“Can we talk soon?”
It’s the way she says it that triggers my alarm bells.
“What’s wrong?”
She’s quiet for a beat too long.
“Ligaya, what is it?”
“We should talk in person. I can come to Columbus when it is convenient for you.”
Part of me wants to give her a taste of her own medicine and rebuff the invitation. Maybe make her wait till later in the week. Does she think I’m going to drop everything the second she rings for me?
But another, much larger part, is indeed ready to drop everything. I’m so fucking excited at the thought of seeing her again, I can barely breathe.
“I just finished brunch with my parents before they went away for the holidays. I’m about twenty minutes out. I can come by now.”
That wasn’t desperate at all, Thorne.
“Oh. OK. If that works.”
CHAPTER 20
LIGAYA
I feel nauseous, and it has little to do with morning sickness. Not trepidation, exactly, but something close. That jittery anticipation before opening night when you wonder if every choice you made on the show will be met with derision or—and this ismuchworse—indifference.
I curl into the corner of the couch, blanket around my shoulders one moment and thrown off the next. The distant thrum of cars reminds me that soon, Tristan will arrive for the most awkward conversation of our lives.
Since seeing the doctor two weeks ago, I’ve cried and sulked, went into denial and binge watchedBridgerton, ate and puked. Even my students have expressed concern because I haven’t posted the full auditioning schedule for the next play yet. I’m never this late for anything.
Yes, pun intended.
Work has turned into an inconvenient distraction from my current obsession: how to tell Tristan that I’m choosing to keep the baby. I don’t expect anything from him, except to understand that this decision is ultimately mine. Pregnancy is pushing me to investigate how I feel about my life and what I want for the future.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to share my life with a child.
Did I imagine I would start a family without a partner? No.
But I’ve always wanted kids. Being a teacher in public education has yet to extinguish my desire to be a mother. So, why not now?
My decision to be a mother shouldn’t depend on the dating pool of my particular demographic. I’ve been on and off the dating scene for almost ten years. Centerstone and its surrounding cities have yet to convince me that the love of my life is within driving distance. Waiting for fate to intervene is like waiting for a high school musical to win a Tony Award.
This isn’t a conventional arrangement, I know. But I’ve seen the ways that conventionality is overrated. Some of the nicest, most well-adjusted kids are raised by single parents. The support of good friends and relatives can nourish and enrich parenthood in ways that partners cannot or will not. I’m in a position to shelter and feed and care for a baby by myself. My job is stable, and my community is supportive. My parents and sister will love this child more than the world.
So will I. Not sure I’ll be a great mom, but I’ll spend my life figuring out how to be one.
The only puzzle piece I can’t place is Tristan.
A loud knock makes me jump. I nearly tumble in my rush to open the door.
He stands on the porch, broad shoulders wrapped in a crisp button-down shirt, long legs in perfectly tailored gray pants, and an expression so piercing, it makes me feel exposed. Naked.
More to the point, his smoldering gaze makes me want togetnaked.
Let’s do it. Let’s strip for your baby daddy.My out-of-control libido jumps up and down, eager to reunite with its favorite orgasm donor. It is, but still.
The last thing this conversation needs is a booty call.That’s my brain, being reasonable and adulting.
