Jilted

32. Sloane

32

SLOANE

I couldn’t believe two weeks had gone by. I still hadn’t told anyone I was pregnant, except for Wilder. His reaction had devastated me, made me recoil and turn inward. But I needed to talk to someone. I could have gone to Elijah. He would’ve been supportive, but instead, I’d decided to go to my brother Will.

It was early Saturday afternoon, and I knew the bar would be empty. So I picked up a pie from our favorite pizza place and went to pay him a visit.

Will was wiping down the counters, but he stopped when I walked in. “Uh-oh. When do you need off?”

I smiled. “I don’t need off.”

He squinted. “Does the pie have pepper and onions?”

“It does.”

He resumed wiping the counter. “Then you want something.”

I laughed. “Can’t I just want to spend time with my big brother?”

He took out his wallet. “How much do you need?”

I swiped the rag he was using from his hands and threw it at him. “Jerk.”

He smiled. “What’s going on, Peaty?”

I climbed up on a stool and flipped open the pizza box, grabbing a slice. A few droplets of grease dripped on the bar as I brought the tip up for a bite. “Sorry.”

Will shook his head and reached under the bar for a roll of paper towels. “Some shit never changes.” He positioned the top of the open box under where I was eating. “Here. Use this.”

There wasn’t an easy way to start this conversation, so I decided to just come out with it. “So… I’m pregnant.”

Unfortunately, Will had just bitten into his slice, and he started to choke, really choke. I stood on my seat and climbed over the bar, ready to do the Heimlich maneuver. But he held his hand out, stopping me. His face was red and his voice hoarse, but at least he was able to chirp out words. “No.” He coughed. “I’m good.”

I grabbed a glass and poured seltzer from the tap. Will chugged half of it down, then bent with hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths.

“Are you okay?”

“No. You just fucking told me you’re pregnant. Of course I’m not okay. You’re my little sister.”

“I’m twenty-six, not twelve.”

“You’re not married.”

“Thanks for pointing that out. I wasn’t aware. Come to think of it, I also didn’t realize it was 1952 and you had to be married to be pregnant.”

“You know what I mean…” Will kept shaking his head. But he seemed to be able to breathe, so I walked back around to the other side of the bar.

“Whose head am I busting open? Wilder’s, I assume?”

I frowned. “There will be no busting anything. But yes, Wilder is the father. I came to you because I need someone to talk to, Will. Do you think you can put all your dumb masculinity and archaic opinions aside for a few minutes?”

My brother was quiet as he stared down at the bar. He took a deep breath before looking up. “Are you happy?”

“I was pretty shocked when I found out, but I’m warming up to happy. I always wanted a family. I just didn’t expect it so soon.”

Will shook his head. “Doesn’t matter if you plan it. You’re never ready for it. It’s like a punch; you take it as it comes.”

“Poetic.”

“Not that I give a shit, but it affects you—how did Wilder take the news?”

I knew my brothers. If I told them the full truth—that he’d walked out on me after I told him and had sent me only a few one-sentence texts in the last two weeks—they’d hold a grudge against him forever. I wasn’t sure how Wilder was going to be in my life, but we were going to have a baby together, so it probably wasn’t smart to turn the entire family against him.

“He was even more shocked than I was.”

Will’s jaw flexed. “So he’s not going to be a father to this kid?”

“He’ll be involved in some way. We’re… still figuring it out.”

“Sending a check isn’t being a parent.”

“I know.”

“Raising a kid alone isn’t easy.”

“I know that, too. I’ve watched you do it. But Olivia turned out great.”

Will let out a big sigh. “You won’t be doing it alone. I got your back. You’ve always had mine. And Olivia’s.”

The choice to speak to Will, of all people, seemed a little insane. He was the toughest critic of the family. Yet I’d wanted to tell him first. Now I realized why. I’d needed to hear those words. “I got your back.”

I fought tears. “I’m scared, Will.”

He smiled half-heartedly. “Welcome to parenthood. What you’re feeling right now? It never goes away. The things you’re scared about just change. You go from being terrified about whether you’re ready to have a baby, to being terrified about whether you’re holding the kid’s head right. Eventually you settle in and think, maybe I got this . Then the terrible twos start, and don’t even get me going on the shit I worry about with a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“Anne would be proud of how you’ve raised Olivia.”

