Some Sort of Crazy(70)
That gave me just over four hours to figure out what the hell I was going to say to her to convince her to let me in. To let me love her. To let me be a father to my child.
My throat closed up, and my vision went a little blurry.
I had no idea how to be a father, but I would sure as hell try.
I let his call go to voicemail, mostly because I was crying too hard to answer, but also because I didn’t really want to hear him talk anymore. Maybe that wasn’t fair, since it was his baby too, but his reaction had been exactly what I thought it would be, and even though it wasn’t a surprise, it still hurt.
Ten minutes later, I listened to it, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Why was he coming here? What did he need to do, crush me in person? Would he try to sweet talk me into getting rid of it? Offer to write me a check so I’d just go away? My stomach churned just thinking about it.
I called Skylar.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I told Miles.”
She gasped. “What did he say?”
“Not much. He was in shock.”
“Of course. So were you. So was I.”
“Right.”
“And wait ’til you tell mom and dad.”
I frowned. “You’re not helping, Sky.”
“Sorry. So what happened with Miles?”
“He basically said he couldn’t handle this and didn’t know what to do, and we hung up.”
“Ugh. Not helpful or supportive.”
“Nope, no surprise there. But then five minutes later, he called back.”
“And?”
“And said he needs to see me, and he’s driving up.”
Another gasp. “Really?”
I grimaced. “Really.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
“I think he’s either going to be all sweet and persuasive and try to convince me to get rid of it because life is all about fun and games and we’re too young to be saddled with this, or he’ll offer me money.”
“Money for what?”
“I don’t know. To leave him alone so he can skip out to California unencumbered?”
“I think you’re selling him short, Nat. I’m on your side no matter what, but I do think you could maybe cut the guy some slack. You just told him you were pregnant. You’ve had days to think about this—he’s had minutes.”
“Yeah,” I said grudgingly. “Maybe.”
“What do you want him to say?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. This is such a fucking mess.”
“Just hear him out. He deserves that, at least.”
“Why?” I snapped. “Because his dick has good aim?”
“No, crabbypants. Because you’ve been friends forfuckingever, and you care about each other, and no matter which way you look at it, this is his baby, too.”
Baby. I sighed. Every time someone referred to it as a baby, I melted. There was no way I could end this pregnancy—deep down, I knew that. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, but politics aside, this was something Miles and I had done willingly. We’d taken the risk because we trusted each other. We cared for each other and always had.
“Fine. I’ll listen.”
“Fair enough. You need anything? I’m just getting to the grocery store. I could bring you some dinner.”
“No, that’s all right.”
“OK. Call me tomorrow.”
“I will. Night.”
We hung up, and I puttered around the house for a while, aimlessly wandering from room to room, picking things up and putting them down, idly wondering where I’d put things like a crib, a high chair, a rocker. Pretty soon, I felt too restless to be contained by the walls, and I grabbed a swimsuit and went to the gym. A swim always cleared my head, and it had never felt more muddled than it did right now.
But what was I going to do about my heart?
I called her when I was five minutes from her house.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I’m just getting here. Can I come over?”
She sighed. “I guess so.”
“Are you feeling OK?” Fear gutted me, and I realized I’d better get used to that feeling. I’d be worried about her all the time now.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Can I bring you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“No, thank you.”
“OK, I’ll be there in five.”
We hung up, and I pressed my lips together, going over in my mind what I wanted to say. You’d think as a writer I’d have a good enough command of my vocabulary to string something solid and convincing together, but every time I thought about Natalie being pregnant with my baby, my brain went to mush. What did she want to hear? Would she believe me if I told her I loved her? Would she take me seriously when I told her I wanted her to have this child? That I’d do anything to help her? That I’d never let her be alone?