Chapter 6 #2
Briar huffs, pushing up from the couch before dropping down. “Then why isn’t he here? He better not have told you he doesn’t want to be involved. If he did, I’d gladly knock some sense into him.”
“I’ll go with you,” Birdie says enthusiastically.
I shake my head. “There’s no need for that. He was uncharacteristically nice about the whole thing. Honestly, it was a little unsettling having him ask how he could help instead of bickering with me for once.”
Okay, so that might not be the whole truth. There was our heated discussion after I rejected his proposal, but I’m keeping that part of our conversation under wraps for now. I have a feeling the girls would only encourage his harebrained solution if they knew about it.
Briar rolls her eyes. “Only you would think Heath being nice was suspicious behavior.”
“Looks like their mutual aversion is still going strong,” Wren pipes up. “At least on Charlie’s side.”
I let out a half-hearted laugh as I look away, unable to muster anything close to a normal response.
Do I still have an aversion to Heath? Let’s run with that and ignore the war raging in my head—one part of me dead set on keeping him at arm’s length, the other a shameless little hussy whispering how addictive his hands felt against my skin and his mouth had claimed every sensitive spot like he owned me.
I may be undecided on what comes next where he’s concerned, but if today taught me anything, it’s that my friends will always show up for me, no matter what mess I’ve gotten myself into. That knowledge alone makes this whole situation a lot more bearable.
What was supposed to be a carefree night spent bingeing Schitt’s Creek has turned into me lying on the living room floor with a heartbreaking K-drama playing in the background.
I’m surrounded by a pile of overdue bills I’ve been avoiding, spiraling as I try to figure out how I’m supposed to take care of a kid when my own life is a mess.
The only saving grace is the ice cream I found buried in the back of my freezer.
I scoop another giant heap onto my spoon and take a bite, savoring the sweet mix of cherries and dark chocolate.
My phone chimes, interrupting my sugar-induced breakdown with another notification from my CGM that my glucose is still rising.
“Yeah, yeah.” I pull up my app and estimate a correction dose to stay ahead of the spike that’s already climbing higher than I can ignore. “God forbid a girl wants to drown her feelings in a pint of ice cream without her blood sugar going off the rails,” I mutter.
By nature, I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of person, figuring things out along the way.
But my diabetes has forced me into a life built on strict routines and structure, which runs against my every instinct.
For once, it would be nice to be spontaneous without turning every treat into a complicated math problem or a carefully timed operation with severe consequences if disregarded.
My phone pings again, this time with an incoming message.
Wren: Checking in before I go to bed. You okay?
Charlie: Just peachy.
Wren: I get this is a lot to process.
Charlie: It’s nothing a pint of ice cream can’t fix.
Wren: You’ll want to keep an emergency snack stash.
Charlie: I’ll never get over you eating pickles topped with whipped cream.
Wren: You won’t be so smug once your own cravings kick in.
Charlie: Can’t wait *eye-roll emoji
With my luck, I’ll crave nothing but sugar, and I’ll have to constantly limit myself or think twice before eating anything.
Wren: I’m here for whatever you need.
Charlie: Thanks for putting up with me.
Wren: Anytime.
It really sucks that she lives across the country, especially now. She’s the most level-headed one in our group, and she was the person I went to when I needed to vent growing up. We still talk on the phone, but it’s not the same since she moved away. Days like this remind me how much I miss her.
I set my phone aside, fixing my gaze on the bills scattered around me, several marked with harsh red “Overdue Notice” warnings.
Between my medical bills, shop costs, and Grams’s care, most months are a balancing act—shuffling the money I have on hand and hoping it stretches far enough to avoid missing another minimum payment.
Money was already tight before Grams moved to Meadowbrook, but the website I set up for Timeless Threads helped keep us afloat by selling rare finds online.
However, even with the state grant, which covers half her room and board, I’ve still fallen behind on the extra expenses.
Now with a baby on the way, there’s no way I can stay in denial any longer and pretend that this is a sustainable long-term solution.
Would it really be so wrong to accept Heath’s proposal if it meant a stable future for the baby and me?
Despite his caveman logic that we should rush into marriage because I’m pregnant, it’s hard not to swoon over a man who jumps in to save the day.
It’s a far cry from the guys I usually sleep with.
The last one asked me on a date after we spent a night together, then left me on read for three days after I said yes.
When we finally went out, he spent more time checking in with his mom than with me, yet still had the nerve to ask to split the bill because he claimed I didn’t show enough interest to justify paying.
Heath would never.
I lean over and grab my notebook from the coffee table, flipping to a fresh page.
After my diabetes diagnosis, it was difficult learning to stay consistent in tracking my numbers.
Dr. Hansen suggested I keep a handwritten record of my numbers and meals for a while to build a routine before fully transitioning to the apps.
It worked wonders in helping me stay consistent as I adjusted to the change. Around the same time, I also started marking pros and cons lists, which made it easier to cope with losing some autonomy and to make more intentional decisions about what I could still control.
Pros & Cons of Marrying Heath Halstead:
Pros:
He runs a successful business
He’s level-headed. (unlike me when I’m hangry)
Backup for 3 a.m. diaper duty.
He’s stupidly hot.
His tongue can do magical things
Cons:
His hotness got me pregnant.
Basically glorified roommates. (if “with benefits” could be a pro)
He could bail whenever. (Hello, daddy issues)
Admit I’m not superwoman.
We’re opposites (don’t they attract?)
I tap the pen against my mouth while studying the list. Even though I keep adding more cons, why do most of them feel like they should be pros?
Then again, I don’t buy the whole “opposites attract” thing. Heath and I are more like oil and water—we just don’t mix.
Even the concept of moving in together is laughable.
His loft is all clean lines and muted tones, stripped of anything personal.
There isn’t a stray sock or misplaced object in sight.
It’s downright unnerving. My place, on the other hand, is the opposite of minimalism—walls covered with abstract art, mismatched vintage furniture Grams and I have collected over the years, and what looks like piles of clutter to anyone else but is organized chaos to me.
Not to mention, we’re barely staying civil as it is, and the man still managed to knock me up. If we actually lived together, I’m pretty sure it would end in mutual insanity.
After further review, my list confirms what I already knew—rejecting him was the right call.
So why is my stomach twisted up in knots?
“Don’t worry, peanut,” I whisper, resting my hand over my stomach.
“We can do this on our own. Sure, we might live in a drafty apartment that turns into an icebox in the winter, and we’ll have to skip the name-brand mac and cheese.
But I promise I’ll be a cool mom and let you stay up past curfew on the weekends, and we’ll have dance parties in the kitchen. ”
A scene flashes in my mind of a little girl with dark brown hair in two long braids hanging down her back, perched on a stool in the kitchen, peering over the stove while I make dinner. It’s so vivid I almost expect her to be there when I glance over.
“I can only imagine your dad’s reaction if you’re a girl,” I whisper to my belly.
Just thinking about Heath trapped in a sea of pink and frills has me biting back a grin.
That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about doing this alone. At least not yet. And that’s what terrifies me the most—the fact that I’m even still entertaining the idea of becoming Mrs. Halstead.