Hewatched me with an odd blend of resentment and sympathy. He pulled in a heavybreath, then nodded. “Fine. Sure.”
Andwith that, we decided we weren't all that hungry and went our separate ways.
Chapter Three
When Isuggested he sleep on it, just like it had been suggested to me by the friendlybartender. I’d also said to take a day or two to think things over. And I guessI thought he'd call me up the next day to admit he was scared and anxious, butstill willing to try. Clearly, somewhere in my hope for a miracle, I'dforgotten that Brendan never called and never texted. So, why had I thoughtthis would be any different?
“Becauseit's his baby, too,” I answered aloud, startling Mrs. Potter from her afternoonnap on the windowsill.
Iwas carrying his child. No, it wasn't planned. No, it wasn't intentional. Butthat didn't change the fact that it had happened. And not speaking to me forfive days wasn't going to make any of it disappear.
Iwondered if I should call him and ask how he was doing. I had never let thismuch time pass without reaching out, but this was so different for us. Iunderstood giving him some space and time, but how much was appropriate? Howmuch was too much?
Andif I never called him, would I ever hear from him again?
Myfingertips tapped lightly against the keys, light enough to not leave anyimprints on the screen, while I wished my brain would stop thinking aboutBrendan. I also wished my stomach would stop churning in the most annoying,uncomfortable way, both with nerves and a sickness that wasn’t limited to justthe morning. My thirteenth novel needed to be finished and sent to my editor,Jenn, by the end of the month, but with everything going on, I had barelygotten any words down in the past week. My characters weren't talking, the flowof inspiration had stopped, and I was spending more time Googling ways to tellpeople you're pregnant, than I spent in the word processor. I had found thatit’sactually reallyhard to write romance and happilyeverafterswhen you're in a doomed relationship.
“Ineed to eat something,” I announced to my cat, even though I didn't want to. Ifelt so awful, eating was the last thing my body wanted to do, but not havinganything in my stomach somehow made it worse. So, I stood from my chair andmoved slowly into the kitchen to find my box of Saltines.
Pullingout a sleeve and opening the package, I dove in with a sigh. My morningsickness had existed for all of five days so far and I was already tired of it.
“AndI’m supposed to do this for months?” I muttered to Mrs. Potter, who sighed inreply, before going back to sleep.
Myphone rang in my pocket and thinking it might have been Brendan, I dropped ahalf-eaten cracker and fumbled until I had the phone in my hand. I wasdisappointed to see that it was only my mother, and I wilted against thecounter as I answered the call.
“Hey,Mom,” I answered in a dull tone that reflected every bit of the disappointmentI felt.
“Wow,don't soundtoohappy to hear from me,” she laughedmelodically.
“Sorry,I just thought you were Brendan.”
Momhad never liked Brendan, but she was also one of my best friends. She didn'tlike to blatantly come out and say she despised my boyfriend, so instead, sheshowed her disapproval in other, slightly less obvious ways.
“Hm,”she grunted.
Ilaughed. “I know. Your favorite person in the world.”
“Inever said I didn't like him.”
“No.You've just come up with a thousand different ways to grunt every time Imention his name.”
“Idon't grunt!”
“Oh,no?” I made a mocking noise that sounded very much like a grunt. “What do youcall that?”
“Ididn'tgrunt,” she insisted, while not offering another explanation forthe sound I'd grown to expect.
“Whateveryou say,” I replied, laughing again. “So, why are you calling me on this fineday?”
“Oh,you know, just making sure you're alive, for one.”
Momand I had talked on the phone nearly every single day since I moved out of myparents’ house a year ago. Even on days that I should've been focused entirelyon my work, I made sure to check in. This past week, though, I'd beenneglecting my daughterly duties. I couldn't remember if I'd even sent her atext.
“Sorry,”I muttered. “I've beenkindabusy.”
“Toobusy forme?”
Iwasn’t too busy. The truth was, I had been hiding from my mom. I wasn't readyto tell her about the little bean, and Idefinitely wasn'tready to tell her it was Brendan's. Truthfully, I wasn't even sure how to startthe conversation, so I’d been avoiding it altogether.
