I bristled. “How was I supposed to know a fifteen-year-old tubal ligation would spontaneously reverse itself?”
“You should sue that hospital, honestly, because what the actual fuck?” She switched gears. “Have you heard from your Greek god yet?”
“Nope,” I tried to sound unbothered. “Radio silence since I turned down his marriage offer in Switzerland.”
Aris had unexpectedly left Switzerland on Christmas morning to handle a work emergency, and I hadn’t heard from him since. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.
I didn’t want to think about how many times a day I checked my phone and replayed our parting words in my head, wondering if I’d been too harsh.
How I’d started typing messages to him dozens of times, only to delete them before hitting send. Every morning I woke up thinking maybe today he’d call, and every night I went to bed disappointed.
The truth was, I missed him. Not just the physical intimacy, though God knows pregnancy hormones made that particular absence unbearable some days.
I missed his voice. His laugh. The way he listened when I talked about work. The way he made me feel like I were the only woman in the world.
But I also resented missing him. I’d spent the last decade building a life that didn’t require anyone else’s validation or support.
I’d raised Tia, built my business, and bought my house, all on my own. The fact that some man could waltz into my life for a few months and leave me feeling incomplete had me questioning everything I believed about myself.
When I pulled into the driveway of my two-story Craftsman-style house, fatigue weighed heavily on me. I was still bummed about how the meeting had ended. Maybe tonight I’d come up with a game plan, or possibly shop for maternity business wear that didn’t scream “pregnant.”
Or maybe I’d call Tia, though what was the point? She and Santo were on their eight-week honeymoon.
Since Thanksgiving, our twice-daily conversations had dwindled to weekly check-ins lasting less than a minute. The daughter who once enthusiastically shared every detail of her day now treated me like a distant relative.
The isolation was getting to me. Tia was busy with her new life, Kandi had her own family obligations, and here I was, twenty-one weeks pregnant, feeling more alone than I had in years. Maybe that’s why Aris’s silence hurt so much.
My headlights caught a massive black SUV parked in my driveway. What the hell?
A tall figure detached from the vehicle, backlit by my porch light. Even in silhouette, I knew that posture, build and presence.
No freaking way.
“Kandi, I gotta go.” I ended the call before she could ask why, my heart doing something complicated and unwelcome in my chest.
I sat frozen in my car, watching him through the windshield. The man who’d left me in Switzerland without a word had materialized on my doorstep without warning.
With the suddenness of a predator, Aris spun toward my car and closed the distance in long strides. Before I could decide whether to stay put or back out of my driveway, he was there, pulling open the driver’s side door.
Cold January air rushed in, along with the scent of his cologne. That same earthy, expensive smell that used to cling to my sheets.
“Dede.” He extended his hand.
“Aris,” I acknowledged, looking up at him. I kept my voice neutral, refusing to rise from the car. “You’re a long way from Greece.”
“I have been waiting two hours.” He gestured toward my porch, and that’s when I noticed the matching set of leather luggage stacked by my front door. “It is cold, yes?”
Ignoring his proffered hand, I eased myself out of the car. I could hear his footsteps on the pavement behind me as I walked to my front door. I wanted to run, lock myself inside, and call through the door that he should’ve called first.
Instead, I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and left it open. Aris gathered his luggage and deposited it just inside the entryway.
Rather than contemplate what that meant, I flicked on lights as I walked toward the kitchen, illuminating the dining room with its table I’d refinished myself.
The house smelled like the cinnamon apple candles I’d burned earlier, mixed with the lingering aroma of the cornbread I’d baked for lunch. My house wasn’t the biggest or the fanciest I could afford now, but it was mine.
“You have beautiful home,” he said from somewhere behind me.
“Thanks.” I reached the kitchen, suddenly self-conscious about the breakfast dishes I’d left in the sink.
