Salesgirl number one recites the total, and Allison reaches for her wallet. She hands over a credit card without even looking at me. Allison signs the receipt and schedules the furniture delivery for six weeks out.
“You two make such a cute couple. You're going to be great parents.” Her smile is wide enough to reveal most of her teeth. Her statement annoys me. How the hell does she know we’re going to make great parents? Maybe I’m repulsed by kids. Maybe Allison won’t have a motherly bone in her body.Ugh. Thank god she can’t read my mind.
She hands Allison a white bag containing the smaller items Allison has purchased.
Allison glances up at me, her eyes wary. Despite this, there is a smile on her lips. “Thanks,” she says, looking back at the salesgirls.
I have no idea what my face looks like right now. If my face reflects how I'm feeling, then it should be bloodied and bruised, like it's been hit with a hammer. Because that's how I feel on the inside.
We step out onto the sidewalk, and Allison looks up at me, waiting for me to say something. I'm starving, and I'm sure Allison is too, so I ask her if she wants to get something to eat.
“I’m always hungry.” She laughs and gently pats her mid-section. “Especially for Italian.”
I know of a good place a few blocks away. On our walk there, she curls her arm around mine, her hand gripping my forearm.
She doesn't say anything. Not a damn word. But I can feel something radiating from her. Is it contentment? Happiness?
When our food has been delivered, and my mouth is full of chicken parmesan, Allison tells me she wants to introduce me to her parents.
“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but it was the first thing I thought. Other than Natalie, I’ve never been in a meet-the-parents scenario.
She gives me a look. “Because we are going to raise their grandchild.”
“Right. Of course.” I sip my water.
“Have you told your parents yet?”
I shake my head. I've been avoiding my mom’s phone calls. I not only have to tell her that Natalie and I are not a thing when I know she was assuming we were, but I have to tell her I'm having a baby with Allison.
“I'd like it if you would tell them sooner rather than later. So they can be involved.” She looks down at her hands. “I’m assuming they want to be, anyway.”
I sit back in my seat and sip from my drink. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about it.”
Tears fill her eyes. “Are you still in shock? It’s been two weeks since I’ve told you. I thought you’d be… I don’t know,in actionby now. But you’re not. You’re stagnant. You don’t seem excited.”
Sighing, I run a hand over my face. How do I explain to her that I’m not excited because I’m fucking heartbroken? I can’t say that, because that would break her heart, and breaking a pregnant woman’s heart is incredibly far down on the list of things I want to do.
“There are just a lot of thoughts swirling around in my head,” I tell her.Truth.“Remember, I wasn’t exactly expecting this.”Truth.“But I’m coming around, I promise.”Lie.
I’d never imagined what it would be like to see my baby on an ultrasound screen, but if I ever had, what I felt that day wouldn’t have been it. The expectant father should feel happy, right? I didn’t. But for Allison’s sake, I faked it. I smiled at her. She reached for my hand, squeezing it as the technician measured the tiny dot on the screen, and I squeezed her back. She needed me in that moment, and I couldn’t deny her that. It’s not as if she planned for this either.
A single tear slips down Allison’s cheek, but despite this, she attempts a smile. “Coming around is something I can work with.” And then she reaches across the table and covers my hand with her own.
I don’t know what to say, or what to do, but I do know that right now I should not move my hand. It’s like that day at the doctor’s office. Allison needs me to be her knight in shining armor. She needs me to step up and be the person she imagined having a baby with.
For the first time in my life, I have a broken heart.
For the millionth time in my life, I’m going to have to lie about love.
21
Natalie
The wheelson Sydney’s small suitcase roll to a stop in the middle of our apartment. She came in on the four o’clock train, and after a stop for a black and white cookie at her favorite place, we made it back to my place. She turns in a circle, her arms outstretched. “This place is amazing. Way better than that shithole you shared with Henry.”
My old apartment wasn’t a shithole. The opposite, actually. Unless she’s using the apartment as a metaphor for our marriage, but even then she’d be wrong. We failed because we were wrong for each other, plain and simple.
“Sydney, this is Savannah.” I indicate my hand toward the kitchen where Savannah stands. She’s just cut an apple, and waves with the hand holding the knife. “Sorry,” she laughs, setting it down and waving a second time, this time knife-free.
