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She doesn’t want me to be there for her. It was a reminder I needed because every time I thought about her, I wanted to go to her. I wanted to be with her. So instead of thinking about her, over-analyzing her behavior, and longing for her, I took the hottest shower I could stand and then headed to the kitchen to satisfy my hunger.
Days of distraction meant my fridge was mostly empty except for a couple eggs and a wedge of cheese, not to mention some questionable lettuce in the crisper. The freezer however, was a bachelor’s best friend and it was where I found frozen fried chicken and steak cut fries. “Perfect.” It was a small thing, but it felt like the kind of victory that boded well for things to come and felt the weight on my shoulders lightened as I cranked up the oven, scattered the fries and chicken on a baking sheet and set the timer.
My phone sat on the kitchen table, mocking me with its silence. Just call her, you know you want to. I did want to call Shannon, I was worried as hell about her, but I couldn’t. I learned a long time ago that you couldn’t force people to care, couldn’t force them to trust you once they’d made up their mind not to. Carly couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t make a career of the Navy, no matter how many times I told her my plans, and look what she’d done.
No. I stood firm and walked past the silent phone and went to check my mail. The box was full since I didn’t check it every day and my feet slowed as I browsed through the envelopes, most of which was junk since I paid my bills online. But there was a yellow envelope in my mother’s slightly slanted handwriting and I knew that inside was an invitation to my brother’s birthday celebration. As much as I wanted to toss in the trash unread, I couldn’t do that to my mother. I wouldn’t.
The next letter had no stamp, no postmark and no addresses. Curiosity piqued, I stepped out on the back deck and tore into the plain white envelope like an animal. As soon as I saw my name at the top, I knew who the author was.
Shannon.
My gaze bounced left to right, absorbing the first few lines quickly, eager to get any news from her. Then, my gaze slowed in shock.
I don’t really know how to say this to soften the blow, Miles, so I guess I’ll just put it out there and you can do with it what you want. This news is why I’m not sure we can be friends, because you’ll probably hate me by the time you finish reading this. It’ll break my heart because I love having you in my life, but I’ll understand.
I’m not dying and I don’t have a serious illness, which should set your mind at ease, but your concern wasn’t just appreciated, it made me remember what it was like to be surrounded by people who actually care. So, thank you.
Now, on to the news. I’m pregnant. That first, spectacular night we spent together, created a life. I’ve already decided that I want this baby, I want to be a mother and pass on knowledge and family secrets and all that stuff to a little boy or girl. I really want to do this. But I realize that this might be a monkey wrench in your plans and I didn’t know how to tell you in person.
I don’t know if this is welcome news to you, but whatever you decide to do, Miles, I will respect that and accept it.
Love, Shannon
I don’t know how long I stood in the space between my mailbox and the front door, staring at the words on the paper in her carefully neat cursive, letting the shock course through my veins. Shannon was pregnant with my baby.
As soon as I read the words, everything made sense about her behavior the past few weeks. The nonstop exhaustion, the nausea and irritation. All well-known signs of pregnancy and I’d missed them, every last one of them.
On the heels of that relief came other emotions like shock and anger. Hurt that ran all the way down to my bones that Shannon felt she couldn’t tell me this news to my face. My first instinct was to jump in the car and drive over to Shannon’s house to confront her, instead my feet were on the move, headed back to the kitchen so I could call her. The phone rang and rang, before eventually, finally rolling over to voice mail. “Shannon, call me back. Please.”
I expected a call within the first few minutes and when it didn’t come, I sent a text. Two texts.
