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Before he got there, I knew. Maybe not exactly what he would say. But my body knew.
My chest had been tight since I woke up. My stomach was still cramping lightly and I had barely slept.
Every possible version of the conversation had played through my head between midnight and sunrise. Maybe Caleb had just been scared yesterday. Maybe he’d spent the night processing and would walk through my door excited. Maybe the baby would finally force his hand.
And then there were the other possibilities. The ones I kept shoving away. The ones that made me turn onto my side, place my hand over my stomach, and whisper over and over.
“I’m sorry.”
I didn’t even know what I was apologizing for yet. I just knew I owed one. I talked to my baby that night more than I had ever talked to anything that couldn’t answer me. I told it about my house. About Klair and how she would pretend to be annoyed but would probably buy entirely too much shit. I told it that its father was funny and he had once told me fatherhood was the greatest dream he’d had to delay. I told it I was scared, then I cried.
I realized why I couldn’t stop loving on my stomach. Part of me already knew I might not have long.
Caleb arrived at 10:11. Eleven minutes late. He looked terrible, but walked in and kissed my forehead.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
He followed me into the living room. I sat on one end of the couch. He sat on the other. I folded my hands in my lap because they wouldn’t stop shaking.
Caleb leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How do you feel?”
“Pregnant.”
His eyes closed briefly. “Blair.”
“What?”
“I’m asking physically.”
“I’m fine.”
“Cramping?”
“A little.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
He nodded.
I stared at him. “Just say it.”
His head lifted. “What?”
“Whatever you’ve been practicing since yesterday.”
His jaw tightened. “I haven’t been practicing anything.”
“Bullshit.”
“Blair.”
“Say it.”
He rubbed both hands over his face. “This pregnancy could destroy Ravenna.”
