20. Nick
Nick
Iwake up early. I have a call with an investor overseas. I very carefully extract myself from Ava. I pause at the edge of the bed and watch her sleep for a few seconds.
I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it happened.
I’m crazy about the woman. I want her beside me for more than a few days or a week.
I don’t want this thing to be fake. I want it to be real.
How do I tell her? Will she believe me if I tell her I want to be with her and her alone?
I haven’t exactly set myself up for success.
But given some time, I think I can convince her. And I will.
I walk into the bathroom, not turning on the light until the door is closed. Look at me; I’m already being a thoughtful partner. I splash water on my face and reach for my shaving cream only to find it empty. I rummage through the drawer to find a new can and see a box. I pull it out, frowning.
A pregnancy test box.
My heart skips a beat. I stare at it, my mind racing. It’s empty, which means someone took the test. Ava is the only woman besides my sixty-year-old housekeeper that’s been in my house. And I’m pretty sure Maria’s baby factory is no longer in service.
Ava’s.
I feel a surge of emotions—anger, panic, confusion—and I don’t know what to do. My hands are trembling as I set the box down, my mind racing with possibilities.
Where is the test? I jerk the drawer open and search around. I pull open all the drawers and can’t find it. My eyes drift to the trash can. I’ve never been a dumpster diver, but desperate times and all that.
I crouch down and flip open the lid of the trash can, my heart pounding in my chest. My fingers sift through crumpled tissues and discarded packaging until I find it—a small, plastic stick. I pull it out and look down at it.
The two pink lines are unmistakable.
My breath catches, and for a moment, I’m frozen. I grab the box and make sure I’m reading the damn thing correctly.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper.
My mind races. How long has she known? Why didn’t she tell me?
I glance up and catch my reflection in the mirror. I’m pale, wide-eyed, and utterly lost. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I need to think clearly.
I tiptoe back into the bedroom, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Ava is still asleep, her chest rising and falling gently. She looks so peaceful, so unaware of the storm brewing inside me. I sit down on the edge of the bed, watching her for a moment longer.
I need a minute to process. I go back into the bathroom, shave, and shower. Ava’s out of bed by the time I emerge. I get dressed and take the box with me to present my evidence.
Ava’s in the kitchen, humming to herself as she makes breakfast. She looks up when I walk in, her smile fading when she sees the expression on my face.
“Nick?” she says. “What’s wrong?”
I hold up the box. “What the hell is this?”
Her eyes widen. The guilt on her face confirms it’s hers. She sets the spatula down and looks at me. “Nick, I …”
“You’re pregnant?” I say, my voice rising. I’m on the verge of hysteria.
“Yes,” she answers.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
She takes a deep breath, her expression a mix of fear and guilt. “I was going to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”
I shake my head, my chest tightening as reality slams into me. “How long have you known?”
“Yesterday,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”
I feel a surge of anger, my hands clenching into fists. “And when were you planning on telling me? After the baby was born?”
She flinches, her eyes filling with tears. “Nick, it’s not like that. I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how you’d react.”
“Scared?” I say, my voice cold. “Or were you hoping to trap me?”
Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back, her expression a mix of hurt and anger. “What? No! How could you even think that?”
I stare at her, trying to process the myriad of emotions I’m feeling—anger, confusion, fear. But beneath it all, there’s something else I can’t quite name. Something that feels like panic and longing all at once.
Her phone vibrates on the counter. She looks like she’s just been caught robbing a bank. I don’t know why, but I snatch the phone and look at the screen.
“Ethan?” I ask.
Jealousy surges through me. “Who the fuck is Ethan?”
“None of your business!” She grabs the phone out of my hand. “Don’t you dare, Nick. Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Is it my kid?” I ask with a sneer.
“You’re an asshole.”
“It’s a valid question,” I say.
“I didn’t get pregnant to trap you,” she snaps.
“But you are pregnant.”
“Yes! I just found out before we had to go to dinner with your parents. I didn’t think that was the right time to tell you.”
