“So happy.” She hugged me around the middle. I lifted her feet off the sidewalk.
“It’s heaven to make you happy,” I whispered into her hair.
Hannah prevailed upon my good mood, asking if she could deliver the food I’d bought for Chrissy. “And the check, too.”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “I suppose so. That whole-grain bread is awful anyway.”
“Let’s get a dog when we have a house.” She swung our joined hands like a child.
“Fine,” I said, “but no cats. I hate cats. A dog would be all right, so long as he doesn’t bother Laurence.”
“He!” Hannah laughed. “What if I want a girl?”
We exchanged a fast, alarmed look. Were we still talking about dogs? I quickened my pace, waving a hand.
“He, she … I’m fine with whatever.”
I felt Hannah’s eyes on me, but I refused to look at her.
“Matt, I—”
“Please. Not now.” Children. I had wanted to talk about this, and now I was afraid to talk about it. What if she said something finalizing and I couldn’t change her mind?
“I know what you were thinking about,” she said.
She pulled me to a stop. We sat on a bench and watched the nighttime traffic.
“I’m not ready.” Her tone was cautious.
“Mm.”
“I might never be.”
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.