“She’d be proud of how you stepped up, too. I’m not sure who would’ve been more traumatized if I’d had to have that period conversation with her six months ago, me or Olivia.”

“Considering you came home with a bag of incontinence products instead of period stuff, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been her.”

Will chuckled. “How the hell was I supposed to know?”

I picked up my slice of pizza and bit into it again. My appetite had been nonexistent lately, but suddenly I was starving.

“Does Dad know yet?” Will asked.

I shook my head and finished chewing. “You’re the only person who knows besides Wilder. I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself until I’m ready to tell everyone else.”

“Of course. It’s your business. Are you waiting until the end of the first trimester to tell people?”

I’d been waiting to have a real conversation with Wilder. His occasional text asking how I felt left me in limbo. I’d hoped to have a more concrete plan on how Wilder and I were going to handle things before talking to Dad, but the last few days I’d lost faith that was going to happen anytime in the near future.

“No, I’m going to tell him soon.”

Will nodded. A few minutes later, a couple of early customers wandered in, effectively bringing our conversation to an end. It was just as well, since I didn’t have much more to say. After I finished two slices, I stuck around for another half hour, helping stock behind the bar and getting things ready for the weekend crowd.

Will walked over as I put my jacket on. “You getting out of here?”

“I have a bunch of errands to run. I’ll stop back and do the books tomorrow.”

His eyes shifted to the customers at the other end of the bar. They were too busy yelling at a horse race on one of the TVs to pay us any mind. Though my brother lowered his voice anyway. “I think most of parenting you learn as you go, and most advice people give isn’t worth shit because every situation is different. But there is one important thing I learned that’s worth sharing.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t make someone else happy unless you’re happy yourself. After Anne died, I spent years pretending I was happy for Olivia’s sake. But she knew the truth—kids always do. Once I allowed myself to feel happiness again, I saw a change in my daughter. She was lighter, laughed more. Of course that was before the teen years set in, but I think you get what I’m saying. I hope things work out with Wilder, if that’s what you want. But if they don’t, focus on finding happiness for yourself. The best gift you can give your kid is showing them not to dwell on the things we can’t change and live life to the fullest, even if it’s not the one you planned.”

I kissed my brother’s cheek. “Thanks, Will.”

“Congratulations, Peaty. You’re going to be a great mom.”

Later that night, I climbed into bed exhausted at nine o’clock. I’d spent yet another day rushing around, trying to outrun my thoughts. What I needed was some mindless TV and a good night’s rest. So I flicked on the television and went directly to one of the channels that was always good for reality TV. Except Say Yes to the Dress was on, and the bridal boutique they were in reminded me of the morning Wilder had shown up unexpectedly to help me keep my appointment to sell my old wedding gown.

I sighed and flicked to another channel. Love Island was on that one—and the guy currently flirting with a curvy blonde was British . I jabbed my thumb at the remote a third time and a movie flickered on—where the woman was pregnant . That was it for my attempt at mindless relaxation. I turned the TV off, forcing my eyes shut.

But a few minutes later, my phone buzzed from my nightstand. Wilder’s name flashed on the screen. Just seeing it made my heart beat faster. It had been a few days since his last uninspired text, so I was certain this would just be another four-word letdown— how are you feeling? or whatever. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself for disappointment yet again.

Wilder: Could we talk?

I sat up in bed. Could we talk? It didn’t sound very promising. But at this point, any outcome was better than the unknown. So I texted back.

Sloane: Of course. When?

Wilder: Are you busy now?

Oh God. My stomach rolled. As much as I needed to know where he stood, I was also terrified. I reached for the lamp and switched on the light. We usually FaceTimed, but I considered suggesting a call so he wouldn’t see me get upset. But screw it, I had every right to cry. Served him right. Though I should be prepared with some tissues.

Sloane: No, just give me a minute and I’ll FaceTime you.

He typed back before my feet had even hit the floor.

Wilder: Would it be okay if we talked in person?

My brows furrowed.

Sloane: You’re in New York?

Wilder: I’m downstairs. I came straight from the airport and took a chance you’d be home.

