Page 77 of Some Sort of Crazy (Happy Crazy Love 2)
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?
