Chapter 18 #2
Everything’s fine. Healthy. Normal. So why do I feel like I just got handed something fragile and enormous all at once?
I hold the door open for Addison and follow her toward the car, trying to figure out how not to screw this up.
Addison steps off the curb and pauses, squinting up at the sky. “Well,” she says, turning back to me, “I’m starving.”
I laugh, surprised by how normal that sounds. Like we didn’t just sit in a room listening to a heartbeat that’s going to change everything.
“Same,” I say. “Let’s get something to eat.”
She glances at her phone, and then back at me. “Dot’s is down the street. I’m craving waffles with lots of maple syrup and fresh-squeezed orange juice. All the important stuff.”
“Okay,” I tell her. “That sounds good.”
We start walking, side by side. Not touching, but close enough that I’m aware of her with every step. We don’t talk right away. After a moment, I reach for her hand, and Addison breaks the silence.
“Did you notice how she waited?” Addison asks. “Dr. Carroll, I mean.”
I nod. “I think so, but tell me what you mean.”
“She didn’t start with numbers,” Addison continues. “She first told me what I was looking at. Like she was translating.”
“Yeah,” I say. “She gave you useable information.”
“And she kept the screen turned toward me,” Addison adds. “I kept thinking she’d flip it back, but she didn’t.”
I picture it—the deliberate inclusion. I’ve done the same thing a hundred times.
“And when she turned the sound on…” Addison’s grip tightens. “I thought I was ready for it. I used to hear his heartbeat at the ultrasound appointments, but it seemed different this time. Intimate maybe?”
I squeeze her hand once, reflexive.
“And she watched me,” Addison says. “Not the screen. Did you see that?”
“I did.” I’m suddenly aware of how often I look at the monitor instead of the person.
We reach the corner, and she slows, turning toward me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just hungry.”
That’s true enough. But the ache under it isn’t hunger. It’s the discomfort of realizing I still don’t quite know how I fit into Addison’s life, and I don’t quite know how to have that conversation. I don’t know if we’re ready.
Addison studies me, and then tugs my hand gently and steps forward. As we continue walking, Dot’s comes into view, windows fogged slightly from the inside.
Addison smiles and heads for the door.
Dot’s is busy even as it approaches lunchtime. The sweet smell of Tom’s baking prowess makes my stomach growl. We find a small table by the window. Addison shrugs out of her jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair.
“What am I in the mood for?” I ask.
“Waffles,” she says, scanning the menu. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I agree, even though I was thinking a sandwich, but pockets of melted butter mixed with sweet maple syrup is hard to pass up.
When the server arrives, she orders without hesitation, adding water without ice to drink, and I order coffee, along with my waffle.
With that settled, Addison leans back in her chair. “You’ve been quiet,” she says.
I shrug. “Processing.”
She nods.
“I’ve seen hundreds of ultrasounds, but seeing my own baby knocked me right over,” I explain.
“It’s pretty incredible,” she agrees. Our drinks arrive. “Have you thought about names?”
“Sort of. What about you?”
“I like Caleb and Austin.”
I run those through my head. “I like both of them. What are you going to do about his last name?”
She takes a sip of her water. “I don’t know.”
“What if you gave him the middle name Dempsey and the last name Anderson?”
Her brow quirks. “That could be a possibility. I’ll think about it.”
The waffles come out hot and ridiculous, piled high and dusted with powdered sugar.
Addison laughs when she sees them. “That’s excessive,” she says. “I love it.”
I can’t help but smile as I watch her take the first bite, seeming completely unconcerned with anything except whether it tastes good.
She hums softly and grins at me. “Okay, yeah. Worth it.”
I eat, too, but slowly. I keep stealing glances at her.
She seems quite relaxed, in full possession of herself.
I wish I understood her ability to compartmentalize, if that’s what this is.
I want her in my life—she and the baby—but I feel completely out of my depth as I search for how to convey that in a way she’ll accept.
She wipes her mouth with a napkin and looks out the window. “This is nice,” she says. “Today, I just can’t deal with anything more.”
So it seems now is not the time for any discussion…
After a moment, she cuts into her waffle again. “I might take the afternoon off,” she adds, talking to herself as much as me. “Just…go home. Nap. Do nothing.”
“That sounds nice,” I say. “You should.”
She smiles, small, like she appreciates the permission even though she didn’t ask for it. That realization comes a beat late.
I hear my mother’s voice again, telling me to be prepared. Responsible. Not to leave room for failure.
Addison smiles at me, but she’s made her boundaries clear. I’m still on the outside in a lot of ways. She’s so guarded. Still, I smile back. And I wonder when trying to find the right way to be helpful started to feel this close to disappearing.
When we’re both stuffed with waffles, I pay, and we step back outside, the bell over the door ringing behind us. The air warmed up while we were inside.
Addison stretches her arms over her head and sighs. “I needed that.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
We start walking again with no real destination, just following the sidewalk along the water. The lake’s calm, sun hitting it in that blinding way that makes you squint.
For a few minutes, we don’t talk. It’s comfortable.
I keep pace with her, matching her stride like muscle memory.
But I feel unsettled. I remain at a loss about how to proceed with her, and I can’t just sit with this.
My compartmentalizing skills are nothing compared to hers.
I have to make an attempt to get what I need.
“Can I ask you something without it turning into a whole thing?”
Addison glances up. “You can try.”
“I know you want to handle your life,” I say. “I get that. I’m not trying to take over.”
She waits.
“But now that we know the baby’s mine…” I pause, choosing the words carefully. “I need to understand where I’m supposed to be in all of this.”
Her brows pull together slightly.
“I’m not talking about making decisions for you,” I add. “I just don’t want to guess wrong again.”
“So what are you asking?”
“What do you want from me?” I say. “Do you want me involved in the appointments? Do you want help planning things? Is there anything I could take the lead on? Or do you want me to wait until you ask?”
She studies me.
“I’m here either way,” I say. “I just need to know how you want that to look.”
She nods. “I know I’m not making this easy,” she finally says. “I have a lot to sort through as well. Can we just figure it out as we go?” She looks over, meeting my eyes. “You’re going to be in this baby’s life, Luc. I want that.”
I open my mouth but then close it and nod. What choice do I have? I have to take what she can give. Neither of us asked for things to be this way.
We continue walking, but eventually, Addison stops near the railing and leans forward, resting her forearms on it. The sun catches in her hair.
“This feels good,” she says.
“It does,” I agree, though I don’t know quite what she’s referring to. I mean the warm day. The view. The fact that she’s here. Not the fact that so much is still unclear to me.
But I know now that I could turn this into something fragile if I keep trying to define it.
So I stand beside her, close but not touching, and for the first time all day, I let myself feel what’s really underneath everything else for me—fear.
Not of losing access entirely, but of losing parts of myself trying to chase something that may not materialize.
It’s going to take strength to ride this out and see where it lands. I hope that’s a strength I have.
Addison pushes off the railing first and starts walking again. She assumes I’ll follow without even looking back.
And I do.
We walk a few steps before she slows. I’m close enough now that if I reached out, my hand would brush hers. But I don’t.
I just watch her for a second—the set of her shoulders, the way she moves, comfortable in her own skin.
Something solidifies in my chest, a sort of clarity.
Because of this baby, Addison and I will be joined forever.
We have a choice to try to make our relationship work or manage this as two individuals, and I want us to be together.
But I also want that relationship to be something I feel good about, something I can actually enjoy.
And only time will tell what’s possible.
Addison glances back at me. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m right here.”
And I am.