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“It’s okay to care, you know.” His voice is low and soft as he rubs small circles into my lower back.
My fingers shake as I reach for the plastic pen that’s attached to the counter by a cheap metal cord.
“I know.”
“And it’s okay to send money. What’s it for?”
I see him frown out of the corner of my eye as I mess up my address. I crumple the form and grab another one.
“She had an unexpected bill,” I say, too embarrassed to go into the detail.
He nods as I fill out the form slowly to counteract the way my hand is shaking. I mess up my phone number and try to correct it, writing the five over the eight until I accidentally tear a hole in the form.
“Jesus,” I hiss, crumpling it.
He takes the pen from my hand and picks up a new form. Then he starts filling in my name. I stand there, watching him write my full name clearly, legibly. Then he moves on to my address. A lump forms in my throat.
“It’s okay to care, you know,” he says, writing in my phone number.
He’s memorized my phone number. I don’t have anyone’s phone number memorized. They all just live in my phone, but here he is, writing it down from memory.
“I know,” I say again.
“It’s also okay not to give her money. You don’t owe her anything.” His tone is so soft, so gentle and matter of fact, that I can’t keep my shit together.
My mouth feels wet and my eyes burn with tears. He sets the pen down and wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. I have to lean a bit over the swell of my belly, and it only makes me cry harder.
“I hate the way she gets to me,” I say into his chest.
“I know.”
“She asked about my job.” I laugh through the tears and shake my head as he runs his warm, rough hand over my hair. “She knew about the shop. And then she asked about the baby. She told me about when she was pregnant with me. I should have known…” I feel so stupid.
Of course she wanted something. I should have known when she asked about me and wanted to know about the baby and everything else that she wanted something. It was like she was giving me what she thought I wanted in exchange for the money.
Except she was totally right, wasn’t she? Because it worked. It always works.
“I am so stupid,” I say.
“You’re not stupid,” he says, folding his arms tighter around me and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“I should have seen it coming. She doesn’t do anything unless she’s going to get something in return. I know this. It’s how it’s always been. Ever since I was a teenager. Maybe even before that. But she called and she asked about me and it was like I was so desperate I was willing to believe that’s all she wanted. I’m such an idiot.”
He pulls back and bends his knees, cupping my cheeks so I have to look at him.
“You’re not. You’re selfless and you’re compassionate and you have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. And our baby is going to be so loved and so lucky.” He blinks quickly, his jaw tightening. “Fuck, I’m lucky, Megan.”
I feel my face crumple. Freaking pregnancy hormones. Next thing I know, I’m a sobbing mess, and I’m shaking in his arms. In a Fred Meyer.
“Fuck you,” I say, with a sharp, short laugh.
He chuckles and it shakes me as he holds me tighter. “Love is not transactional,” Derek says. “She can’t buy yours. And you don’t owe her anything in exchange for her showing you affection.” He pulls back and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “But there’s also nothing wrong with you caring. Nothing wrong with you helping.”
I nod, barely getting myself together. “I know it’s stupid—”
“It’s not stupid,” he whispers.
“I can’t just leave it. She needs me, and even if it’s stu—whatever it is, I can’t just abandon her.”
