at the place where my neck meets my shoulder and is lifting me up off the counter the tiniest bit. “God, Reena,” he murmurs, nosing close to my ear. “I missed you so freaking much.”
“Shh,” I hush him, concentrating. He tastes like salt and summer, the same. “No, you didn’t.”
Right away Sawyer gets that look on his face like I’ve slapped him, and he sets me down on the counter with a thud that sings up through my spine.
“Ow! What the hell, Sawyer?” I reach behind me to rub my tailbone. “That hurt.”
“Sorry.” His face softens for a moment. “But I don’t know how much I appreciate you constantly acting like you don’t believe a single word that comes out of my mouth.”
I bark out a brittle little laugh, incredulous. “I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a liar!”
“Well, then why are you here?” he explodes.
I glare at him, embarrassed. This was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake coming in, and I did it anyway. Slow learner, I think, hating myself and Sawyer equally. Stupid girl.
“Look, Reena,” Sawyer says quietly. He gets a little closer again, careful, warm breath at the spot behind my ear. “Sooner or later, I think we’re going to do this.”
I jerk away like he’s radioactive. “The hell we are.”
“We are,” he says, like it’s that simple. I want to jump down off the counter, but he’s standing in my way. “And don’t talk like you don’t want to, either, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be showing up at my house at eleven o’clock at night so I could make you a second dinner you don’t even want to eat.” He looks so sure of himself I could kill him. “But I’m not going to let it happen until you forgive me.”
“Well, then, I guess we won’t be doing it for a hundred thousand years.”
Sawyer snorts. “I guess not.”
“Oh, suddenly you’re into delayed gratification?” I’m striking out in every direction, indiscriminate. I want to hurt him as fast and as badly as I can. On the stove the rice is boiling over, an angry hiss.
“You’re pissed,” he says, eyes narrowing. I can tell that blow landed, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as it should. “So I’m going to let that one slide.”
“How charitable of you.”
Sawyer shrugs. “If I just wanted sex, I could get sex. Trust me, I’ve done it. But I want you.”
I seriously almost slap him. “God, you are such an ass.””
It’s a sickness.”
“Yeah, we should throw you a fund-raiser.”
He grins. “You’re getting feisty in your old age.”
“Well.” I want to mark up this perfect kitchen, pull the pans off the rack and draw on the walls like the baby with a Sharpie. “Getting knocked up and walked out on will do that to a person.”
“I didn’t know you were pregnant!”
“I don’t care!”
Sawyer sighs noisily. “So what are you going to do, storm out on me again? Because—”
“Yes, actually,” I fire back. This time I do hop down onto the tile, shove him roughly out of my way. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I grab my shoulder bag off the table, brush past him. The smell of burning rice sticks to my T-shirt clear across town.
*
I get home and head upstairs to check on the baby, anger and exhaustion and that infinite embarrassment still rattling around like loose coins inside my head. The house is cool and silent, the hallway dark save for the glow of Hannah’s nightlight spilling dimly out the half-open door; I get in there and find her wide-awake and waiting, calm as the surface of a cool, placid lake. “Hi, Mama,” she says cheerfully, grinning like possibly she stayed up just to talk to me and is pleased with herself for being so clever. Her eyes are fathoms and fathoms deep.
“Hi, baby.” I drop my purse on the floor and cross the carpet, suddenly a hundred percent sure I’m about to cry. I’m just stupidly relieved to see her, is all, this twenty-pound miracle I thought for sure would make me a prisoner, hands and feet bound zip-tie secure. It does feel like that some days, to be honest, but right now I’m bone-grindingly glad.
I swallow the tears, smile back. “Hi, Hannah,” I say again, lifting her out of the crib and cuddling her against me, rubbing her warm downy head against my cheek. She’s getting heavy lately, more toddler than baby. It makes me feel weirdly nostalgic and bittersweet. “Whatcha still doing up, huh?”
Hannah doesn’t answer—she’s got words but not so much conversation yet—and instead she just snuggles into my body, surprisingly strong arms coming up around my neck. “Mama,” she murmurs again.
“I am your mama,” I tell her, sinking down into the rocking chair and smoothing patterns with my palm across her tiny baby back. “I’m the only one you’ve got, poor thing.”