7. Alyssa
ALYSSA
Tell him why you're really here.
I think it, but I can't seem to compel myself to get the words out. Not during the drive, and not when we pull up in his driveway and get out.
He carries my duffel bag like the gentleman that he is, into the very same cabin where we made the child that he doesn't know about.
I pull my coat tighter around me. I'm worried if I take it off, he's going to notice the slight bump on my lower abdomen and get suspicious.
Probably not. I mean, few people in my life have actually noticed that I'm pregnant. I've managed to keep it a secret from my coworkers and friends.
I wanted to figure out if I was even going to tell Jack about the baby, and decided that if I was going to tell him, he should be the first to know, not the last. It seemed like the right thing to do.
I think about the ultrasound picture that I have in my pocket.
Maybe if I can't get the words out, I'll just pull the photo out and hand it to him, and let the photo do the talking instead of me.
That seems simple and straightforward, but of course he's going to have follow-up questions. He's going to want to talk about this.
In my head, in the weeks since I first met Jack, I'd sort of rearranged his personality in my mind, turning him into a cold, uncaring, gruff mountain man who wouldn't have the sensitivity required to navigate this situation.
But that speech in the truck just now…it caught me off guard.
Jack is more sensitive than I thought. More caring than I thought. He has empathy, and it's hard to imagine a guy like this wanting to abandon his kid just because it's inconvenient and disrupts his life.
I think about my own dad, the dad who tried to stick around and then abandoned his family after two years of playing house.
What if Jack is like that?
What if, when I tell him about the baby, he acts like he wants to be around for a while? What if he tries to make it work for months, for years, even, and then one day he just…poof? Vanishes without a trace.
I don't think my heart could take it.
I already endured it with my own father, feeling like the unwanted child who was always in the way, unwanted and abandoned by one parent, and resented by the one who stayed.
I don't want our baby to grow up like that. I would rather them not ever know their dad at all than to suffer the kind of pain that I had to experience.
We reach the threshold of the cabin, and it's just like I remembered. Large, but not unwelcoming.
It feels like more than just one man should live here. Like maybe an entire family. You could film Hallmark Christmas movies here, for goodness sake.
It just seems like the kind of place where wholesome memories are made, and yet Jack lives here alone.
I consider asking him why.
I consider asking him whether the woman at the diner was serious and important to him.
I wonder if one of these rooms would make a good baby room.
And then I quickly dismiss the thought. Too soon. Too hopeful.
Being hopeful is how you get disappointed. How you get your heart broken. And I can't let that happen. I have to hold myself together. If not for my sake, for my baby's sake.
I'll tell him by the end of the night, I decide. I still have time.
Jack approaches me, and I realize he's trying to pull my coat off.
"I'm going to start a fire,” he says. “The cabin warms up pretty quick, and stays that way even through the night. You’re going to want to take this off. Trust me.”
He pulls the coat from my shoulders, leaving me in just my sweater dress, leggings, and boots.
I look down quickly, tugging at the fabric that stretches over my stomach, hoping that it's loose enough to disguise my secret.
Jack's eyes rove over me appreciatively, not lingering in any one spot, but taking in the full picture. Midway through, he seems to realize that I've caught him checking me out.
So he clears his throat awkwardly and turns away, heading toward the open-concept kitchen on the other side of the main room.
"You want another cup of coffee?" he asks.
"No," I say. "Um, I’m trying to cut back on caffeine.”
He nods.
"I should probably do the same, but I don't think I could get through the day without at least three cups."
I look longingly at the coffee pot as he starts to make himself a brew, putting coffee grounds into the top of it and pushing the button.
Before the pregnancy, I was a coffee fiend. Now, though, I stick to my doctor's recommended one cup a day, and do decaf the rest of the day.
I doubt that a man like Jack keeps decaf in his kitchen cabinets. And asking for decaf could raise suspicions.
"Well," he says, clearing his throat again. "I should show you the guest suite. You wouldn't have seen it last time you were here."
He grins bashfully at me. I nod.
"That would be great," I say.
I follow him down a wide hallway, and we stop short of the door that I know leads to his master bedroom, the one where we spent that fateful night.
Instead, he turns to the left, opening the pinewood door up to a slightly smaller but equally beautiful bedroom.
"There's a bathroom over there." He waves at one of the doors. "Closets over there, too. Why don't I just give you a moment to settle in, make yourself at home? You can take a shower if you want. I'll start dinner here in about an hour. Sound good?"
He speaks like someone who's not quite sure of himself. He probably never has guests here, even though he does have an impressive guest room.
Or maybe I make him nervous.
"Sounds good," I agree, eager to get some space between our bodies so that I can begin to think straight again. I need to sort out how I'm going to break the news to Jack.
He nods again, then backs out of the room, closing the door.