I need time to process.
“Who is Ethan?” I ask again, this time my voice low. Calm. Cool.
“None of your business,” she growls. “I’m done. Fuck you. You can tell your parents the engagement is over.”
She tries to walk out of the kitchen, but I stop her, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and pulling her back. “Are you seeing someone else?” I ask.
She looks me in the eyes. “No.”
We stare at each other for several seconds.
“Nick,” she says, her voice trembling, “I didn’t plan this. It just happened. I’m on birth control. Kind of. I don’t know. I’m just as shocked and confused. But please, please don’t accuse me of trying to trap you.”
I drop her wrist. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I need … I don’t know what I need.”
She nods, her tears spilling over. “I’m going to work.”
She grabs her bag and heads for the door. I want to stop her, to tell her I’m sorry, but the words stick in my throat.
The door slams shut, and I’m left alone in the kitchen, the box still clutched in my hand.
My mind is a fucking mess, thoughts colliding and ricocheting against my skull.
Pregnant.
I slam the box down on the counter and walk to my office to do the call. I don’t know how I’m going to close a multi-million-dollar business deal when I can barely remember my own name. While on the call, my mom texts me with a dinner reservation.
That’s the last thing I need.
I don’t see me and Ava faking our way through another dinner.
Asking her to go to another dinner feels wrong, but I do it anyway.
Ava’s short response is expected. Tell them I’ve got the flu. I’m not going.
I’m in a sour mood when I walk into the restaurant.
“Where’s Ava?” my mom asks as soon as we sit down.
“She couldn’t make it,” I say, my tone clipped.
“Is everything okay? You two seemed so happy last night.”
I shake my head and wave the waiter over to get myself a stiff drink. “It’s fine. Flu.”
“Oh, I thought it was bad sushi,” Mom says.
“Guess not. She sends her apologies and says maybe another time.”
They’re not buying it, which makes this all so much worse.
My dad gives me a look. “Nick, if you’ve messed things up with that girl, you need to fix it. We really like her.”
I feel a pang of guilt, my chest tightening. “I know, Dad. It’s fine. She’s just sick.”
“Nick, Ava is a sweetheart. She’s changed you. I don’t remember the last time I saw you smile the way you did last night at dinner. You two have an energy. Don’t let her go.”
I nod, but I don’t say anything. The truth is, I think I already screwed that up.
An adult would have sat down and had an actual conversation.
But I let my jealousy and past emotional trauma dictate my response.
Ava isn’t Sierra. But I can’t shake the phone call I overhead when she was in the bathroom.
And then the guy calls her at seven in the morning. To me, that says there is something.
The hurt in her eyes haunts me. I don’t know why, but I believe it’s my baby. God knows we’ve been careless enough. I never really had the conversation with her about birth control. I just assumed. That is on me.
“Nick, are you sure everything is okay?” Mom asks.
“Yes, fine. Just concerned about Ava.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” She smiles. “It’s so nice to see you with someone. Why didn’t you tell me about her before I set you up with Mia?”
“Because I was keeping it quiet,” I lie. “We haven’t told Jessie and her family yet.”
“Will they not approve?” She asks the question like it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard.
“No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know. He’s my best friend. We’d like to handle it delicately.”
She nods, but I can see she’s not totally buying it. Thankfully, she doesn’t push.
After dinner, I head back to the house. I’m ready to talk like a mature man. We have a lot to work out. I immediately notice that her car isn’t in the driveway. I tell myself she’s working late. I walk into my bedroom, and it takes two seconds to figure out she’s gone. Her things are gone.
“Shit.”
I’m not surprised. I think I knew that was going to happen.
I pour myself a drink, sinking into the couch to try and process everything. I feel a surge of regret. I overreacted. I know I did. But I don’t know how to fix it.
I grab my phone, staring at her number. I want to call her, to tell her I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to say.
Instead, I set my phone down and close my eyes.
I don’t know what to do.
But I know I can’t lose her.