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“You said you didn’t want kids,” I rasped. “So that means that we’re done.”
She hiccupped, and I nearly caved again. “Nash…”
“We’re done,” I repeated, gathering my strength. “I just wanted to come over and tell you that.”
“Wait!” she said as I was about to hang up. “You can’t just do this! You can’t just drop this bomb and expect us not to talk about it.”
I pressed the palm of one hand against my left eye socket and prayed the headache that was slowly starting to build was a bad one. I deserved the pain after this. “There’s nothing to talk about, Zip.”
With that, I hung up the phone.
She called back immediately.
And not once did I answer any of the texts and calls that came my way.
When I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ place twenty minutes later, I didn’t look at any of the messages.
Instead, I went right into the call log and blocked her number.
CHAPTER 17
Ma’am, my tattoos are more planned than your pregnancy.
-Nash to Zip
ZIP
It took me three weeks, but I finally got un-angry enough to really look into the situation more.
The day we’d broken up, something else besides the child that I now knew wasn’t his had happened. Something had changed in him that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
But it was enough to calm me somewhat.
He hadn’t wanted to break up with me.
Hell, he’d practically been just as deep in it as I was.
So, what had happened?
Sadly, it took me as long as it did to realize that there was something more to the situation than me just ‘not wanting kids.’
Normally there’s at least some sort of a negotiation. Maybe, only one child is had. Maybe he could talk me around. Maybe something could change, or a compromise could be made. But it’d been so final. So immediate.
Needless to say, I wasn’t burying my head in the sand any longer.
Though, that took me way too long to figure out. Much longer than it should have.
There was only one person to call, of course.
I picked up my phone but didn’t bother to dial the number. I just called out her name.
I wasn’t sure how she knew when we needed her.
Honestly, it was probably a huge invasion of our privacy.
But she answered when I called, and at that moment in time, that was all that I needed.
Only, it wasn’t just Folsom on the line when the call came. It was her husband, too.
“I feel like this is about to take up our entire fucking Sunday,” Kobe said the moment the call connected.
I gritted my teeth.
“Stop,” Folsom said to her husband. “This is probably important.”
“But the problem is, we had this nice, romantic weekend away planned, and we were packing for it. Now I have to do that by myself, and I have this distinct feeling that you’re not even going to want to go anymore because you’ll be digging into people’s lives like you shouldn’t be. Make her do it.”
That pissed me off.
Now I loved Kobe. I loved Kobe for Folsom. But he had a happy fucking life. Who was he to complain?
“I went to school for business administration,” I said coolly. “I’m not a hacker.”
Kobe, Folsom’s husband, muttered something underneath his breath that I couldn’t hear, and I felt my mouth quirking up at the edges. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”
“I said that y’all are so codependent on each other that it’s unhealthy,” he murmured, allowing me to hear this time. “Here she is, setting up alerts and automatic call backs to y’all if y’all so much as mention her name, where mostly she can just listen and snoop. Meanwhile, y’all allow her to because y’all want her to know the information, in case maybe she’s needed. It’s like a vicious, never-ending cycle that y’all should break before y’all can’t live without each other.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”
“Someone woke up with his wife’s hands in his pants, and then someone else had to go and call her name, and someone’s wife forgot all about his hard…” sound was muffled, and then Folsom was laughing as there sounded to be a struggle.
I was nice enough to hang up.
I waited fifteen minutes—spending most of that time getting ready for my gym class and deciding which pair of shoes I wanted to wear—when she finally called back.
I answered with, “If I’m wearing Halloween shorts that are purple with black cats on them, what color shoes should I wear? Black rainbow No Bulls with blue and green soles, or a pair of black Nike Metcons?”
“It’s February!” Kobe called out.
There was a pause and then Folsom interjected, “Wear the ones you just got. They’re cuter.”
I didn’t ask how she knew what I just got.
She was just as tuned in to on our online spending habits since she stalked us as she was to when we talked about her. Just like her husband had so kindly pointed out.
