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Nick’s been gone for thirty-three days. He’s texted daily, checking in, and we talk on the phone every other day or so. We’ve bonded over shared pictures and stories of Rigel and the everyday orchard business. The more I get to know Nick, the more I miss him.
Being alone is the hardest part of everyday. Getting out of bed for no one is agony. It’s a job that each morning I force myself to do, and it’s because Nick gave me Rigel. Knowing he needs caring for keeps me moving.
But it’s more than Rigel, it’s the thoughtfulness of all of it. Our conversations last for hours, and we chat about anything and everything, and he doesn’t patronize me in any way—he’s become my best friend—I look forward to sharing everything with him.
I have Rigel to quell the loneliness. He’s kept me busy, but he’s a joy to have around. His bouncy puppy energy is the reason I get out of bed each day. Because of Nick, breathing is bearable, living isn’t a death sentence—I’m excited about the future.
Until yesterday, I lived on it—simply seeing his words pop up on my phone made my day. Finding out I’m pregnant with another man’s baby erased all that. At first, I thought my missed period was due to stress, but a quick trip to the CVS and several tests later confirms it.
I’m pregnant.
Phone in hand, I sit on the edge of my bed in tears, lost, scared, happy, excited, all at once. The second I knew I was pregnant, a huge weight lifted—like I now know I won’t be alone. But the man I’d rather be the father isn’t, and the man that is the father is on his way over. I haven’t told Branson, but I know he’ll be supportive.
In my heart, I know he’ll be a great father too. His dad treats him so poorly, that he’ll do whatever it takes to separate himself from him.
Where will Nick fit into all this?
My grip on the phone tightens. I can’t bring myself to call him. I know it will mean the end of whatever it is we started. My heart aches with that knowledge, and I don’t think I can take it.
I want Nick, I think I might be in love with him. He won’t have me now. What man would?
The doorbell chimes, causing me to jump. How long have I been sitting here lost in thought? Surely, Branson isn’t here, already. I move to the window and see his car parked outside. My stomach drops.
Since my parents passed, I seem to have no regard for time.
Moving to greet him, I open the front door, and he smiles while yanking me into a hug. We haven’t seen each other in weeks, since the funeral. I’ve avoided him at all costs, but now I can’t keep hiding.
Wrapping my arms around him, I try to gage some sort of feeling but there isn’t anything but friendship. Pulling back, I nod towards the sitting room, welcoming him into my home.
“How have you been, Zeta?” His regard is genuine, as always, he’s cordial, kind, and the space between us is relaxed.
My legs take me to the sofa, and I sit—my thoughts are chaos—I’m basically a zombie, a zombie that has no idea what to say. Staring ahead, a moment passes as I try to find the words, but then the only word that matters flies from my lips. “Pregnant.” Swallowing, I close my eyes while he plops himself down beside me.
He’s silent for a beat, stunned, but then he recovers and nudges me. “Marry me?”
My eyes bulge, connecting to his as I laugh, surprised, but not really. “What? No...I...”
“Come on, Zeta. It makes sense. Your parents wanted it, my parents wanted it—fate has stepped in. We’re going to have a baby.” Excited, he looks around and waves a hand in the air. “You need help. You can’t do this all on your own. I can help, be a husband, a father to our child.”
In his words, he omitted us wanting to get married, and I really don’t want to marry him. Branson’s a good guy. I’ve always known it, but I’ve also always known that I don’t and never will love him. Even in this moment, I feel nothing but friendship for him. I suppose it’s better than nothing, but I can’t just marry him.
He’s not Nick.
He leans in and kisses me, soft, tender, hopeful. Still, I feel nothing. Straight-faced and unmoved, I inch away and eye him. “We discussed this...before...Branson, we’re not in love...You know as well as I do that when we...it was a mistake...and you’d be committing to a life with me when maybe there’s someone else out there for you...and I want...”
He cuts me off before I can say Nick’s name. “I’ll care for our family like any man would. I won’t want anything else, and I still firmly believe love will grow. We get on well, don’t we?”
“Yes, but...”
“Look, I know this is a lot. You don’t have to answer right now...Just think about it and let me know.” A huge smile curves his handsome mouth, and his eyes light up. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a father. This is...well it’s just the best thing to happen to me in forever. No matter what you decide, I’m with you, one-hundred-percent.”
In a daze, I show him out, promising to be in touch. The phone is still in my hand. I have to do this, I don’t want to, but I have to, and I’m not doing it via text like a spineless coward.
I dial his number and wait.
He picks up. “Hey, baby. How are you?” The cheer in his tone cuts deep.
Again, the word just pops out. “Pregnant.”
He’s silent, obviously shocked, knowing it can’t possibly be his while wondering about all of it because on the night we met, I was adamant I was saving myself for marriage—I feel sick. I should have told him what happened. I was hoping to forget about it, but a lie of omission is still a lie.
“It’s Branson’s baby.” A tear slips from my eye, burning a path down my cheek. “After my parents died...we...it was a stupid mistake...but we did it...” His silence breaks me. Knowing I’ve hurt him is tearing me up, but honesty is my only option. Seconds pass and I wonder if he hung up. “Are you still there?”
“What am I supposed to do with this, Zeta?” He sounds...like he’s trying to compose himself. No doubt, he’s angry. In my deluded daydreams, my thoughts about how this would go down, I hoped he’d accept it, that we would move on. His tone tells me I was delusional.
With everything else going on, everything that I’ve lost, the thought of him shunning me is too much—I can’t hear it, I won’t. “I just thought you should know. Branson asked me to marry him.” The second I say it, I snap my mouth shut, regretting it. The coldness and spite in my words—that’s not like me. I’ve given him no opportunity to come to terms with this. What is my problem? Ugh. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for what I know is coming.
“You two should be very happy together,” he says, his tone tight, like he’s clearly trying to keep his cool. There’s a moment of silence, followed by a sardonic huff. “Take care, Zeta.”
Before I can say anything more, he disconnects the call. Staring at the screen of my phone, I’m stunned, absolutely gutted. I blew that whole conversation in the most pathetically epic way.
He hates me now.
I shouldn’t have told him about the proposal. Now he thinks I’m into Branson. The one person I had hoped would support me will likely never speak to me again.
Did I really think it could have gone better?
Yes.
Maybe he’ll come around. It’s just a shock. Thoughts of him coming to me and sweeping me into his arms, telling me we’ll be together no matter what, that he’ll love this baby, they swirl through my mind like perfect fiction.
Fiction is not my reality.
But to just hang up, to just leave me hanging when I’m so in love with him it actually hurts. Choking on a sob, my chest constricts. I’ve lost him.
Who can blame him?
Well, if he can just walk away, if he can just cut me off like that, then I guess I was wrong about him. Anger, and shame, and complete humiliation, rage through me like an emotional rollercoaster moving at lightspeed.
It isn’t meant to be. Those words twirl through my mind as I mope up to bed and crawl in. It’s five in the afternoon and I’m in bed, exhausted, done, and that feeling of utter despair once again takes control.
Lying here, staring at the ceiling, one thought comes back to me. My mamma would be over the moon to hear Branson and I are having a baby. She’d insist I marry him. So maybe I just should.
Mamma was so sure we’d grow to love each other, that we’d make a good match.
“Branson,” I whisper, but his name doesn’t stir a single sentiment of desire. But I don’t loathe him. He’s not disgusting, he’s kinda hot in a handsome prep-school kind of way. And he’s a good person, supportive. He would never just hang up on me like...Nick’s face comes rolling into mind, and it’s the last thing I see in my mind’s eye as my eyelids close.