“She’s pregnant too,” I pointed out.
“Doesn’t matter. What’s your plan, then?”
“Don’t have one.”
“That’s not like you.”
I huffed. “No. I guess it isn’t.” We were quiet for a beat. Millions of words remained unsaid. We were siblings, and we hardly knew each other. “I’ll let you get to work,” I finally said.
“All right.” The engine started up again. “Good talking to you.”
“Yeah,” I said, half-surprised to find out it was the truth.
We hung up, and I clutched my dark phone. Maybe there was a future where we had a relationship. Maybe he wasn’t the enemy. Maybe there were people in my life who cared about me, and being open with them didn’t mean giving up my independence. Not everyone was like Cal.
As if my thoughts had summoned him, his name lit up my screen. My hands began to tremble, and I stared at the ringing phone until it went silent again. Breath left me in a rush.
It was one thing to think about building a better relationshipwith my brother. He lived in a different state, and he would always be my brother. It was another thing entirely to think about Cal. Even holding the ringing phone had felt like cradling a live bomb. Even speaking to him was dangerous. He was suffocating and addicting, and I wanted him as badly as I needed to stay away from him.
Then my phone buzzed with a message.
CAL
I was hoping to talk to you, but I understand if you don’t want to. Call me anytime in case you change your mind.
I blinked at the message, reading it half a dozen times. That didn’t sound like Cal. There were no demands. No barked orders and clicked fingers. He was opening the door and letting me decide what would happen.
It was a trap. My heart squeezed, and I clicked my phone off.
I workedup the courage to tell my mom about the pregnancy a few days after my conversation with Brooks. She was ecstatic, and I pretended I was too. She asked me about a wedding. I panicked and told her I had to go—a work emergency had come up. She was so happy I’d bagged a rich man, she didn’t even tut at me for it. Her support made me feel worse than every conversation where she’d badgered and berated me. I could only imagine the mountain of derision and disappointment that would bury me when she found out Cal and I were no longer together.
When I hung up the phone, I buried my head in my hands and cried.
I read more pregnancy books.I listened to podcasts. I visualized my labor. I learned how to meditate and told myself it was okay to be terrible at it. I researched everything I could about birth plans and made a detailed one for myself.
I worked. I put my head down and hustled to get more clients. I squirreled away all the money I could, grateful that my debts were gone and I had a cushion. I would need it.
Life went on.
In the dead of night, when I twisted and turned and lamented the fact that I wasn’t allowed to sleep on my back or stomach, I thought of Cal. I wondered what he was doing and if he was thinking about me, then lambasted myself for being so pathetically predictable. I thumbed through my contacts and thought about how good it would feel to hear his deep voice in my ear.
But I didn’t call.
What was the point? We were all wrong for each other.
I needed to do what I’d always done: pull myself together and carry on. I’d figured out how to apply and pay for college all on my own. I’d started a business and made it work through sheer force of will. I’d made mistakes, gotten into debt, but I’d figured out how to get out of that too.
I would get through this too.
Cal texted me three more times. He told me he was talking to someone about his control issues. He told me he had set up a college fund for our unborn child. He told me to call him when I was ready.
I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready.
I was in love with him, but being with him meant part of me dying. It meant bending to his intractable will. It meant shrinking, giving up my business, and living life on his terms.
Speaking to him would only make things more difficult. I had a lawyer now, and we’d already spoken about custody and child support. There was no point in opening the door to him. Deep down, I knew I was too weak to resist him entirely. It was safer to stay away.
THIRTY-NINE
