“What exactly are you worried about?” Brooke inquired.
I sighed. “That I’m going to push Noah away because I’m afraid he’s going to leave me. I’m worried that someday, I’ll look back over my lonesome life and realize that Noah was offering me everything I ever wanted—but that I was too chicken shit to believe him.”
“What’s the alternate scenario?”
I thought about it. “I guess . . . that I close my eyes, trust Noah, and leap—and then find out it was a mistake.”
“Which do you think you regret more—the things you’ve done, or the things you wished you’d done?”
That was a tough question. “I guess it would be the things I haven’t done—though I don’t regret not jumping off the Golden Gate the night after I graduated from med school.” I meant it to be a joke, but Brooke didn’t smile.
“Do you realize that you equated trusting Noah with making a leap, Alison? Do you think that’s accidental?”
I snorted. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Dr. Freud.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not telling you anything, I’m just asking you to think about it.”
“I don’t think I can rely on my feelings at this point. I’m about a hundred months pregnant. I recently lost the last person who I considered to be even remotely my family. I’m uncertain, jittery, and I cry whenever anyone says my name the wrong way. I don’t think it’s wrong for me to put off any big decision until after the baby is born.”
Brooke nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Keep in mind that many women are also very emotional in the aftermath of childbirth.”
“So you’re saying I won’t be any more stable after I have the baby? Great. That’s something to look forward to.”
“I’m only saying that putting off making a choice is sometimes a great idea—and sometimes not.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re almost at the end of our time, but before you go, do me a favor: give me three what-if statements about your relationship with Noah that keep you awake at night.”
I considered that for a few moments. “Okay. Here goes: What if Noah only thinks he cares for me, but he’s fooling himself? What if I let myself fall in love with him, and he ends up leaving? What if he finds out that I’m not really worth all the effort he’s putting into me?”
“Good.” Brooke nodded. “Now give me three opposite what-ifs to counter those.”
I took a long, slow inhale. “What if Noah loves me deeply and truly? What if I let myself love him, and he stays with me forever? What if he realizes that I’m the only woman he wants for the rest of his life?”
“Yes.” Brooke smiled, leaning forward. “Tonight—and every night for as long as you need to do it—I want you to repeatthosewhat-ifs to yourself as you fall asleep. Remember, Alison: embrace joy, not fear.” She straightened. “All right, that’s all for today. And the next time I see you, you’ll be a mother. You’ve got this, Alison. Trust yourself.” She rose to her feet. “Trust love. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Chapter 15
Noah
“What’s the world record for the longest pregnancy ever?”
I glanced up at Alison from the book I was reading. We were both lying on her bed while a movie that neither of us was very invested in played on the TV. The couch downstairs had become too uncomfortable for her over the past week or so, so we’d begun hanging out here in her room.
It was strictly for comfort, though; we stayed on top of the covers, with Alison on one side while I stuck to the other. It was a king-sized bed with plenty of room for us. But while we hadn’t hesitated to cuddle and kiss on the sofa, something about being on the bed made us more cautious. I didn’t know why, exactly; Alison was so tired of being pregnant that she wasn’t up for much of anything other than television lately. She’d stopped going into the office after her due date since she’d already arranged with Dr. Johanson to cover her hours. So we were both at home now all the time . . . just waiting.
She really was huge. While the ultrasounds had assured us that there was only one baby in there, at times I looked at the size of her belly and wondered.
I hesitated now, wondering if I could distract her from talking about what she’d just asked. It wasn’t going to be a source of comfort to her.
“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”
Her mouth dropped open slightly, and her eyes grew wary. “You already looked it up, didn’t you? Damn. And you’re afraid to tell me.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m afraid, exactly,” I stalled. “Just that maybe it’s not the kind of useful info that would be helpful to you right now.”
“Tell me.”
“Alison . . .”
“Tell me.”
