Page 57

When I leavethe doctor’s office, I go to the store, buy a chocolate cake, and eat nearly the entire thing while staring at the photograph the doctor gave me. And then I look at the pamphlet I stuffed in my purse. It makes me angry to look at it.
I understood why some women choose to end their pregnancy, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to. This might have been unplanned, but I have a part of Leo and me inside. I can’t end that.
And I have a date with that dickhead tonight. Part of me is curious as to what he’s going to say. The other is emotional and needs him in any way I can get him. So I said yes and meet him at Girl and the Goat. The first place we ever went to dinner together.
When I arrive, he’s already seated at the table waiting for me.
When I see him, it’s evident that this guy, someone I will consider one of my best friends, still gets to me. I get all sweaty and my cheeks flush. I can barely put one foot in front of another when I see him.
Drawing in a deep breath, I take a step forward, my heels clicking against hardwood floors that shine bright against the lights throughout the restaurant. “Here we go, Shrimp,” I say as I approach Leo’s I-don’t-give-a-fuck stance slouched in the chair. Yes, I referred to the baby as shrimp.Focus on Leo, will ya?Because I know I am. Why does he have to look so damn sexy? Maybe he does care, maybe he doesn’t, but when he stands as I approach, it certainly doesn’t seem like it. He’s dressed nice as always, black slacks, black tie, and a gray dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing black tattoos that go up both forearms.
As I get closer, I try to think of everything I’m going to say to him. I have gone over it in my head. Everything. The tone, what I will say, how I will present it, but as I near him, I can’t remember a goddamn thing of what Ineedto say.
I’d rather be eaten by a hippo than have this conversation.
I’m not sure where Leo learned it—given his family—but he always stands when a lady approaches the table. Doesn’t matter who it is. If they’re going to be sitting with him, he stands.
He gives me a nod, and I notice how tired his eyes look with dark circles under them. And he has a black eye with stitches.
“You look beautiful,” he says, smiling.
“Thank you. You look pretty hot all banged up.”
He grins. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
Hold your ground. You can do this, and you know it. And be civil, for Christ’s sake! Don’t be mean to him.
It’s seeing him now that makes me question my resolve. I despise that feeling.
As we sit, the cut under his eye first becomes more noticeable in the flickering candle on the table. “How’s your eye?” I ask. “Does it hurt?”
“It’s fine.”
The waiter approaches the table, his stare on mine, and then Leo. “My name is Mike. Would you two care for drinks?”
I would kill for a beer.
“I’ll have water.” You can literally hear the sadness in my voice, like I’m a recovering alcoholic or something.
Leo’s eyes cast down at the table. “I’ll take a porter.”
Giving us both a nod, he smiles. “I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu.”
It’s silent for a moment, the noise of the open restaurant drowning out the heavy beats of my heart. “So Mender got ya?” I gesture to his eye again.
Running his hand through his hair, he nods. A rush of anxiety hits me at the simple gesture. I almost can’t breathe being this close. His eyes are puffy, bloodshot, and sad. So fucking sad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this distraught. “Yeah.” A half smile tugs at his lips. He knows I watch his games. “So…” His left hand twirls a coaster between his fingers. “Might as well get the elephant out of the room. You went to the doctor?”
“Yeah. Saw the heartbeat. It’s real. And looks like a shrimp.” My eyes drop, intent on my hands cupped around the water glass the waiter hands me. I wait as Leo takes a drink from his beer. “I’m due September twenty-third.”
“A shrimp. Huh.” He draws in a breath. “September… that’s when preseason starts,” he mumbles and then stares at me. I search his eyes for disappointment, but I don’t see it. I see him tired, confused, but I don’t think it’s disappointment. He draws in another breath and then asks, “What are our options here?”
Our options?
I bite my lip and pray I don’t tear up. I give him a look of disbelief. My brows scrunch together. If it wasn’t for the music in the restaurant, everyone would have heard my sharp intake of breath. My heart starts flopping around, jumping up and down in my throat. I really, really need to relax, but I’m running on adrenaline.
Reaching inside my purse, I take out the pamphlet on abortion they gave me and slide it across the table at him. “You mean these options?” I ask, feeling all the fears that have been surfacing again.
A silence spreads between us as I wait for him to say something about the pamphlet in front of him. The only sounds are my erratic breaths and Leo’s heavy breathing as he stares at the table.