My eyes widened. I jumped to look out my bedroom window. Sure enough, Wilder was standing on the sidewalk. I watched him pace back and forth a few times, emotions twisting a knot inside me.

Two weeks of four-word texts and he just shows up with no advance notice?

He took a chance I’d be home? What else does a pregnant woman do on a Saturday night?

He’s come to tell me in person that he wants nothing to do with us.

Us .

My heart squeezed. I wasn’t a me anymore. I was an us .

I was so busy worrying about a dozen things that could happen, that I forgot what was actually happening and didn’t respond right away. Eventually, my phone buzzed again.

Wilder: I should’ve called. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. I can come back tomorrow, if you want.

I might not be able to focus enough to respond to a text, but I knew for damn sure that I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I turned him away. There was no point in prolonging things any more.

Sloane: I’ll buzz you in.

Living on the fourth floor of a walk-up at least gave me a minute or two of lead time. I went to the bathroom, ran my fingers through my unwashed hair, and swiped at what I thought was day-old smeared mascara under my eyes. But it turned out it wasn’t makeup; it was dark circles from lack of sleep.

My nerves were at an all-time high as I went to the door and unlocked it. Wilder was already coming up the last flight of stairs as I stepped into the hall. He carried two big duffles, one in each hand. I hadn’t noticed any bags from the window, so my focus narrowed to them and what they might mean. Is he planning on staying over? Will I let him if he wants to? Did I leave stuff at his apartment and he’s returning it? Momentarily lost in my head, I didn’t look up to see the face of the man carrying the bags. When I did, my heart stuttered.

Wilder looked awful. Probably about as good as I felt. His hair was a mess, his eyes were puffy and rimmed with darker rings than mine, and it looked like he’d slept in his clothes. My instinct was to open my arms, give him a hug, and tell him everything would be okay, but I forced myself to remember what I’d been struggling through the last few weeks. Alone.

Instead, I folded my arms across my chest. “You couldn’t have called before you boarded your flight? Or even after you landed? Give me a little notice?”

Wilder raked a hand through his hair. It looked like he’d been doing that for hours. “I’m sorry. I was afraid you might tell me not to come after the way I’ve acted for the last couple of weeks.”

If he thought that, he had no clue how I felt about him. Pissed off or not, hurt or not, I was crazy about this man. I shook my head and opened the door, stepping aside for him to come in.

Wilder slowed as he passed, looking into my eyes and speaking softly. “Thank you.” He set the bags on the floor in the kitchen and swallowed, looking down at my belly. “How are you feeling?”

“Physically fine.”

“Your blood sugar?”

“Right where it should be.”

We were both silent for a long time. I hadn’t realized I wasn’t looking at him until he called my name.

“Sloane?”

My eyes met his.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” His eyes filled with tears, so I thought he might have meant for the way he’d acted.

But I was afraid to get my hopes up since he could also be apologizing for not wanting to be involved in our life. “For what?”

“For running away. For acting like a coward. For not being the man you deserve.”

I tasted salt in my throat as I swallowed.

“I know there’s no excuse for running away, but I want to tell you why I acted the way I did.”

“Okay…”

“Do you think we can go sit on the couch or something?”

I hesitated before nodding.

Once we were seated in the living room, Wilder took my hand and squeezed. “Do you remember when you asked me about my past relationships? I told you I had a relationship in high school and another one in college, but I didn’t go into detail about Whitney.”

I nodded. “You said she destroyed you.”

Wilder nodded. “That’s true. But it’s not the whole story. I met Whitney in one of the bars near Harvard. She’d taken the semester off because of some financial-aid issues and her dad being sick—at least that’s what she told me. We started hanging out. It was when my mom was sick, so we had that in common. I liked her well enough, though not enough to say she was someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. But then Whitney got pregnant. She told me it was mine, but it wasn’t.”

“Wilder, I would never—”

He held up his hand. “Shit—no, that’s not what I meant. This is coming out all wrong. I wasn’t insinuating you would ever—” Wilder shook his head. “I know you would never do something like that.”

