22. PAUL
My knuckles knock on the door for a third time as I wait for the only person I want to see.
The door creaks open. “Paul, honey. What are you doing home?” my mom asks, her brows furrowed, confusion written all over her face.
Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just been spending the past few days mulling over the fact that I’m going to be a father, and Sarah never bothered to tell me. And the worst part is, I’m not entirely sure she was ever planning on telling me.
“Just needed a change of scenery,” I tell her as she opens the door wider for me to enter.
She watches me with skepticism in her eyes. “It’s a Friday night, and my twenty-two-year-old son came home because he needed a change of scenery?” she asks. “Yeah, I’m not buying it.” She heads toward the kitchen. “Did you eat?”
I hang my coat in the entryway closet, brushing the dusting of snow off my shoulders. “No.”
“Go get comfortable in the TV room, and I’ll throw together your favorite: chicken parmesan with spaghetti.”
A small smile makes its way onto my face for the first time in days. I plop onto the sectional, stretching out my legs, and turn the TV on, scrolling through until I see a familiar title: It—one of Sarah’s “comfort” movies.
God, what is wrong with that girl? I let out a low chuckle, running a hand over my face. However, something must be wrong with me, too, because I sit back and start watching one of the scariest movies I’ve ever seen.
Just as the big fucking scary-ass clown torments the kids in the haunted house, and I’m positive I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life, the delicious smell of my favorite meal steals my attention.
“Dinner is served!” my mom announces as she enters the room with two plates in her hands and sets them down on the giant accent table in front of me. Her eyes look to the TV screen as she sits beside me. “Interesting movie choice.”
“I was just flipping through,” I lie, turning it off.
“Mm-hmm…”
I don’t hesitate before I shove a fork and knife into the chicken, taking a heaping bite. The familiar, savory flavors instantly put my overworked mind at ease.
Now, this is comfort food.
“You always know how to make me feel better,” I mumble through the food in my mouth.
“That I do.” She smooths a napkin over her lap. “I always told you the way to anyone’s heart is through food, which stands true with my son.”
We both eat in comfortable silence, but the second my fork lands on my empty plate, she clears her throat. “So, do you plan on telling me what’s bothering you, or will I have to pry it out of you?”
I lean back on the sofa, letting out a frustrated sigh.
This isn’t exactly an easy conversation to have with my mom.
“Is it something between you and Sarah?” she asks.
I look at her and nod. “You could say that.”
“But when you two were here for Thanksgiving, I could have sworn I heard wedding bells ringing above you.” She smiles, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.
I shake my head. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Well, why don’t you start by telling me the overall problem.”
I stare up at the ceiling. “She kept a secret from me.”
A big fucking secret.
My mom nods. “Do you know why she kept the secret from you?”
That’s the part that has been bothering me most.
Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant?
We could have been going through all of this together.
I could have been by her side these past few months with every doctor’s appointment and buying her whatever she and the baby needed.
“Not a clue,” I muse. “I thought we were close enough to tell each other…things. But she never told me, and I kind of found out by accident, and then it just makes me wonder if she ever planned on telling me.” I sigh. “That’s what I’m upset about. I only found out accidentally when she didn’t want me to know.”
My mom purses her lips. “Is this secret something you can forgive her for?”
I rub the back of my neck, squeezing my tense muscles. “I don’t know. I’m trying to understand why she wouldn’t tell me, but I just can’t.”
“Honey…” She places her hand on my shoulder. “I’m not saying whatever happened between you two is okay, but until you know why she did what she did, I don’t think you should write her off just yet. I think there’s more to the story. And I think you know that too.” She pats my knee reassuringly. “You know I pride myself on being a good judge of character, so truthfully, I like her. I like her a lot. And I especially like her a lot for you.”
“I like her a lot too,” I admit.
“So, why don’t you talk to her? Find out what’s going on.”
I rub my hand over the top of my head, my hair grazing the palm of my hand. “I don’t know if she wants to talk to me. I kind of left in a hurry…”
My mom’s eyes narrow at me. “Did I raise you to run from your problems?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I think I was so hurt I didn’t know what to do. I needed to get away to think.” My eyes drift to the ceiling, lost in thought.
I’ve been so upset, mulling over that moment of anger in her apartment, that I haven’t even had a chance to think about Greyson’s phone I left with her.
I rub my temple. That’s going to be a whole other damn problem to deal with. But Sarah, being pregnant with my baby, takes precedence.
“And what have you been thinking about?”
What have I been spending my time thinking about?
Easy.
I’ve been thinking about her emerald-green eyes that I want to gaze into for the rest of my life.
I’ve been thinking about how good she feels in my arms when she lets go of everything in her mind, giving herself entirely over to me for me to take care of.
I’ve been thinking about how I can be myself with her and how she makes me feel…normal.
I’ve been thinking about a future with her and our baby. One where they both wear a matching jersey with my last name on it, cheering for me at a game as I run up to them, taking them both in my arms, feeling the happiest I’ve ever felt in my life.
“About…” I hesitate before saying, “How she’s the woman I’m going to marry.” I look from the ceiling to my mom. “She’s the woman I’m going to marry, Mom.”
There’s not a hint of doubt in my voice.
She’s the one.
“Ahh,” my mom muses. “Do you think that’s why you were so hurt? Because you love her?” she asks, knowing the answer.
“Possibly,” I murmur, hating that she’s always right. I shake my head. “I should never have walked out on her.”
Mom nudges my shoulder with her own. “So what are you going to do about it?”
I stare at the ceiling, racking my brain for an answer.
What am I going to do?
