same question over and over these past few weeks. I was nervous and flustered and you were, well, you, and you suggested that and it sounded good. I gave a half-nod and then I was trapped, and I was too embarassed to set the record straight after that. It’s honestly just as stupid as it sounds.”
“You want me to believe that, but Bella…” He pushes away from the table, his chair creaking ominously. The alleyway kitchen looks minuscule with him braced in between the cupboards. “I can’t, okay? I just can’t.”
Despair and anger, both in equal measure, threaten to choke off my words altogether. Getting them out should earn me a medal. “I lied about being their niece. I’ll always be sorry about that. But I didn’t lie about birth control, and I don’t want your money. That has never been part of why I care about you.”
His shoulders are tense, like he’s preparing for blows, but he’s not moving toward the door. Not yet. “You’re entirely too likable on your own,” I tell him. “You’re a fantastic father. You’re brilliant at what you do at work. And you’re so funny. No one makes me laugh like you do.”
My words hang in the air between us, him not moving, me not speaking. My heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest.
“Ethan,” I murmur.
It breaks him out of the spell. He strides out to the living room, right to the front door. It doesn’t take him many steps.
I follow. “I was with my ex for six years,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around my chest, trying to keep myself from unraveling. “And I thought I loved him—I thought I knew what love was. But I was wrong, because being with you, Ethan… it felt like coming home.”
He’s still not looking at me; his hand is on the doorknob. The words might feel like they come from the very bottom of my soul, but there’s no telling if they’re even reaching him.
“Don’t leave me alone in this.” My voice breaks, but I’m beyond embarrassment. “I don’t want your checks. I want you to come to my doctor’s appointments with me.”
He shakes his head once. “Damn it, Bella, I can’t.”
I grip hold of his arm with both my hands, willing him to look at me. “What can I do to make you trust me again? What can I say?”
His voice sounds just as defeated as mine. “I don’t know, Bella. I don’t know.”
He pulls the front door open and my hands fall limp to my sides. It closes with a decisive snap behind him as he leaves, taking my hope that I’d one day be forgiven away with him.
23
Ethan
“Grandma! Look at me!” Haven crouches down on the grass, tucking her legs and arms underneath her. “Evie?”
Her younger sister obediently puts the two plastic crowns on Haven’s back, the golden crests upwards. “Look! What am I?”
My mother squints at her oldest grandchild. “A royal stone? A stone queen?”
“No!”
I clear my throat. “Are you a hedgehog?”
“Yes!”
“It’s her new favorite animal,” I stage-whisper to Mom. Louder, “that was very inventive, honey!”
She tosses the crowns off and grins. Evie grabs one of them and runs off, shrieking, looking behind her to make sure Haven is giving chase. She is.
I take a deep sip of my glass of lemonade. Maria’s recipe, and just as invaluable as Maria herself. She’s sitting down the table from us, tucked under the parasol, a book in hand. I can tell she’s watching the girls over the top edge of the page.
“A hedgehog,” Mom comments. “Of all the possible animals.”
“The week before it was a hippopotamus.”
“Goodness. You need to get these girls a pet. Something fluffy.”
“Don’t say that when they can hear. Haven’s been pushing Operation Canine since, well, she learned to speak.”
“A hamster,” my mother suggests. “Small, furry. It’ll tide them over until you have time for a dog.”
“I’ll never have time for a dog.” I take another deep sip of the icy drink. With work and now another child on the way… no time at all.
Bella had her check-up last week. I’d called her after, our conversation brief and focused on the child. Everything looked good, she’d told me. Healthy heartbeat.
I’d shut myself in my office after that phone call, my head in my hands with emotion. Healthy heartbeat. Another baby. My baby.
“Ethan?”
I blink, refocusing. “Sorry?”
“You’re a million miles away.” My mother clucks her tongue, the way she did when I was young. It’s been twenty years