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“You…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what, exactly, was it like?” she asked. “Because from where I’m standing, that’s exactly what it looks like.”
“I…” I growled in frustration. “I didn’t want you to have to go through that. I saw my mom and dad go through it with my brothers. Saw my sisters freak out. Then my mom… Baby, you don’t deserve that.”
“I do!” she screamed then. “I do deserve that. Because I fucking love you, Nash Christopherson. For some stupid fucking reason, I love you! You! You stupid, asshole, jerk. I deserve that! I deserve to be with you! I deserve to help you when you’re down. I deserve to be in that waiting room while we wait for you to have surgery. I deserve your words. I deserve your love. I deserve it all! I love you, Nash! I love you with my whole fucking heart. And your worth isn’t based on you being healthy or sick.”
I was speechless.
I’d never thought of it in the way that she was.
I deflated. “I never meant for you…”
“You never meant for me to what?” she snapped. “And, to make matters worse, I’ve spent the last three weeks utterly sick off my ass. And all because of you!”
Me?
“What?” I asked.
“You, Nash Christopherson,” she snapped. Then she picked some white, rectangular, plastic thing off the table and reached for my hand. She slapped it into my hand, and something wet hit my palm.
“What is this?” I asked.
“That’s the pregnancy test I just peed on,” she said. “Congrats, it’s a miracle. You’re going to be a father.”
I froze.
“What?”
“A. Father,” she repeated. “You’re going to be one. I hope you realize I’m about to ruin your life.”
She could ruin it all she wanted.
As long as she stayed in it.
“Baby…”
“Enough.” She turned to the lady who was standing stiffly behind the counter. “Did you get all that food packed up?”
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes wide.
“Good.” She nodded. “This asshole is going to pay you for it. If he doesn’t, just know that he’s a professional NASCAR driver. You can leave him a scathing Facebook post review or something if he doesn’t.”
Then she turned to me. “Where are you at?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where are you planning on living tonight?” she answered, angry.
I didn’t think to lie.
“I’m living with my parents for now. We all are,” I said quietly. “My mom…”
She held up her hand for me to stop, and I did.
“Then I guess I’m moving in with them,” she snapped. Then she stomped her way to the door. “Val, take me home. I need to pack.”
Val looked at me with pity in her eyes. “I know why you did it.”
I swallowed hard.
“But this has been the worst three weeks of her life,” she said. “You might’ve had good intentions, but Zip is the glue that kept our family together. Some might think it’s Keene, but it was Zip. Zip, the girl who everyone pretended to be okay around. Zip, the girl who took on a man four times her size because she saw how unhappy he made us. Zip, who, for the last few years, has made it her mission to make every one of us happy in the worst possible situations. She’s our backbone, Nash. And she could be that for you if you let her.”
Suddenly sick to my stomach, I couldn’t decide if it was because I was breathing hard, working out my broken lungs, or because I was just realizing how badly I’d screwed up.
“Oh, and Nash?” she asked as she paused at the door.
I looked up.
“Yeah?” I croaked.
“She conquered her fear of driving in the city. She pushed herself and learned how to drive in the traffic. She now can go 60 miles an hour in traffic and on crowded freeways. She did something she’s absolutely terrified of, because she wanted to be able to get to you any time of day if you called.”
With that excellent parting gut punch, she exited the diner and kept walking, not once looking back.
Zip stood furiously at the car door, waiting and not looking up.
I willed her to glance, just once, at me, but she didn’t.
I watched until they both drove away.
It was only as the brake lights disappeared from my field of vision that I turned away, finding the woman behind the counter staring at me expectantly.
“You don’t happen to have a spare t-shirt I can borrow, do you?” I asked.
The lady behind the counter pointed at the t-shirts on display.
They said ‘I’ll do all the meat.’
“I’ll take one,” I said. “XL if you have it. Large, if there’s nothing else.”
She pointed at all of their food that they’d left behind.
“What do you want to do with that?” she asked.
I looked at the food.
It was probably already cold.
“Can you make some fresh, and have it delivered to an address?” I asked. “I’ll pay you for your trouble.”
