“You’re smiling,” Ryder says, sitting down beside me on the gym floor the following Friday.
“I am,” I agree, finishing the paper crane I’m making.
“You’re glowing too,” he notes.
“I hear pregnancy does that to you,” I joke.
He grins. “It’s more than that. Are you going to make me beg?”
I laugh and add the finished crane to my growing pile. “I found out I’m having a girl and I’m really, really happy. For the first time through this whole pregnancy I can say I’m happy. Not that I wasn’t happy to be pregnant,” I add quickly, “but I was so sad over Ben’s death that I just … couldn’t grasp that it was actually happening I guess.” I shrug and pick up another piece of paper I’ve already written on. “My sadness overshadowed my joy,” I elaborate.
Ryder nods. “I can see how that would happen. It was hard when Angela passed. There’s a lot I can’t remember about Cole’s first few months. It’s like you’re there, but not.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
“So, I was thinking,” he begins, “why don’t we go out together this weekend to set our paper cranes around?” I look at him like he’s grown another head. “Not like a date or anything,” he explains quickly.
“Why would I think it was a date?” I ask, fighting a smile.
He looks away and says, “No reason.”
“I think that would be fun.” I put the poor guy out of his misery. I normally do it by myself, but it would be nice to have someone to go with me.
His face splits into a grin, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that butterflies took flight in my stomach. “Good. It’ll be fun. My parents are watching Cole this weekend, and I normally just chill at home by myself, but I didn’t want to do that this time.” His eyes roam over my face, like he’s drinking in every feature of mine and filing it away so he can remember it when I’m no longer in front of him.
“Just text me,” I tell him, setting aside the newly finished paper crane. “I can meet you whenever.” It wasn’t like I had any plans.
He nods. “I will.” He clears his throat and stands. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow then?” he asks one last time, like he’s afraid I’ve changed my mind in the last two seconds.
“Yeah,” I say, fighting a smile at his awkwardness. I find it endearing, honestly, how nervous he gets.
He walks off to speak to someone else and beside me Ivy makes a noise. “He’s got it bad for you.” She laughs under her breath, scribbling words across the page in her lap.
“No, he doesn’t,” is my automatic rebuttal.
She eyes me. We both know I’m lying through my teeth. I look in the direction that Ryder went.
He’s smart.
Good-looking.
Kind.
And he sets my heart aflame.
But I’m scared. Terrified of loving someone else the way I loved Ben and losing them.
My breath catches. Is that the real reason I’m holding myself back? Not because it’s too soon, but because I’m scared I might love him and lose him too?
I lower my head and go back to work on the paper cranes. I try to dismiss my thoughts from my mind, but they hang around like a pesky fly, and I don’t think they’re going to go away easily. If at all.
Ryder asks me to meet him at the coffee shop—the one we ran into each other at several months ago—at eleven.
I had planned to dress simply and not bother doing much to my hair or messing with makeup. After all, it’s not a date. But once I receive his text, I end up shutting myself in the bathroom and doing everything I vowed not to do. I curl my hair and apply more than the bare minimum of makeup. Since it’s blazing hot out I dress in a cute floral dress that rests over my bump. I slip on a pair of flats and gather my purse and the envelope full of paper cranes.
My mom eyes me with a knowing look when I come downstairs.
“Where are you off to?” she asks, glancing up from the book she’s reading. Her purple reading glasses slide down the edge of her nose.
“Going with a friend from Group to set our paper cranes around,” I say, hedging toward the door. It’s so close, but so far away.
“Ivy,” she asks and then with a knowing smile, she adds, “or Ryder?”
I can’t lie to my mom—I mean, it’s my mom. “Ryder,” I mumble. Her face breaks out into an ear-splitting grin. “It’s not a date.” I point a finger at her in warning. Her smile never falters, though.
“Mhm,” she says.
“It’s n-o-o-o-t,” I sing-song.