Chapter 33 #2
“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, because there’s nothing else to do but say the thing again. “Almost eight weeks now.”
He lets go of the knob and steps back once, twice, like he needs room to process the information. His eyes flick over my face like he’s waiting for me to say, “Just kidding! Gotcha!”
But I don’t.
“Is it—” He doesn’t finish, because there’s only one option. “It’s Ben’s.”
“Yes.”
He swallows. The sound is loud in the quiet.
When he doesn’t speak, I continue, “We had the first appointment a couple of weeks ago.”
“And you’re… keeping it?” The way he asks is careful, like he doesn’t want to sway me one way or the other.
I want to be angry he’d even ask, he’d even consider it, but he’s entitled to doubt my character right now. I let it slide.
“Yes.” I steady my breath. “I’m keeping it.”
He drags a hand over his jaw, and for a heartbeat he’s just my brother, not the owner of a glossy riverfront gym, not the man who hit Ben in a burst of pain. He looks wrecked. “Tell me everything,” he says, his voice rough.
I nod and sit in the nearest chair because if I keep standing, my legs are going to give out. He stays on his feet, arms crossed.
“Okay,” I say. “The beginning.”
So, I tell him everything. I leave out the part where Ben told me it was a mistake. The situation is already too delicate right now, and I don’t want him to fly off the handle and punch Ben again.
But I do tell him that we never planned it. It just happened so quickly that we both felt guilty about it. We agreed that it wouldn’t happen again, that Ben felt like he was betraying Jason, my parents, and how torn up he was about it.
Jason’s jaw ticks at that, but he doesn’t say anything.
I also don’t tell him about me spending the night at Ben’s again last week. Seems like a detail that wouldn’t help at all.
“And then the other night…” I shrug. “I went over there and things just… happened. Then you walked in,” I finish without flourish.
It’s quiet for a moment.
Jason inhales quickly and lets it out on a long breath.
“And Mom knew the whole time?”
I nod. “She knew about the… first time.” Then I quickly add, “But don’t give her grief about it. This isn’t about her.”
“No, it’s about you and Ben,” Jason says tightly. “And the fact that you both betrayed me, and Mom knew.”
“No, this is about the baby,” I say, standing, hand on my belly. “Whatever happened, happened. Before we knew I was pregnant, we tried to take it back. We tried to put it back in the bottle, and it didn’t work. Maybe it would have if things were… It doesn’t matter. That’s not important anymore.”
“What about Dad? What did he say?”
“We told him a few days ago,” I say. “He was… baffled. And then he hugged me and started researching tax-advantaged college savings accounts.”
Jason barks out a sound that’s not quite a laugh. It vanishes. His arms drop to his sides.
“So everybody’s just… okay with this,” he says in disbelief. “Not a damn person cares how this affects me.”
He pushes his hand through his hair and blows out a breath. “And now I sound like a selfish jackass because you’re pregnant, and I’m making this about me.”
I shake my head. “No one thinks that. We were going to tell you,” I insist, because that part needs to be repeated. “In fact, we thought of you the most. We just didn’t know when or how. Then—” I wince. “Then I went to the Pint that night. Stupid choice. And—”
He holds up a hand. “I was there,” he says. “I remember.”
“I’m sorry you found out in the worst possible way,” I say. “It’s not how I wanted to do it.”
“What did you want?” he asks quietly.
“I wanted both of us to be there. I wanted to sit you down and explain everything to you. Apologize for the suddenness of it all, for not telling you right away.” I swallow.
“I wanted you to look at me and see your sister, someone who never meant to hurt you. I wanted to tell you that I’m scared and happy and not okay and that I need my brother.”
Jason rubs his palm over his mouth and then props it on the back of his neck, elbow out. It’s a posture I know from when he was a hotheaded teen trying not to punch drywall. “He’s my best friend,” he says in disbelief. “He’s— he was my family.”
“He still is,” I insist, stepping forward.
“And now even more so, but maybe in a different way. It’s complicated, not…
tidy. I’m not asking you to forgive either of us for keeping this from you.
I’m not asking you to like this. I’m just asking you to”—I search for the right verb—“stick. Just be here.”
“Where’s Ben? Why isn’t he here?” Jason asks, jaw tightly clenched.
“He doesn’t even know I’m here,” I say. “I asked Mom to watch the shop for an hour because I knew you’d be here. I didn’t tell him.”
