But I have to make her understand—I have to.
“I saw the bills, baby,” I tell her.
“What bills?”
“Back in your apartment. That night I finally stayed again. When I was leaving in the morning, I went to leave you a note and I saw a whole stack of bills.” I exhale, shove a hand through my hair. “I tried to pay them, but they wouldn’t let me even get that far without confirming I was you, so I figured that if I took some of the pressure off, you could get ahead?—”
“That’s why you asked me to move in?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” I shake my head. “That’s not the only reason. I want you here.”
“Where you can take care of me.”
“Yes!” I move close to her again, take her face in my hands.
“Because you’re what? Worried that I won’t be able to take care of our baby?” She jerks out of my hold, steps away. “That I’m just a pathetic poor girl who needs to be rescued?”
“God, no. I just?—”
“Those bills were the last of my student loans and the medical debt I took on when my mom got sick. I’ve worked my ass off over the last few years to catch up on them and they’re paid off now. I made the last payments probably not long after you saw them.”
“I—why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “That’s big. We could have celebrated?—”
“Maybe I should have. But then we got busy with the move and these last few weeks have been insane.” Her eyes fix on mine. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d seen them? Why didn’t you talk to me about it if it was so concerning to you?”
Her face is fucking killing me.
“It’s not like you think,” I say in a rush.
“Except, you keep saying that…but don’t explain how it’s not like I think.” She drops her face into her hands and groans. “Do you even love me?”
My heart convulses.
“Wh-what?”
“You said it just before you fell asleep a couple weeks ago, right after we’d…” She waves a hand, her cheeks going a little pink. “Do you mean that too? Or is it another case of you don’t mean it like that?”
“Baby,” I begin.
I love her. Of course I do.
I just don’t want to say it like this, to hurt her like this.
“I—”
She bends over on a cry, clutching her side.
“Mama,” I say, rushing over. “What’s the matter?”
Her eyes are watery. “Nothing.”
“Is it the baby?” I press.
She rubs at her belly and straightens. “The baby’s fine.”
“Then what?—”
“You,” she whispers, straightening. “You’re what’s the matter with me.”
