Page 97 of Pregnant By the Playboy

“You’ve had lots of relationships, but you’ve never been engaged. Why? It’s not because you don’t believe in marriage. It’s not because you were waiting for me, the man whose baby you’re carrying.”

“You act like that means something, other than a freaky failure of birth control.”

“I think it does.”

“It can’t.”

“So why have you never been engaged?” he presses.

“I just didn’t love them enough!”

“And why can’t you love me even a little?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Why do you keep pushing me? I won’t marry you, I wish I could, but I can’t. Isn’t that enough of an answer? Why do you want to make me feel more broken?”

I really don’t want to cry, but I do.

I never used to think I was broken. Sure, I hadn’t found a partner, but that didn’t mean there was anything wrong with me, right? Just bad luck, like my father’s accident.

Now, I can’t stop crying, because I can’t help thinking I’m too broken to be a good mother, and what if I can’t even love my child?

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “Can I hug you? Will you let me?”

I nod, because even though I’m pissed at him for putting me in this position, I do like him. I find his presence comforting.

“I have food.” Vince opens up the basket. “Do you want anything?” He pulls out fruit salad, rolls, and bakeapple jam. There are wraps with spinach and cheese. There’s even a mini matcha double fromage cheesecake, plus a thermos with tea. He pours me a small cup.

I immediately put it to my lips and burn my tongue, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. Then I grab a wrap and stuff it inelegantly in my mouth before I start wolfing down the cheesecake.

Vince watches me with an unreadable expression. He wants something I can’t give him, and I feel awful. It breaks my heart, quite frankly.

If it hurts so much, does that mean I love him?

No, I don’t think it does.

Maybe he’s right, and I see my dad as a superhero that no one will ever live up to.

No, I don’t think that’s quite right, either.

I’m mad at him for pushing me. How long has it been since he proposed the first time? Three or four months? That’s not enough time for me to change my mind.

But maybe it should be.

I’ve had lots of experience, and I know myself well. We’ve gotten quite close. He’s a good person.

Is it unreasonable for me to feel like he should have something more in his life, other than me? To feel like it’s too much pressure?

I have no idea anymore.

I feel like we’re breaking each other.

And yet, we’re having this baby.

I stop eating and put my arms around him. I want to hug him and kick him in the shin at the same time. My thoughts are a jumble. Another person might be elated right now, yet here I am, a quivering mess.

“You shouldn’t have asked me,” I tell him.

“I can see that now,” he says mildly.