The room is very quiet. Out past the glass, a barbell clinks to a rack; someone laughs too loudly, and it echoes. My stomach rolls once. I put a hand there and breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth.
Jason’s shoulders drop a fraction. He looks older all of a sudden, or maybe just exactly his age, but with all the joy stripped away.
I’m sorry to see it happen, especially because I’m the one who caused it.
“Are you in love with him?” he asks, not accusing. Just trying to figure out the details of the new reality he’s found himself in.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. “I don’t know yet. I know there’s something there, though. Something that—” I close my lips, wanting the words to be the right ones and not knowing how to say it. “Whatever it is, pretending it isn’t there hasn’t worked for either of us.”
“And what about him?” Jason presses. “Is he ‘sticking’? Because his own dad—"
“He’s not walking away,” I cut in, not wanting to hear the rest of it. “He wanted to come to the appointment, even when I told him he didn’t have to. He’s scared too, but he’s trying.”
Jason paces three steps and back, the way he does when he’s working something out in his head. He stops with his hand on the back of his chair, knuckles white, like touching something keeps him from floating off.
“You still should have told me,” he says, and it’s not the explosion from before. More like an afterthought.
“I know,” I say. “We should have. I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, neither of us talks. The typical sounds of the gym seep through the wall. I can hear my own heartbeat.
He stares at the floor and then up at the ceiling and then at me again.
“What now?” he asks finally, and I hear the effort it takes him to ask it.
“Now?” I say. “I want you to promise me you won’t go find Ben and hit him again.” I hold up a hand before he can speak. “I get why you did. I do. But it didn’t help. It just… hurt all three of us.”
He looks at his fist, as if reliving the memory of hitting his friend—the hurt that led to it.
“Just hear him out first,” I say.
He breathes in and out through his nose, once, twice, like he’s coaching himself through the last rep of a difficult workout. “I can’t promise I’m going to be cool about this.”
“I’m not asking you to be cool,” I say. “I’m just asking you to talk to him. Just talk— and listen.”
He makes a face. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
“That’s fine. Whenever you are,” I say, clenching my hands in front of me.
He drops into his chair like all the energy has just left his body. He scrubs both hands over his face. When he looks at me again, the fury has receded enough that I can see the exhaustion, the dregs of hurt. “How are you? With all of this? Physically, I mean.”
“Doing all right,” I say. “Hungry. Nauseated. Weirdly obsessed with lemon anything.”
He huffs out a sound that’s closer to a laugh. Then his voice goes quiet. “Do you have a…” He gestures vaguely with his hand, not knowing the right word. “Can I see?”
I open my bag and pull out the ultrasound picture, slide it across the desk. He picks it up with two fingers, like he’s afraid it might shatter. For a long time, he just… stares.
“I have no idea what I’m looking at,” he finally says.
A laugh bursts out of me. I round the desk and point to the little blob in the center.
“That’s it?” he asks.
“Mhmm,” I say, nodding.
“That,” he says softly, “is the cutest little blob I’ve ever seen.”
I shove his shoulder. “Jason.”
He turns to me with a smile, and for a moment, he’s just my big brother again.
But it fades, and he hands the ultrasound back.
“I need time,” he says. “To not want to kill him when I see his face.”
“I know,” I say. “Take it. Just… text me sometimes while you’re taking it.”
He leans back to look at me. “You’re really doing this.”
“I really am. And you’re going to be an uncle. Uncle Jason.”
His eyes flick over my face, and he nods once. “Yeah. Okay.”
He pushes to his feet and hauls me in, clumsy and tight. “I’m mad at you,” he says into my hair, voice thick. “And I love you. And I’m here.”
I press my face into his chest and nod against him, tears falling helplessly as the ache in my heart loosens a bit. “I love you too,” I say, because he deserves to hear it back. “And thank you.”
He lets me go and clears his throat and swipes a hand over his face. Then he walks around the desk to open the door for me.
I follow and stand in the hallway, just looking at him.
“Tell Mom I’ll come by tonight,” he says and walks around the desk to open the door for me.
I nod and turn to go, my legs a little jelly, my heart a little lighter.
Behind me, I hear the door close. It’s not peace. It’s not fixed. It’s a work in progress, and right now that feels like a miracle.