What does Sarah need me to do to prove I can be there for her and the baby?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling ashamed of how I handled finding out she was pregnant. I want to think there was a valid reason why she didn’t tell me, but there’s no reason I can believe that would have kept me away from her.
If she had told me she was pregnant, I would have been there for her from day one.
I would have supported her with any and every decision.
But the moment I found out she was pregnant, I did the one thing she may never forgive me for.
I let her go.
I did what everyone else has always done to her.
As I flash back to the disaster I saw at Sarah’s apartment, it occurs to me what I need to do to prove I’ll always take care of her.
I eye the time on my phone, noting how late it is and knowing I can’t do what I need to until Sarah leaves for work tomorrow.
“I think I know what to do, but it’s kind of late now. Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” I ask.
“Well, that’s a silly question when you have a bedroom here.” My mom chuckles.
I stand, stretching, rubbing my full stomach. “I’m going to head to bed. Thanks for talking with me, Mom.”
“Of course, honey.” She stands, wrapping her arms around my waist quickly before letting go. She pats my chest encouragingly. “Do what you need to do to get your girl back.”
I would move mountains and rivers or even set the whole damn world on fire if it meant I could get my girl back.
But I’m hopeful that assembling some baby furniture is a decent start to prove to her that I will always take care of her.
And I am never, ever leaving that stubborn raven-haired, green-eyed beauty again for as long as I live.
* * *
After waking up early and eating an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet my mom insisted on making, I headed to the local improvement store before driving to Sarah’s apartment.
I know she’s not home. It’s why I purposely chose to come at this time. But just in case, I knock on her door, thankful when she doesn’t answer. My fingers reach above the doorframe, where I can see a spare key hiding from people who aren’t my height, and I use it to unlock her door.
Walking inside, I’m immediately hit with an overwhelming sense of guilt.
Every piece of disassembled baby furniture is exactly where it was when I was last here, looking like Sarah gave it her all, but it was just too much for her to do by herself.
And I wish she knew she didn’t have to do this alone.
I walk around, picking up the instruction manuals flung nearby and the flimsy tools they came with, knowing these only made things more difficult for her than they needed to be. They weren’t setting her up for success at all.
Knowing her, it probably made her feel worse that she couldn’t put these pieces together herself.
Sitting on her couch, I take in everything as the realization, for the first time, comes crashing down on me.
I was so consumed with the notion that she never told me about being pregnant that I didn’t stop to think about what that actually meant…
I’m going to be a dad.
A swoosh of air exits my lungs as I lean back and process that sentence.
I’m. Going. To. Be. A. Dad.
The thudding of my heart echoes in my ears. My hand rests against my chest, where my heart pounds erratically.
But suddenly, a smile takes over my face.
A genuine goddamn smile.
“I’m going to be a dad,” I whisper. The reality of the situation should alarm me. It should leave me an anxious, riddled mess. But all I feel is an overwhelming sweeping sensation of happiness from my toes to the top of my head.
Tilting my head up toward the ceiling, I close my eyes and speak words from my heart that I wish I could say to the man who made me who I am today: my dad. “I’m going to do my best to be just like you. To be the best dad, husband, and man. I will make you proud, Dad. I promise.”
While wiping away the few tears that managed to escape, I spot the ugly gremlin on the side of the couch beside me, Teddy. Picking it up, I look it over carefully. The poor guy could use some love. Examining it in my hands, I come to the conclusion that throwing him in the wash is out of the question for fear that it might disintegrate. No, I’ll leave this to the professionals.
My eyes wander around the apartment as I question what else, besides the baby furniture, Sarah needs help with but hasn’t told me.
Getting up from the sofa, I walk into the kitchen, noting the bareness of the counters and shelves. Worry fills me as I open the fridge, finding it practically empty.
“The way to anyone’s heart is through food.”
My girl and my baby will never know hunger again.
I pull up my notes app on my phone and add “Groceries” as the first item on the to-do list, followed by “Assemble Nursery,” “Take Teddy to the dry cleaners,” and “Order books on how to take care of a baby.”
While tucking my phone in my pocket, my eyes spot a pile of envelopes on the kitchen island, and I immediately gravitate toward it. I know I shouldn’t open Sarah’s mail. It’s illegal and an invasion of her privacy, but the second I recognize the name of a nearby hospital as the return address, my stomach recoils, knowing what it is.
A bill.
Fuck it. I’m opening it.
Swiftly, I pull out the paper and scan the contents, observing the amount due at the bottom and knowing Sarah doesn’t have that kind of money. Repeating my actions, I open the next envelope in my hands, knowing that, once again, it’s another bill. Except this one is her past-due credit card statement. As my eyes scan over the credit card purchases of baby furniture and necessities, I sink to the counter stool beside me with the same question I’ve asked myself a hundred times, overpowering my thoughts.
Why didn’t she tell me?
She knows I have money.
And knowing she’s just scraping by, trying to afford everything for a baby…our baby, causes my heart to tighten painfully.
I rub at my chest, a significant ache filling me, knowing that she’s been going through all of this alone.
Dropping the bill, I rest my elbows on the counter and hold the sides of my head, my fingers digging into my scalp. None of this makes any sense. But the fear that there might be a legitimate reason why she didn’t tell me courses through me.
Without needing to think about it, I place all the bills on the counter, laying them out flat, while I reach for my phone and wallet. Within minutes, I have them all paid off, making me feel slightly better that she won’t have to worry about these anymore.
She may be mad at me for doing this, but it doesn’t bother me.
Because she’ll soon learn what it means to be taken care of by me.