Chapter Forty One
Hannah
I watch the scene like a horror movie as the doors close on Tyler then reopen instantly.
He steps out of the elevator and walks down the hall back into Chris’ apartment. He closes the door behind him and stares at the both of us for a moment, leaning against it.
Finally, he breaks the silence with one word: “What?”
I stifle a giggle, and Tyler shoots me a look that could kill.
I know it isn’t actually funny in a “ha-ha” kind of way, but I want to laugh in that nervous way you find yourself in when you start laughing at a funeral or during an exam, the laughter coming without your permission.
“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, relieved to have the words out there.
They’re easier to say the second time. I want to say it a third time and again and again just to feel the slow leaking of anxiety.
“I’m pregnant,” I say again, and Chris strokes my arm from behind me, sensing the manic energy emanating from me.
Tyler notices the motion, his eyes zipping to Chris’ hand on my arm. He spreads his hands out like someone stopping a fight.
“I’m sorry, what the fuck am I seeing?” He cranes his neck slightly to look in my eyes.
“Hannah, what is going on?”
When I avoid his eyes, he puts his hands on his knees like the catcher in a baseball game, lowering himself to look at me.
“We never expected this to happen. But it has and we want you to be happy for us, too.”
He stands up and puts his hands on top of his head and turns away from the two of us so that he faces the door.
I wonder if he’s considering making a run for it. I wonder if he’s thinking about leaving and coming back, that maybe he’ll come back to a different universe or wake up from a nightmare.
He turns back to us and says simply, “This is crazy. I can’t even wrap my head around this.”
“I know, I know. We would have told you eventually. We just…have gotten closer. When we were working together, we realized we were starting to have feelings for one another.”
I chew on my bottom lip, watching the myriad of emotions cycle on his face.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he says, his mouth stuck open.
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Say this is a joke! Please.” Tyler picks up one of the unbroken cans of beer and opens it, spraying droplets about a half of a foot before sitting down on Chris’ couch. He drinks while staring off into the distance.
“Wait.” He turns to look at Chris. “Was Samantha real? Or was that about Hannah?”
“That was about Hannah,” Chris admits, walking over and sitting next to Tyler.
“Dude, I gave you advice about my sister! That’s messed up.”
Quietly, Chris says, “You’re my best friend, Tyler. I needed advice, but I wasn’t ready to tell you that it was Hannah I cared about.”
“Then you weren’t ready for my advice! God, so all this time that I’ve been wondering where you’ve been, you’ve been with my sister?”
“I didn’t know you were wondering where I’ve been. You could have asked me to hang out. You could have asked me what was going on.”
“And we could have talked about Samantha? This is…you’re sick, man. You’re a decade older than she is. You used to come to my house on breaks from college, and she was in third grade. You knew her when she was like eight years old.”
Chris lays his head down on the back of the couch. “It’s not like I was attracted to her then, Tyler, Jesus. The two don’t correlate.”
“So you don’t think that’s weird at all?”
Tyler turns to look over at me, his mouth still open. “And you don’t think that’s weird, either?”
“Tyler, the fact that we were acquainted through you when I was in third grade is not relevant to this conversation or this situation.” I realize I am feeling very protective of the feelings Chris and I now share.
“That was a long time ago. I’m not eight anymore, and he’s not 22 anymore. He’s not some kind of pedophile. He’s attracted to an adult woman, not a child. Not to mention that we happen to love each other.”
Tyler sits up and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Hannah, this man,” he points at Chris, “is a certified player. He has been through a woman a week for years now.”
“That was only after Julie,” Chris mumbles, not putting up much of a fight, his voice quiet.
Tyler shoots daggers at him with his eyes.
“Julie dumped you five years ago. That hasn’t been a valid excuse for about four years.” He looks back at me. “You are making a mistake with him, Hanny.”
“And just what part of this is the mistake? The baby or Chris?” I ask with venom in my voice.
“All of it, Hannah! What the fuck? You just got this business started. Why would you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Make a baby with him!”
He points at Chris and shakes his arm. His face is all twisted up, sweat beading up around his hairline. His freckles are popping out amidst his red face. Combined with his pointing, he looks like he’s shaming the town dunce.
“You’re being mean, Tyler. I need you to stop this now. I need you to think about the fact that you care a great deal about us both.” I tell him, crossing my arms.
“I’d rather you think I was mean now than hold in my thoughts and feelings and watch you do something you’ll regret. You’ll thank me later, Hannah, I mean it.”
He slurps his drink noisily, and I feel annoyance and disgust coursing through me watching him enjoy a beverage on the couch of the man he’s demeaning.
“If Chris such an awful person, someone so bad that you can’t trust him with your own sister, then why is he your best friend?” I ask, blood rushing to my cheeks as my voice rises.
Tyler opens his mouth, and I hold up my palm.
“Now, I want the next words out of your mouth to be an answer to that question and not another insult. I want you to seriously tell me about why you’re running around town with someone who is supposedly your best friend, but is evidently someone you don’t respect or trust around women.”
Tyler sits back and doesn’t say anything. “Come on, then, answer me.”
“Just because someone is your best friend doesn’t necessarily mean you think he’s father material. Chris didn’t grow up with a father. How do you expect him to be one?”
“That’s cold,” Chris says quietly at the ground, his eyes not moving up to look at either of us.
“Get out, Tyler,” I say much more softly than I thought myself capable of.
“What?”
“You’re my big brother, and I’ve always deferred to you, but if you think that gives you the right to display some sort of ownership over me, then I don’t want you here. You aren’t being a good brother at the moment, and you certainly aren’t being a good friend. Look at what you’ve done to Chris!”
I point at Chris, who is clearing fighting back tears.
“Just go home, Tyler. You had your chance to share our happiness, and since you don’t seem to want to do that, then we don’t need – or want – you here.”
Tucking his tongue into his cheek, Tyler looks back and forth between the two of us, his eyes wide but his jaw set.
He’s got a stubborn look in his eye. “Fine.”
He stands to leave and pulls the door open so hard he sends it flying into the opposite wall as he exits.
From the hallway he calls out, “I’m going to let Mom know what a mistake you are making here, Hannah!”
“She already knows!” I call back, closing the door and locking it behind him. I turn around and sigh.
“Well…”
“That went well!” Chris says jokingly, wiping tears from his eyes.
I walk over to him and get down on my knees so that I can look in his eyes. I wipe the tears away with my thumbs and kiss him deeply.
“He’ll come around. You know he will.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
I shrug, even as the question kills me.
“I know who you are. More importantly, you know who you are.” I tap his chest, and he grabs hold of my finger. He kisses softly, like the gentle brush of a butterfly wing.
“What if he’s right?”
“About which part?”
I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he means that Tyler might be right that he’s a player. I’m not sure I’d know how to react to that, so I reserve judgment.
“That I’m not father material. He’s right that I’ve never really had a healthy father figure. My mom remarried a guy when I was a little older, but by then I was pretty fully…” he trails off before adding, “cooked.”
“Cooked?” I laugh.
“I don’t know, I’m just thinking out loud,” he sighs, burrowing his face into his hands again.
I peel his fingers away from his face.
“I don’t think there’s only one way to be a good dad, Chris,” I whisper. “You didn’t have someone else showing you the ropes, so you’ll have to be your own version of a good dad. We’ll figure it out as we go along, just like everyone else does. You’ll be the father you would have wanted to have. You taught me that when you taught me how to make a pancake.”
Chris laughs. “Wow, the bar is low.”
“No,” I assure him, standing up and holding out my hand, “It’s very, very high.”