“Maybe it’s better if we don’t,” I find myself saying.
“What do you mean?”
Silence looms between us as I search for the best words, but one look at Pippa tells me she already knows where I’m going with this. Damn it, the last thing I want on this earth is to hurt this woman.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Her shoulders slump, and I bite the inside of my cheek, watching the woman I love shrink before my eyes.
“I’m leaving in a week anyway.” My voice is even, but only barely. Something inside me breaks with every word, but what hurts most is knowing I hurt her.
“One week is not today,” she whispers.
“What’s the point?” I ask, and instantly know it was the wrong thing to say. Pippa’s expression changes from hurt to furious. Glaring, she advances toward me, a strand of hair falling from her bun and over her forehead.
“If you don’t know what the point is, then you haven’t been paying attention. When my dad was in the hospital, you told me not to push you out. You said you wanted to be there for me when things are bad. Now, you’re pushing me out and using Julie as an excuse. I love you, and I love Julie, and this is not how what we have is going to end.” She presses her lips together, and her nostrils are flaring. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
I’m so stunned I can’t even think straight, let alone form a coherent sentence.
“I’ve never seen you so mad,” I say eventually, still too blindsided to come up with anything smarter. Judging by the color storming her cheeks, and by the strength with which she clenches her fists, it was the wrong thing to say. Still, seeing her mad at me is much more of an improvement over seeing her hurt. Maybe if she hates me, she’ll suffer less.
“I haven’t even begun being mad. When you have more important things to say to me, you know where to find me. And by God, if you board that plane and leave for Boston without talking to me first, you will see me truly mad. Kiss Julie for me.”
Then she turns around on her heels and leaves.
Damn.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pippa
I’m still shaking when I storm inside my apartment. Breathe in, breathe out, Pippa. Yeah, that’s not going to help me. My usual go-to comfort food is cupcakes, but strangely, the thought of them makes me nauseous. That bastard. How dare he take the coward’s way out?
I pace around my living room, rubbing my palms up and down my arms, unable to stop the tears. If I can continue being mad at him, maybe I won’t hurt so much. My heart begs to differ. It already hangs heavy in my chest, making it a chore to breathe.
I’m about to open my fridge and search for some comfort food when my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t know, but I pick up anyway.
“Hello.”
“Is this Pippa Bennett?” a female voice asks. I recognize it; it belongs to my doctor.
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Edwards. I have your test results.”
“Oh, great. Please tell me I don’t have some life-threatening disease, because my day has taken a nosedive as it is.” I slump on my couch, not even able to muster the energy to worry about whatever she’s about to tell me.
“I have great news for you, Pippa. You’re not sick. You’re pregnant.”
My mouth goes dry, and for a few seconds, I don’t register her words. But when I do, I choke, unable to breathe.
“A—are you sure?” I stutter.
“Positive. Your blood tests prove it.”
I clench the phone tightly in my hand, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my chin on them.
“But I was on birth control,” I argue, sure there must be an understanding. “I took pills from my gynecologist, then stopped using condoms.”
“Maybe you stopped using the condoms too early? You were supposed to wait ten days.”