“Why?”
“Because you’re a liar!”
“Well, then why are you here?” he explodes.
I glare at him, embarrassed. This was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake coming in, and I did it anyway. Slow learner, I think, hating myself and Sawyer equally. Stupid girl.
“Look, Reena,” Sawyer says quietly. He gets a little closer again, careful, warm breath at the spot behind my ear. “Sooner or later, I think we’re going to do this.”
I jerk away like he’s radioactive. “The hell we are.”
“We are,” he says, like it’s that simple. I want to jump down off the counter, but he’s standing in my way. “And don’t talk like you don’t want to, either, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be showing up at my house at eleven o’clock at night so I could make you a second dinner you don’t even want to eat.” He looks so sure of himself I could kill him. “But I’m not going to let it happen until you forgive me.”
“Well, then, I guess we won’t be doing it for a hundred thousand years.”
Sawyer snorts. “I guess not.”
“Oh, suddenly you’re into delayed gratification?” I’m striking out in every direction, indiscriminate. I want to hurt him as fast and as badly as I can. On the stove the rice is boiling over, an angry hiss.
“You’re pissed,” he says, eyes narrowing. I can tell that blow landed, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as it should. “So I’m going to let that one slide.”
“How charitable of you.”
Sawyer shrugs. “If I just wanted sex, I could get sex. Trust me, I’ve done it. But I want you.”
I seriously almost slap him. “God, you are such an ass.””
It’s a sickness.”
“Yeah, we should throw you a fund-raiser.”
He grins. “You’re getting feisty in your old age.”
“Well.” I want to mark up this perfect kitchen, pull the pans off the rack and draw on the walls like the baby with a Sharpie. “Getting knocked up and walked out on will do that to a person.”
“I didn’t know you were pregnant!”
“I don’t care!”
Sawyer sighs noisily. “So what are you going to do, storm out on me again? Because—”
“Yes, actually,” I fire back. This time I do hop down onto the tile, shove him roughly out of my way. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I grab my shoulder bag off the table, brush past him. The smell of burning rice sticks to my T-shirt clear across town.
*
I get home and head upstairs to check on the baby, anger and exhaustion and that infinite embarrassment still rattling around like loose coins inside my head. The house is cool and silent, the hallway dark save for the glow of Hannah’s nightlight spilling dimly out the half-open door; I get in there and find her wide-awake and waiting, calm as the surface of a cool, placid lake. “Hi, Mama,” she says cheerfully, grinning like possibly she stayed up just to talk to me and is pleased with herself for being so clever. Her eyes are fathoms and fathoms deep.
“Hi, baby.” I drop my purse on the floor and cross the carpet, suddenly a hundred percent sure I’m about to cry. I’m just stupidly relieved to see her, is all, this twenty-pound miracle I thought for sure would make me a prisoner, hands and feet bound zip-tie secure. It does feel like that some days, to be honest, but right now I’m bone-grindingly glad.
I swallow the tears, smile back. “Hi, Hannah,” I say again, lifting her out of the crib and cuddling her against me, rubbing her warm downy head against my cheek. She’s getting heavy lately, more toddler than baby. It makes me feel weirdly nostalgic and bittersweet. “Whatcha still doing up, huh?”
Hannah doesn’t answer—she’s got words but not so much conversation yet—and instead she just snuggles into my body, surprisingly strong arms coming up around my neck. “Mama,” she murmurs again.
“I am your mama,” I tell her, sinking down into the rocking chair and smoothing patterns with my palm across her tiny baby back. “I’m the only one you’ve got, poor thing.”
26
Before
God help me, he didn’t call.
Like … ever.
The first couple of days after I slept over weren’t so bad. He was probably just busy, I reasoned, as I made a big show of not looking at my cell phone—of trying not to be that girl. I had homework to finish. I had articles to write. On Monday I worked a party at the restaurant, tucking the extra tips into my pocket at the end of the evening, telling myself it was seed money for whatever awesome adventures were waiting for me after graduation.
It was fine, I promised myself in the ladies’ room mirror. I was fine.
Two days turned into three, though, and then five—and soon a week had passed. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I skulked around near the Flea, where his band practiced. I called my own cell on the landline, on the off chance I’d somehow randomly stopped getting service in my house.
“Well,” I muttered out loud, when it rang just right as rain—thinking of my father, thinking of Allie, thinking of all the things I actually didn’t know. Well.
I didn’t cry. I planned instead. I dug out all my travel books and bought an armful of new ones, retracing my old routes and making notes: Macedonia and Mykonos, Joshua Tree and Big Sky. I priced tours of the Pyramids on Kayak and Expedia. I took virtual tours of hotels in Prague.