"I'm sorry." I look at Juniper Jones and Ty Stag, who both look shocked and hurt. "Thank you for dinner. I'm sorry I—I just need to go."
I'm already moving toward the door, toward the elevator. Tucker follows.
"Let me drive you home."
"I'll take an Uber."
"Sloane—"
The elevator doors open and I step inside, jabbing the lobby button repeatedly until the doors close. Through the gap, I see Tucker standing in his hallway, his parents behind him, all three of them looking concerned and confused.
The last thing I see before the doors shut completely is Tucker's face—devastated.
I make it to the lobby before the tears start. I'm crying in theback of an Uber, still crying when I stumble into my apartment, still crying when Mel finds me curled up on my bed.
"What happened?" she asks, wheeling close.
"I ruined everything," I manage between sobs.
“Oh, Sloane!” I feel the mattress dip as she transfers herself into bed beside me. “Tell me.”
Through sputtering, choking sobs, I tell her how Tucker’s stupid promotional condoms resulted in me pregnant. With twins. And his family wants to take control of all our lives.
By the time I get it all out, she’s nodding robotically and slumped against my pillow. I watch her expression shift from confusion to shock to something like understanding.
"Oh," she says softly. "Oh, Sloane."
"And now his whole family wants to be involved, and I don't know how to do any of this and I'm so scared I'm going to lose myself again."
Mel reaches for my hand, squeezing tight. "You're not going to lose yourself."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're already fighting for yourself. That's what tonight was about, right? Setting boundaries. Protecting yourself." She squeezes again. "That's not losing yourself, Sloane. That's finding yourself."
I want to believe her. Want to believe that running out of Tucker's apartment was self-preservation and not self-sabotage.
My phone buzzes with a message.
Tucker
Please let me know you got home okay.
I stare at the message, fresh tears blurring my vision.
I'm home.
Tucker
I’m so sorry. This is on us. On me. I should have warned them to go slower.
It's not your fault.
Tucker
Can we talk tomorrow? When you're ready?
I don't respond. Don't know what to say. Instead, I curl up against Mel's shoulder, let her stroke my hair, and cry until I have no tears left.
