My heart beats erratically, knowing she’s finally reading my messages. Will they be too much? Will they overwhelm her? Will I sound like an ass? Mentally, I think back to what I wrote.
Maggie, baby, call me back. Please let me explain what happened after the wedding.
I can’t stop thinking about you. Pick up the phone. Let’s talk.
Our night was incredible. Wasn’t it? Why won’t you return my messages?
“So you didn’t ghost me?” Her lower lip quivers, and that’s the only excuse I need to hug her.
“Come here.”
“But—”
“Shut up and come here.” I squeeze her tightly. Breathe her in. Say a prayer that I can finish untangling this mess I’ve made. “No, I didn’t ghost you. I would never do that to you. Want to hear something funny? I thought you were ghosting me. After I left you a million messages and you didn’t reply, I thought you were telling me to fuck off.”
“We suck at this,” she mumbles into my shirt.
“We do, but when you’re at the bottom, you can only go up from there, right?”
20
MAGGIE
From the passenger seat of Michael’s car, I eye the pharmacy like it’s a viper waiting to strike.
“Look, I know you’re a ‘rip the Band-Aid off’ kind of person, so let’s go in there and get a pregnancy test,” Michael says. “At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”
I turn to him, surprised. “How do you know this about me and Band-Aids?”
“Because once, a long time ago, you and I used to be friends. You always told your mom you wanted the bad news first.”
“And you remember this?”
His eyes travel over my face, and I hate that it’s probably red and swollen from puking, but he gives me a tender smile. “I remember a lot of things about you.”
A part of me hates that he’s being so nice. While I can admit he probably didn’t deliberately set out to make me miserable this spring, I’m tired of nursing a wounded heart, and right now I don’t have the energy to deal with that kind of injury again. We should probably table that discussion about our grievances to deal with the matter at hand, but it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.
I feel the need to make that clear. “Just because we’re in this situation and you’re helping me right now doesn’t mean everything is water under the bridge. I don’t… I don’t know how to get over all of this.”
He nods. “I understand. We’ll talk some more. Let’s figure out if there’s gonna be a little Maggie or Olly joining us first. Then we’ll go from there.”
Why does he sound so damn reasonable? “How are you so calm?”
“There are worse things in this world than having a baby.” He shrugs. “Besides, if I’m gonna have a kid with anyone, it might as well be with an awesome woman like you.”
And then he goes and says stuff like that.
Tears leak from my eyes like I’m a broken faucet. I swipe at them with the back of my hand. “Before that day I ran into you at the grocery store, I hadn’t cried in almost a year. Not since I accidentally hammered my thumb instead of that nail. And I didn’t break down because I was emotionally overwrought. I cried because I’m bad with hammers.”
“I don’t know. You were pretty good with my hammer.” He chuckles.
“Michael Oliver, this is not a good time for sex jokes!”
Still laughing, he comes around to help me out of the car. When I stand, he doesn’t back away, just stands in my space and takes my hand. Leaning down, he looks into my eyes, his expression now serious. “We’ll get through this, okay?”
And then he walks me into the pharmacy.
* * *
