Chapter 45
Liz, March 11
The offending black box sits where I threw it. I’m perched on the floor of my bedroom closet, hugging my knees and glaring at the box like it might sprout legs and dance across the floor. Better yet, like it may burst into flame and take the house with it. I was innocently cleaning, nesting instincts kicking in, when I found it. A diamond ring. A diamond fucking engagement ring.
I shouldn’t have been alone. Who is ever alone when they find out their boyfriend wants to get married? Matt is at a work thing. He’s always at a work thing. And now he’s going to propose. My body shakes. I can’t marry him. I don’t want a life of empty closets and lonely evenings while he’s out working. I don’t want the title of wife without the life I want.
For a moment I consider calling a friend. Someone to share a laugh, someone who might talk sense into me. But I can’t think of a single name. I haven’t told my mother or sister about the pregnancy, so I can’t very well call them. Everyone else would judge. Everyone else would tell me what I “should” do.
I pause. I take a deep breath. And then it hits me. Ben.
The thought spreads through me like warm cider, steadying my shaking hands. My chest unclenches, the panic starts to ebb. I reach for the black box, lift it onto the desk, and open my laptop. My fingers hover over the keyboard. Candy had given me his email address months ago. I type a single word into the subject line: “Skype?”
Two minutes pass. Nothing. My brain paints him laughing, deleting the email, and I almost shut the computer down. But I don’t. I can’t. The idea of returning to the floor, staring at the ring, feels worse than exposing myself to the possibility of rejection.
I try again. “Please.”
No response. Skype shows he still has me blocked. I send another email. “Ben, please.” I wait. Thirty seconds. I almost give up. I feel my fingers twitch toward the shutdown button, but I resist. There is no one else. No one I can trust. No one I want to talk to. I cannot face the silence of the closet, the cold reality of the ring, without trying.
“I need you.”
I hit send. I’m raw, exposed. The Ben I remember will know how hard this is.
Moments later, the contact screen changes. His name. I click. Green band. Connected.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“What do you need?” His voice is sharp, raspy, angry.
I force myself to respond evenly. “Can you turn on a light? I can’t really see you.”
The screen floods with him. The face I haven’t forgotten. Green eyes flashing, blonde hair longer than I remember. Shirtless. His shoulders tense. I can read his frustration so easily. I resist leaning in. “Thank you. You look… good.”
“Liz, what did you need? It’s late.”
I take control of the moment. No panic, no hesitation. “Matt is at a work thing. I was alone, cleaning, and I found something I didn’t know what to do with.” I lift the box. The diamond sparkles at him.
“Does a diamond ring mean the same thing—” His voice trails off.
“Yes.”
“Then congratulations,” he says awkwardly.
“No. No, Ben, see, I’m… I’m freaking out. I’m not ready.” The words feel heavy but liberating. Saying them aloud forces the truth out of me: I am not happy. I haven’t been in a long time.
“Why? Don’t you love him?”
“I think so,” I whisper. I thought I loved Matt, but love without choice isn’t love.
“Think?”
“Yeah. Ben, shouldn’t I know?”
He doesn’t answer the way I want. He’s harsh, distant. But I realize something: I am not asking him to fix this. I don’t need to be rescued.
“I just… needed a second opinion,” I admit.
“Why would you need someone else to tell you whether you should marry anyone?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. But the truth is, maybe I don’t need anyone to tell me. Maybe I just needed to give myself permission to admit what I already know.
“Well, I don’t know either,” he says.
“I guess I should let you go.”
“That would be nice.”
I see him reaching his hand toward the keyboard and I know it’s almost the end of this conversation. Probably it’s the end of us. I have to tell him one more thing. “Ben? I didn’t need anyone’s opinion. Just yours.”
He’s gone. I hope he heard me but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I need to do what’s best for me.
I place the box down, lean back, and rub my belly. I need to do what’s best for us. “Just you and me, kid,” I murmur. “Against the world.”
For the first time in months, I feel a spark of control. Not over Ben, not over Matt, not over life. But over myself.