“Thank you,” she said when she was halfway down the popsicle and the color was starting to come back to her face.
“You gave me a scare.”
“So did you. I didn’t know what to do. The dizzy spells go along with the pregnancy, but I think anxiety made that one worse. I’ve only actually fainted once. That was at home, thankfully, so no one saw.”
“Thankfully? As in, you were at home alone and fainted. And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” I asked hotly. In my mind I could see her sprawled on her side on the floor, one arm above her head, eyes closed. Needing me. It clutched at my chest. I gritted my teeth against it.
“Yeah. I was okay. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. And if it had been at work or yoga, people would’ve gotten suspicious. Asked if I was sick or pregnant.”
“Who have you told? Maggie? Jeremiah?”
“No one. Sarah Jo knows because I called her when I was…I got scared taking the pregnancy test. I didn’t want to do it alone. I’m fine now. It was a weird time,” she said.
“No. It’s not fine. When I think of you passing out at your apartment by yourself, taking the pregnancy test and waiting for that result alone, it makes me furious. I should have been there to hold you,” I practically growled.
“You didn’t know.”
“You didn’t want me there. But now I’m here. And I know. So are you going to tell me?”
“I did tell you,” she said, finishing her popsicle.
“I mean the thing you aren’t telling me.”
“The pregnancy IS the thing I wasn’t telling you.”
“I’m serious. Whatever you’re holding out on, whatever your reason is not to be with me. I want to know what it is. And I don’t mean excuses about your job, because you’re doing great at work with that grant and everything.”
“You know about that?”
“I read about it.”
“Okay,” she said.
“You said you can’t be with me. You wouldn’t take the letter.”
“I wished for it. I wished I had taken it from you so I could read it later,” she said softly.
“Well, I tore it up,” I said irritably.
“No!” she protested, looking disappointed.
“I offered it to you and you wouldn’t take it. What was I supposed to do, keep it in some special box and hang velvet ropes? I ripped it up and threw it away.”
“I wish you hadn’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Just tell me what the problem is. Is it the PTSD? Is it because I live in a one room cabin and work construction?”
“No! Nothing like that!” she protested, her hand on my arm. I felt the sharp bite of fire in my flesh at her touch.
“Then tell me.”
“It’s my mom,” she said softly.
“I don’t even know your mom, do I?”
“It’s not about you,” she said, “It’s about me, and about her. You know we both had single moms. But I think maybe, that’s where the similarity ends. Because the theme of my childhood was men ruin your life, and so do kids. She had to raise me on her own, like with no help at all. And she was young and didn’t get to go to college because she had me. So she worked in a nursing home doing the worst, nastiest jobs that the nurses didn’t want to do. She mopped and changed sheets and—it was hard work and she was miserable all those years and—”
“And she made you feel guilty. For ruining her life.”
“Yeah. Because having me wrecked everything. She warned me for my whole life not to get involved with a man. And then I went and had unprotected sex with you like I lost my damn mind. I knew better.”
“So did I,” I said, “but I wanted it. What we did. You know how I said I couldn’t experience pleasure until I saw you and my body just woke right up—being with you that day, your taking me completely into you, holding nothing back, that was the most, I don’t even know what to call it, satisfying or life-altering or what. But I felt like I’d been remade, like everything had changed.”
“It did. I knew better, and I made a choice that changed my whole life right then. My mother will be so ashamed of me,” she said, her voice breaking.
“But you’re giving her a grandchild. Maybe that’ll soften the blow,” I offered.
She shook her head. “My life was fine. I had a good job and friends and—”
“You still have those things. No one turned their back on you or fired you. Listen to me. Your life isn’t ruined.”
“I am! I’m ruined,” she choked.
I put my arm around her and hugged her against my side. I pushed down the fierce attraction that flared in me and comforted her. “This is what it’s all been from the beginning. The overalls and the vibrators and the pushing me away. You’ve thought that falling for someone and having a baby would make you into her, make you sad and bitter and miserable. That you’d hurt your baby the way that she hurt you. By not teaching you how to be happy. For one thing, you might want to talk to a counselor at the department about emotional abuse because that’s some traumatic shit. The other thing is, you’re not her. You’re surrounded by people who value and love you and want to support you. And the last thing, if I can save the best thing for last, is that you have me. And I love you. The way your dad didn’t love and protect your mom and you. You’re not her, and I’m sure as hell not him. I’m the guy who’s sitting on the floor in the soda aisle eating popsicles with you and telling you that I’d give anything if you’d just hear me.”