***
When he finally emerges from the bathroom door I’ve been watching like a hawk, I try to casually run into him in the hallway.
“Oh, hey,” I say, my voice too bright to be natural. “Listen, about that–”
“I actually can’t talk, I’m in a rush,” he mumbles, not meeting my eye.
“Oh? I thought you just got home?”
“Just needed to shower,” he says, moving past me. “Going out.”
“Really?” I frown. “I thought we were ordering food and watching shitty TV.”
“Can’t tonight, sorry. Next time.”
Our hands brush as he hurries past me, and I hear the hitch in both of our breaths. He finally meets my eye, looking like a deer in headlights, but there’s something else. He looks almostangry.
“Jack…” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“Nothing to talk about, Abby, it’s fine. I’m just busy,” he says shortly as he shrugs his jacket on. “See you later.”
Without a word, he hurries out the front door, letting it slam shut behind him.
I stand in dumbfounded silence for a minute or two before turning slowly and sitting on the edge of the couch in the livingroom. The bedding Jack has been using is neatly folded on one end, and even from several feet away, I can smell him on the sheets.
During my first trimester, my sense of smell was insane–I swear I was discovering scents previously unknown to man, both good and bad. Mostly bad. Most of that has gone away now, but for some reason, I can still pick up hints of Jack even when he’s gone. Hints of cedarwood and leather, and always a faint tinge of smoke.
It hits me how little time I’ve spent alone in this house recently, and how much worse it’s making this moment feel. I know it was awkward as shit, but I didn’t expect him to bolt like that. I thought maybe we’d laugh about it, swear to never mention it again, and then move on.
What the hell is his problem?
Angry tears well in my eyes. He’s the one who walked in onme,what did he get mad at me for? I didn’t do anything wrong. And he didn’t actually do anything wrong either; he was worried and came to check on me. I certainly wasn’t mad at him.
Not until now, anyway.
Furiously swiping at my eyes, refusing to let any tears fall, I fumble for my phone to call Ellie.
“Hi, my sweet ginger angel!” Her words come through loudly, affectionately, and a little slurred. “Put the phone to your stomach so I can say hi to the mini ginger angel too!”
“Where are you?” I ask. “Are you drunk?”
“Noooo, not drunk,” she giggles. “Tipsy. Just a little tipsy. I’m–”
Her words are cut off by a rustling sound, and the next voice I hear is Griffin’s.
“She’s absolutely drunk, don’t let her lie to you,” he says as she shouts protest in the background. “We’re in Boston for the weekend at some charity event her firm is sponsoring, and mydarlin’ wife has made it her mission to test the limits of the open champagne bar.”
“That sounds fun,” I say with a sad smile. “Enjoy it. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Wait,” he says quickly before I can hang up. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “I guess Jack had plans tonight and I didn’t know, and so I’m here by myself.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I hear Ellie wrestle the phone back.
“What do you mean Jack has plans?” she demands. “He doesn’t hang out with anyone but us.”
“I don’t know, he didn’t tell me,” I say, chewing on my lip. “He just left.”
“Did something happen?” Griffin’s voice, and the quieting of the background noise tells me that they’ve stepped away from the party and put me on speaker.
