Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Matthew came by today,” I volunteer blandly.
His face screws up in confusion. “Matthew? Your ex-fiancé Matthew?”
“Yes. Came all the way to Texas. Begged me to take him back.”
My tone is so cold I barely recognize it.
Understanding dawns on Sawyer’s face—hurt turns to anger as his eyes darken—and I don’t correct the wrong assumptions swirling in his head. This is easier than I was expecting, a perfect axe.
“Yeah, anyway. Big day.” I shrug evasively.
He snorts. “Sounds like it.”
“I won’t keep you.”
“Right.”
His jaw tightens as he looks down at all the silly junk he’s purchased for me over the last few days. The little stuffed bear, a perfect gender-neutral yellow. I wonder if he feels duped by me and my body. Not pregnant. Maybe I wasn’t even close.
Tears are coming. I can feel them creeping in even as I blink them away. I should apologize for bringing him into this mess, for overreacting about the chances of an unplanned pregnancy. I can’t bring the words up though. Emotion is lodged in my throat. My nose burns. I’m going to cry; it’s only a matter of time. I’ve been holding it in all day.
I double-click, waking up my computer as a way of dismissing him. “I have some stuff I still need to get done.”
“I think we need to discuss all of this,” Sawyer says, not catching a hint. “Don’t you?” When I don’t reply, he presses on. “Madison…”
I stare at my inbox, the safety of it, how none of these emails have anything to do with me or Sawyer or our baby. “Not tonight.”
Please go.
“Then when?”
I don’t answer him. I don’t look at him. I breathe through my nose, count to five, feel a sob building in my chest. No.
“Madison?”
I ignore him again and eventually, Sawyer slips the baby milestone book and the stuffed bear off the corner of my desk before he leaves. I wait until he’s gone, rush to lock the front door of our office, and make it to the bathroom before I really lose it.
Go anywhere! Be anything! Dream big!
Or in this instance, sit on a toilet and sob.
CHAPTER 18
It’s Saturday, close to lunchtime, and I’m crammed into the front seat of Queenie’s car with boxes wedging me in on all sides. We stuffed as many as we could in the back seat and the trunk, but there are still two at my feet and one on my lap, blocking my view out the front windshield. Queenie helped me pack up all the pregnancy stuff from Sawyer. I told her about the tests when I got home from work on Monday night, and she’s been my rock these last few days, letting me cry, rubbing my back, even skipping book club on Wednesday to stay with me and veg out while we binged a murder documentary.
Now, she turns down the volume on the country song blasting on the radio and frowns over at me.
“It’s been a few days now, hun…”
I offer a noncommittal hum.
“I just…I’m trying to wrap my head around it. You didn’t even seem this shaken up when you and Matthew ended things.”
I wasn’t.
“I really wanted a baby.” I say it as I stare out at the cornfields whipping past us. I don’t want to look at Queenie now. I haven’t cried at all today, and it feels like a real accomplishment.
“I know that. I just wish you weren’t taking this so hard. Babies will be in your future. You and Sawyer tried once, and not really—what’s stopping you from trying again?”
It’s not that simple. I’ve tried to explain it to her.
“Can’t you see? It’s one thing to get pregnant accidentally…”
“No, actually I can’t see. I don’t have my glasses—lost them two days ago. I think they’re somewhere at the office.”
I whip my head in her direction. “Then why are you driving?!”
“I can mostly make out the road fine. You just tell me when I’m supposed to turn off.”
We’re heading to drop some boxes with Marge’s niece. She’s pregnant and living on her own in a small trailer on the outskirts of town. When we get there—after a few wrong turns thanks to Queenie’s near-blindness—I unload everything onto her doorstep while my mom waits in the car. I feel like I’m making quick work of it, but I’m not fast enough because when I’m on the last one, Marge’s niece—blonde hair, big eyes, wide smile—swings open the screen door and starts bawling when she sees the amount of stuff we brought her.
“You have no idea how nice this is!”
She comes over, and her cute pregnant belly presses into me as she hugs me.
I pat her shoulder tepidly. It’s all I can manage. “No problem. Marge kept the compression socks. You’ll have to beg her for them. She’s pretty attached.” I sound pretty matter-of-fact about it all.
She laughs and wipes under her eyes as she pulls away from me. “Marge can keep them. Look at all this stuff.”