“Okay…”

“But… I thought that baby was mine for nine months. I talked to him. We had names picked out. I might not have been in love with Whitney, but I fell in love with our baby. It threw a big wrench in my life that I hadn’t been expecting, but Whitney and I moved in together, and I accepted that I wasn’t going to play for a UK rugby team, like I’d always dreamed. I needed to be around to help raise my child. Two weeks before the baby was due, my mom died. I flew to England alone for the wake. Whitney was too far along to travel. And when I came home earlier than expected, I walked in on her and another guy. I’d been nothing more than their mark from the beginning. Whitney wasn’t ever a student at Harvard. She’d never been to college. Her father wasn’t sick, and she was twenty-nine years old, not nineteen. She also already had two children with the guy I caught her with. Both kids were bringing in child support from guys like me who had no clue they were being scammed. Whitney and her partner did their homework, found young, stupid guys with deep pockets, and made up relatable stories to help create a bond. A year or so after each kid was born, Whitney broke things off with the current schmuck, but the child support would keep coming for eighteen years.”

“Oh my God. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“I never even saw the kid who was born a few weeks later. And I thought I was long past all that, but I… I got scared.” Wilder looked down in silence for a long time. When he met my eyes again, tears streamed down his face. “I never doubted that you were carrying my baby, I swear. I just… I know this might sound stupid, but I loved that little boy. And it felt like I lost him after. Maybe it was because I’d just lost my mom and the lines were blurred, but it hurt just the same. I lost three people I loved—my high school sweetheart, my mom, and my baby. Whitney was the last real relationship I had, and it wasn’t real at all. I’m so afraid I’m going to lose you or fuck something up with you. And my dad is on his fourth wife, and I was just… a fucking chickenshit

. I’m so sorry, Sloane. I acted like a coward when you deserved so much more.”

I pulled Wilder into my arms. “It’s okay. Please don’t cry. You’re here now.”

We held each other for a long time. Eventually, he stepped back. “I know this is going to be hard for you to believe because of the way I’ve acted, but I’m happy you’re pregnant.”

Hope bloomed in my chest. I wanted to believe him, but he was right. A part of me was also afraid. “Happy? Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I need to show you something.”

“Okay…”

Wilder went to the kitchen and unzipped one of the duffle bags. He pulled something out—bunches of white fabric. At first I thought it was a christening outfit, maybe his own from when he was a baby? But too much material spilled out of the bag. He shook it out, holding it up as he returned to the living room.

My jaw dropped. “Is that…?”

He nodded. “The dress you loved at the shop the day we sold your old wedding dress. I went back after I dropped you off and bought it.”

“But… we weren’t even dating yet.”

“Do you remember what you said when I suggested you buy it?”

“No?”

“You said you loved it, but you weren’t buying a dress for a fantasy that didn’t exist.” Wilder looked me in the eyes. “So I bought it. Because since the day I met you, you’ve made me believe the fantasy exists. And I wanted to give this to you, if I was lucky enough to ever make you mine.”

“Oh my God.” I jumped into his arms. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Wilder stroked my hair. “I’m so sorry, Cupcake. If you give me another chance, I promise not to let you down.”

My answer was to crush my lips against his. This wasn’t the fantasy I’d dreamed of, but maybe my reality was better than anything I could ever imagine. We stayed in the living room a long time, kissing and saying I love you over and over. The two of us must’ve looked like loons—tear-streaked cheeks, dark circles under our puffy eyes, and yet the biggest smiles spread across our faces.

“I almost forgot. I brought you something else.”

“What?”

Wilder set me on my feet and lifted the second duffle bag to the coffee table. “Go ahead. You unzip this one.”

I pulled the zipper back and was surprised to find… books. There had to be twenty inside. “What are all these?” I slipped out a few and read the titles aloud. “It’s Not You, It’s the Pregnancy; The Self-Love Workbook for First-Time Mums; There’s No Right Way to Raise a Child; Your Pregnant Brain.”

Wilder smiled when I paused. “I figured you would need a new crop of self-help books.”

“I thought you said my self-help books were dumb.”

“That was before I found this one…” He riffled around inside the duffle. “Here we go. This is the one that changed my mind.”

He turned the cover to face me. Forty New Positions for Forty Weeks of Pregnancy: The Couple’s Guide to Orgasming Through Full Term.

I laughed. “Figures that’s what it would take.”

Wilder tossed the book on the table and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I missed a few weeks. We’ll have to play catch-up.”