“He basically said he couldn’t handle this and didn’t know what to do, and we hung up.”
“Ugh. Not helpful or supportive.”
“Nope, no surprise there. But then five minutes later, he called back.”
“And?”
“And said he needs to see me, and he’s driving up.”
Another gasp. “Really?”
I grimaced. “Really.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
“I think he’s either going to be all sweet and persuasive and try to convince me to get rid of it because life is all about fun and games and we’re too young to be saddled with this, or he’ll offer me money.”
“Money for what?”
“I don’t know. To leave him alone so he can skip out to California unencumbered?”
“I think you’re selling him short, Nat. I’m on your side no matter what, but I do think you could maybe cut the guy some slack. You just told him you were pregnant. You’ve had days to think about this—he’s had minutes.”
“Yeah,” I said grudgingly. “Maybe.”
“What do you want him to say?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. This is such a fucking mess.”
“Just hear him out. He deserves that, at least.”
“Why?” I snapped. “Because his dick has good aim?”
“No, crabbypants. Because you’ve been friends forfuckingever, and you care about each other, and no matter which way you look at it, this is his baby, too.”
Baby. I sighed. Every time someone referred to it as a baby, I melted. There was no way I could end this pregnancy—deep down, I knew that. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, but politics aside, this was something Miles and I had done willingly. We’d taken the risk because we trusted each other. We cared for each other and always had.
“Fine. I’ll listen.”
“Fair enough. You need anything? I’m just getting to the grocery store. I could bring you some dinner.”
“No, that’s all right.”
“OK. Call me tomorrow.”
“I will. Night.”
We hung up, and I puttered around the house for a while, aimlessly wandering from room to room, picking things up and putting them down, idly wondering where I’d put things like a crib, a high chair, a rocker. Pretty soon, I felt too restless to be contained by the walls, and I grabbed a swimsuit and went to the gym. A swim always cleared my head, and it had never felt more muddled than it did right now.
But what was I going to do about my heart?
I called her when I was five minutes from her house.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I’m just getting here. Can I come over?”
She sighed. “I guess so.”
“Are you feeling OK?” Fear gutted me, and I realized I’d better get used to that feeling. I’d be worried about her all the time now.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Can I bring you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“No, thank you.”
“OK, I’ll be there in five.”
We hung up, and I pressed my lips together, going over in my mind what I wanted to say. You’d think as a writer I’d have a good enough command of my vocabulary to string something solid and convincing together, but every time I thought about Natalie being pregnant with my baby, my brain went to mush. What did she want to hear? Would she believe me if I told her I loved her? Would she take me seriously when I told her I wanted her to have this child? That I’d do anything to help her? That I’d never let her be alone?
When I pulled up in her driveway, I still had no clear strategy.
My heart thumped hard as I knocked on her door. Fuck, I’d showered today, right? But had I put real pants on? Was my shirt clean? I looked down at myself. OK, the jeans were fine, and the light blue t-shirt appeared to be in decent shape, although I wished I’d have put a nicer one on.
She opened the door, and I couldn’t breathe. That feeling struck me again—that surge of longing to do everything at once. Hold her, kiss her, touch her, tell her everything, wrap her up in my arms and keep her there until she believed how much I loved her, how much I needed her, how hard I’d work to deserve her.
“Hi,” she said, her expression neutral. “Come on in.”
I followed her through the kitchen to her family room, noting not only the nice furniture but the books on the coffee table, the pictures on the walls, the healthy-looking plants in the corner. Damn, a white couch. Grownups had things like white couches and managed not to ruin them, didn’t they? I’d have already spilled salsa, dripped pizza sauce, and dumped beer on it. I sat down on it cautiously.
Natalie stared at me like I was nuts. “It’s a couch. It’s not going to bite you.”
“I know. It’s just so nice.”
She flopped down on the other end, not touching me, her legs tucked beneath her. “Thanks.”
“How are you feeling?” I sat forward and focused intently on her, eager to show her I could be less selfish than I’d been in the past.