He holds his cheek and I’m about to rush out, with tears dripping in a steady stream.
“You might be pregnant,” he laughs as he holds me back. “I want to do this together.”
“Why? So you can force me to have an abortion? No. If I’m pregnant with your child, I’ll sign a waver and I’ll raise the baby on my own. You won’t need to be any part of this. I will walk away and you can pretend I didn’t happen.” I’m now sobbing.
“I don’t want to pretend you didn’t happen, Juliet. You have completely changed my life, you are happening. You suddenly throw up and I’ve seen this pregnancy symptom before. I’m panicking, okay. Give me a fucking break, please. I’m not an evil villain in a children’s book. I’m a man, a man who has not known one fucking day with the kind of love you give and receive on a regular basis in it, so please indulge me.”
“And if I’m pregnant? What happens?”
“If we’re pregnant we discuss the options together,” he wipes his thumb across my cheek, stopping the parade of tears on that side. “because if you are pregnant, this isourbaby, not yours, not mine, butours.”
“But if I’m not, you go back to your fabulous life destroying others and I go back to school and move on with my life andeventual career. If I am, I stay with Gran, finish my last year of school a little later and start my career as a single mom. Either way, Marcel, I end up moving on without you,” I tell him softly.
“One step at a time,” he says and is much more loving and kinder than I expect him to be.
I perch on the edge of the marble counter, hands locked together so tightly my knuckles ache. The bathroom feels too bright and too sterile. It’s like a spotlight is shining on everything we can’t take back.
Marcel moves with clipped efficiency, opening the cabinet, finding the box, and fishing out a pregnancy test. His jaw is set, his movements precise, and I can feel the tension vibrating off of him. My stomach is still queasy and raw and his strange actions aren’t making me feel better, but he’s trying. I do recognize that.
I take the cup, he turns his back and I do the deed. I leave the little plastic cup on the counter for him. It’s absurdly intimate and mildly humiliating, but I can’t bring myself to look as he dips the stick.
The stick is on the counter now and the longest three minutes of my life stretch between us. I wrap my arms around myself, pressing down the tears threatening to rise.
My voice comes out small and shaky. “I’m keeping it. No matter what. It’s probably just the cow milk,” I say, feeling overwhelmed and nervous. “We’ll have a laugh about how lactose intolerance landed us in this situation.”
“Juliet ... no matter what happens, you’ve meant more to me than any woman ever has. Even Clara.”
The words sting because I don’t quite believe them. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it because I have to.” He looks at me then, really looks at me. “Clara always had an ulterior motive. You’ve only ever been ... you. And I’ve loved this time with you. Something in my chest cracks.
The timer on Marcel’s watch buzzes and my heart nearly explodes. Marcel reaches for the stick first. He inhales sharply, then lets out a short breath. There’s a sigh and strangely, the ghost of a chuckle.
“Well,” I whisper without looking, “at least you got the result you were hoping for.” I hop off the counter, both relieved and a little sad. I kind of wanted that sweet little girl on the jungle gym. I loved that she looked so much like her father with his chiseled jaw and ice blue eyes.
He slides the test toward me. “You should probably see this.”
“See what?” My words choke in my throat and I force my eyes to it. The digital screen is merciless.Pregnant.The room tilts. My lips form words before my brain can catch up. “Okay. Okay. I can do this.”
I just need to get out. I need air.
I try to muscle past Marcel.
Fuck, fuck. I’ll be okay if I just get air.
“I’ll get an Uber and book the next flight home at the airport. I have some money in savings. It’s Friday, so ... I’ll seeyou at work on Monday.” I’m rambling. I know I am and yet, I can't because my mind has gone haywire.
Marcel pulls me against him. He kisses me, soft, firm, aching. “No.” His voice is rough with something I can’t name. “I’m taking you home.”
Chapter Twenty
Marcel
“Nothing at the moment has to change,” I tell her, though everything has changed.
She doesn’t say anything, still in shock I believe. The snow pelts the windshield like a thousand white needles, each one biting. I don’t know why I’m fixated on them, but I can’t tear my eyes away. The driver must sense the tension between Juliet and me and frankly I don’t care. The wipers thud, fwaap, fwaap, carrying a thick layer of snow from the center of the windshield to the side where it builds up and slides off in a slow, rhythmic beat. It’s too loud and too percussive as it punctuates the silence between us. Juliet stares out her window, her breath fogging the glass, her knuckles pale where she grips her coat closed around herself.
She hasn’t looked at me once since we left the mansion. And I, God help me, I don’t know what to say. I can feel the panic rolling off her in waves. A raw, quiet terror gnaws at my chest.
