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Our bodies were so close that my chest met his torso with the rise and fall of each breath, and he stared down at me with red eyes. His mouth slanted down in something which looked an awful lot like loathing, and I slumped against the doorframe. “Jason, please…”
I wanted a life with him, one full of laughter and kids and vegan pizza, and had cried about him walking out on me with my mom, who had arrived earlier to talk. She’d told me about how he had walked into the party, looking wrecked. Not that I could blame him.
I had looked and felt that way for a while, and when I finally had my ducks in a row, my life figured out, I had turned his inside out. By hiding away from him, I was able to do some soul-searching, but I’d obviously shattered his heart in the process. I did need to talk to him but feared this time I had really fucked it up.
“I’m mad as hell,” he said. “Of all the things you are, I never thought you to be a liar.”
I narrowed my eyes on his lips, wanting to be sure of every syllable he spoke.
“But you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said. He was drunk and angry, and I tried not to take any of his words to heart, though it was almost impossible with the way he scowled at me. As if he hated me.
Really hated me.
“I’m driving you home,” I said, leaving the door open to walk back inside.
“Not until you tell me why you lied.”
“I didn’t lie.” I grabbed my keys from the coffee table.
“Lie of omission.”
I stalked to the kitchen, where my coat hung on a chair. He closed the door and halted me from putting my arms inside. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re pregnant?”
The answer was too long to explain now, and I shook my head.
“If you were hiding this, what else have you been hiding?”
I held up my hand, attempting to stop this. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind for this particular chat, nor did I want to have it at three in the morning.
He plunked down on a chair and slammed his fist on the table. “Tell me!”
My eyebrows shot up at his outburst, but my alarm only served my own temper. “I’m not going to talk about this when you’re drunk, and it’s the middle of the night. Stop screaming.” I wound my hair up on the top of my head as sweat beaded on my neck. “You’re acting like a dickhead.”
He let out an irritated breath through his nose, leaning back in his chair so its front legs hovered above the floor. “These raging hormones have certainly brought out your mean side, haven’t they?”
“No. You did.”
The chair slapped back down. “You don’t get to be angry right now, Gemma. I got that market cornered. I was totally blindsided by you today—for not one, but two reasons. You tell me you’re pregnant and that you’ve been afraid to tell me for two weeks. Two weeks!” He pulled at his hair as he hung his head, his elbows propped up on his knees. “I don’t understand,” he began but stopped when his voice quaked.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been sick, and I was so worried, and you didn’t care that I thought…” He sniffled and wiped at his face. “The internet told me it could have been anything. Lead poisoning, cancer, a tapeworm.”
I dared to brush my hand over his hair. “You’re an engineer. How could you believe everything WebMD says?”
“Because I’m an engineer, Gemma!” He threw his arms up, forcing my hand off of him. “That’s what I do. I research and read and make Excel spreadsheets. How could you not think I wouldn’t worry? I love you! I fucking love you with everything inside of me, Gem, and you…” He dropped his eyes toward the floor, not bothering to wipe his tears anymore. “You have this thing inside you now, and you kept it from me. How can you love me like I love you, with everything inside of you, if you keep it from me?”
I had trouble following all of his thoughts but got the gist of it. He felt betrayed. I had broken him, broken him so much he had resorted to drinking, which he had a personal aversion to. And here he was, drunk as a skunk, confessing his heartbreak in fits and starts.
“After everything I’ve been through with my parents…after everything we’ve been through, how could you not tell me? We don’t keep secrets from each other. We argue and fight, but we don’t keep secrets,” he said, his words slow and quiet, his head in his hands.
I took the same pose, my elbows on the table, guilty sobs racking my body, and yet there was still a small part of me that knew I had to have that time away from him to get to this point of self-assurance. That was what I needed to process, and this was what he needed to process.
After many silent minutes, I dried my eyes and ventured an uneasy touch to Jason’s shoulder. He was still. “I’m sorry.”
Nothing.
I slipped off the chair and knelt in front of him, taking in his placid face. I poked him. “Jason?”
