The knot in my gut tightened, even as I pushed out a breathy, unconvincing laugh.
Natalie seemed to catch wind that something wasn’t quite right because she sobered, rushing to say, “Not that there’s any hurry for kids, of course. Or that I’m trying to guilt you into coming to Boston, but…” She shrugged, and there was something about it that made me sad. “I miss you. Both of you.”
“I miss you, too, Nat,” I whispered, giving her a small, encouraging smile.
The thing was, I loved the picture that she was painting. I loved it so much that ithurtto think about.
And it hurt even more to doubt.
It waswretchedandagonizingto doubt, actually.
My brain tormented me daily with it—the doubt, the indecision,the anxiety. And for a second, I thought about saying the scary, quiet parts aloud to my best friend. I thought about telling her how many doctors had said things to me about pregnancy since my PE, how frightening they made it seem, how careful they told me I needed to be. I thought about asking her medical opinion, whether she’d ever learned about it or maybe encountered cases like mine.
But I was afraid of her answer, frankly.
And Natalie had handled pregnancy like it was nothing to worry over, like it had been ajoy.
I felt such a twisting guilt that all I could summon was dread.
I wished now more than ever that my body hadn’t betrayed me, hadn’t reacted the way that it had. I knew I was young still, but I’d never been more stressed at the idea that one day I wouldn’t be. That years would go by, and I would still be this scared, and I’d never be fully ready to trust my body again.
So I’d rather just pretend. That we could have everything Natalie was describing one day. That I could give Sully the future he wanted. The future he deserved.
There was a loud, happy squeal as Chloe flew a little too high in the air, and Sully pulled her back to the ground and quickly unbuckled her from the swing as though it had terrified him a little to see her soar like that. Then he was picking her up in his arms, making her laugh as he dipped and twirled with her in his arms instead.
It was the future he deserved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ellie
IWAS ENJOYING OUR little remodeling process far more than I thought I would.
I’d never really decorated anything before, which, when I thought about it, was a little depressing. But true, nonetheless. My house growing up wasn’t a home—simply a vessel to hold my mom’s purchases, the meaningless things she held on to. She didn’t bother painting the walls because you could barely see them. When I was really young, we put up decor around the holidays. But at some point, I think that all got buried, lost in a sea of other boxes and bins.
By the time I moved to campus after high school, I despised the idea of clutter and kept my side of the dorm room as simplistic as possible. My roommate was a little messy, but it had been nothing compared to my mom, so it hadn’t bothered me.
It went on that way throughout college, and after graduation, I moved to Boston to live with Natalie, occupying the vacant part of their duplex. It was the first time I’d really had more of my own space. My own kitchen and living room. My own dining room and bathroom. But I didn’t own it, of course—it had belonged to Natalie and Korey, and I hadn’t wanted to make any major changes.
More importantly, though, was the fact that so many of my favorite things, so much of what I loved and could have filled the apartment with…reminded me of the man I left behind.
It was similar in California. I lived in rentals, and I just didn’t, well, care.
I cared about this house, though.
And I cared about the man who was currently sitting on the floor, hunched over as he repainted the white baseboards.
We’d painted a lot in the last two weeks—the kitchen, the sunroom, the stairwell. We’d even replaced the floral wallpaper in the front entryway with something that looked like it was from this century, though it still had roses in it. We also bought a few indoor plants, and there was something about the greenery that helped make the house feel more alive again.
Tonight, the living room was aglow—a combination of the soft yellow walls and a few lit candles. Autumn had begun to creep into the air and the color of the leaves, and I was leaning into it. Maybe a change of season would be good for me.
“So I think I need to make a trip to my apartment tomorrow,” Sully said, pulling me away from my hunt for home decor. Somewhere along the way, I started using my Saturday nights to scroll through websites, on a mission to find the perfect curtains to complement all the new walls.
I blinked for a second, having completely forgotten that hehadan apartment.
It had been a month, and Sully hadn’t been home—tohishome—once.
“I feel like it might be time to grab more clothes,” he went on, turning to look at me and setting his paintbrush down. “Theo only packed me like three pairs of underwear, and I am just not interested in doing laundry every other day.”
