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LILY
Ishould have been terrified, but instead, I felt a deluge of joy sweep through me. My rational, logical side tried to temper it.
What do you have to be happy about? You’re barely twenty-three. You haven’t even started law school. You’re going to raise a baby while building your career? That’ll be…interesting.
Funny, I’d never realized how snide my logical inner voice could sound. I answered it defensively. Yes, it will be interesting. And amazing. Con did it when he was only nineteen, and so can I. Besides, I won’t be doing it alone.
Would I?
A whisper of trepidation cut through the argument I was having with myself. When I saw the positive sign on the pregnancy test, I also saw the future. Con standing in my hospital room, a bundled blanket in his arms. A sweet, peaceful profile peeking out from the folds, eyes closed, lashes resting against soft cheeks. I saw as if in a montage the blur of sleepless nights we’d get through together. The way he’d have to lean far over to hold the small grasping hands. I saw a dozen different scenes just like this, and it wasn’t until now that I realized I wasn’t just imagining them. I’d seen these pictures.
Con holding newborn Halley, looking so young and yet still somehow so confident. His tall body doubled over to hold both of her hands when she was learning to walk, twisting his neck to smile up at the camera. Not much older now, but with exhausted eyes. And on and on, until the most recent one she had of the two of them at her high school graduation.
Halley.
She would be the baby’s big sister. I choked out a queer laugh at the realization. Now a new flood of images filled my mind. Con and I telling her together, our hands locked. A united front against the person we loved best. Con flying east to tell her without me while I waited in LA for the inevitable angry phone call. She’d get over it, I told myself. When she saw that I really loved him and this wasn’t about his money or his power. When she saw how happy we were. She’d forgive us.
I couldn’t quite conjure up that image though, so I pushed it all out of my mind. I couldn’t deal with it now. I didn’t want to. I wanted to feel that overwhelming joy again without the complications of real life. I curled up in a corner of the couch and wrapped my arms around the throw pillow, buried my face in it and imagined I was breathing in the scent of a newborn instead of wiry cotton fibers that smelled vaguely of my shampoo with the faintest hint of Con’s aftershave. It reminded me of what we’d done on this couch to create the newborn I was imagining, and even with my face buried in the pillow, a blush rose to my cheeks. At the same time, my excitement surged again. I couldn’t wait to tell him. He’d be surprised, but he said he’d thought about having more children. That he wished he had been able to do it with the right person and not have to spend their childhood scrambling and hustling.
He’d said it regretfully, like that chance had come and gone, but he was wrong. It was here.
I sprung to my feet and began pacing, my eyes sweeping the space. It was too small to raise a baby in. We could move into the Hills where he raised Lily, or maybe he’d even be willing to leave LA, if he was going to take a step back from his career anyway. A thrill shot through me as I pictured us raising our child in the palatial ski lodge he owned in Colorado or even the beach house in Croatia. Colorado would be better, I decided. I could do law school more easily if we stayed in the country. But nothing was impossible. Nothing at all.
I swept my hands up over my head and spun around, exhilarated. We could do anything now. He’d said it himself—he’d already achieved everything he ever wanted to in his career. Now we could live the life he’d thought had passed him by, and I would figure out how to build mine wherever that took us.
I ran lightly across the floor to the elevator bank, hoping to see the light that indicated he was coming up. Logically, I knew he was at happy hour with Landon, Garrett, Dominic, and Julian, but I still hoped that somehow, my boundless joy had crossed the distance between us and summoned him. I’d go to him, I decided. The guys knew anyway. But even before I pressed the button to summon the elevator, I changed my mind. No, that wasn’t how I wanted to tell him.
It had to be special.
* * *
An hour and a half later, I was back in Con’s apartment with takeaway from Giardo’s. I’d also stopped at Candle Delirium on my way and picked up a few for the outdoor table. I’d picked up flowers from the Flower Market that I’d arranged in bunches in two beer steins—the closest thing I could find to a vase in his apartment. His carbonara was neatly plated on one side of the table, and my fettuccine was on the other. I’d put the bread in a small basket, and the hard butter pats were softening in the sun. The tiramisu was still in the refrigerator, but then I’d thought to Google it and found about a dozen articles claiming it was unsafe for pregnant women. I found a few that claimed it was, but I was going to play it safe. The dessert would just be for him, as would the bottle of red wine I had breathing in the kitchen.
I had texted him as soon as I got back, asking when he would be back. To my surprise, he still hadn’t answered. I called once, but it went straight to voicemail. I worried a path between the elevator and the food, wondering if I should take it back in. But no, he had to be back soon. He’d said seven at the latest, and it was nearly eight.
At eight-thirty, I sat down in front of my fettuccine and twirled a bite onto my fork. I knew I should be hungry—I hadn’t eaten since lunch at one—but the delicious sauce could have been dust for all I tasted it, and the noodles felt slimy and unappetizing. After only a bite, I set my fork down. A pit was opening up in my stomach. Why was he so late? Why hadn’t he answered my text? Why was his phone off?
I reached for a piece of bread, thinking it might settle my stomach. By nine, I’d only taken a single bite, then shredded the rest into grain-sized pieces over my pasta. Something was very, very wrong. He should have been home hours ago. I had to call someone—but who? I couldn’t very well call Angie to see if Con had checked in. I couldn’t ask Halley if she’d heard from him. I didn’t have his friends’ phone numbers. It would be crazy to start calling hospitals. The police were completely out of the question.
I unlocked my phone at least a dozen times, feeling the need to take action. Any action. But I couldn’t think of a single thing to do. Suddenly, the isolation of our romance wasn’t sexy and thrilling anymore. If this had been any other romantic partner, I’d have had scores of people to call. Mutual friends to start with. Mothers if I had to. And it wouldn’t have been strange, because of course a girlfriend worried when her boyfriend didn’t come home.
But Con wasn’t my boyfriend.
He was somehow more and less. More to me—infinitely more. But to the world, he was nothing but my boss. The father of my best friend. Certainly not someone I should be worrying about after office hours.
We’d have to change that. The baby had already made it a certainty, but now I didn’t want until twelve weeks or whenever it was safe to announce a pregnancy. I wanted the whole world to know that I had a claim on Con. That his wellbeing was mine to worry over. If he was still mine. I bit down on the inside of my lip, trying to stem the rising panic.
He was fine. Of course he was fine.
Any second now, I’d—
Like an answered prayer, I heard the quiet chime of the elevator carriage locking into place and the gentle woosh of the door sliding open. I pushed away from the table and met him as he was walking into the kitchen. It was on the tip of my tongue to cry where have you been? But even in my head, it sounded like a disgruntled wife. I swallowed it. “I was worried about you,” I said instead.
Relief had started pumping through my veins, driving out the fear and making my feel tingly and lightheaded. Now that I got a good look at his face though, I froze. Con was home, but there was still something very, very wrong. His face was like a mask. When he looked at me, his eyes were those of a stranger.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” the stranger’s voice said.
I peered closer at him, like a child trying to see if there was a man inside the Easter Bunny costume. “Con, what’s wrong?” I asked. Instinctively, I tucked an arm over my stomach as if the tiny life inside needed protecting. But that was crazy. This was Con.
