2. Tabitha

TWO

TABITHA

I didn’t go home from Walt’s because Nate told me to.

No. I went home because I was exhausted. My replacement showed up at five o’clock on the dot with a big smile, and I didn’t fight it. I gathered my things from the office, and since Nate had yet to return, I left with a nod toward Juanita and Mickey, meeting my Lyft outside the back door.

Up until a few weeks ago, I’d been riding my Kawasaki as long as the weather permitted. But as soon as those pink lines showed up, I parked it in the garage, never to be ridden again. My bike had given me freedom when I’d needed to feel something . As much as I despised putting it away, it was an easy choice to make. I couldn’t and wouldn’t do anything that could cause any distress during this pregnancy.

To say the last few weeks had been a roller coaster would be an understatement, and I was tired .

The physical fatigue of the first trimester was mostly past, but the emotional and psychological stress overwhelmed me.

Though, if I was honest, finally telling someone felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. As long as I ignored the fact that it was Nate whom I’d confided in first, as opposed to Harrison or any friends or family. Not that there were all that many I felt compelled to tell. Or there were any I felt attached to, whom I considered important enough to tell.

Except for Nate.

The one person who’d been a constant source of stability in my life. He’d hired me at a time when it didn’t seem as though I’d be able to find my way, but he and his stupidly charming grin and endless sincerity had kept me returning. Day after day, I’d come back to life.

Because of him.

But if I ever told him that, he’d never let me live it down.

He was a jokester and teasing was his love language, so I could never confess that the day he’d sat me down in the office, I might have fallen a little bit in love with him. When he had listened as I’d admitted I’d recently moved to West Chester and didn’t know a lot of people. Yet he’d never looked at me with pity in his eyes, like so many had done over those last few months. It’s why I hadn’t been able to stay. Why I’d needed a fresh start somewhere else, offered by someone who treated me like a whole person—and not as someone less-than like my stepfamily, or broken like Danny’s family.

With Nate, I was simply me.

He saw me for my pride and strength and brains and probably all the dark stuff too.

All the things I’d wanted to hide from the world, the vulnerable and damaged pieces of myself that he’d protected. He’d never pushed me to be more or different, and he’d stood by me, been a steady anchor as I’d fought an internal battle he’d eventually calmed. He had never known that his confidence in me kept me afloat.

First, he was my boss—and then my friend.

My friend, whom I’d come to think of as an important person.

A very important person.

Maybe the most important person?

But I could never tell him. Because his ego was inflated enough, and he’d never stop giving me shit.

Better to keep those feelings to myself.

Like I’d done for a long time.

I’d been waffling about my pregnancy for the last month. About what to do and say. There had never been a question about terminating it—not after what I’d already been through—but the road forward seemed rife with uncertainty. Combating those questions, I did what I’d always done, took it one step at a time. And that first step was making a list of my most important tasks, like finding a different place to live, buying a car, selling my bike, and figuring out my job and financial situation.

I’d made no headway on my living situation and wouldn’t be able to buy a car until I got the payment for my bike, but I was proud of myself for telling Nate. I deserved a treat and—as long as Nate was willing to pay for it—an early night.

I stepped out of my ride and made my way up the sidewalk to the small rental I shared with a friend of a friend. Even though I had turned thirty on January 2, I still hadn’t reached the goals I’d set for myself, including finally graduating with my bachelor’s. Without that degree, I couldn’t get the kind of job I wanted, leading to the mortgage I needed to buy my own home. So, here I was, sharing a house with a twenty-five-year-old grad student.

As a suburb of Philadelphia, West Chester, Pennsylvania, was cute and quaint, if not inexpensive. The university was a major economic driver, not to mention the thriving downtown area, so I was no stranger to the difficulties of finding a place that didn’t require emptying my bank account on the first of every month. Which was why I hadn’t been looking forward to this conversation.

Tossing my keys in the bowl by the door, I hung my coat on the hook, along with my purse, then placed my boots on the shoe rack. Ming-Yue was a neat freak like me. She also stuck to herself, spending most of her time in the science lab at school or in her room when home. Now, I found her heating up leftovers in the microwave.

She turned over her shoulder when she heard me. “Hey, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Got off early,” I said, sliding into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Which is good because I need to talk to you.”

Once she had her food plated up, she sat across from me at the table, waiting expectantly.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat to reveal my secret to the second person today. “I’m pregnant.”

She froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. After a few beats, she stuck the piece of meat into her mouth, and I purposely stared at the off-white cabinets, breathing through my mouth. The smell of meats hadn’t been settling well with me lately.

“Is this a congratulations thing or a you need help thing?” she asked, and I slanted my gaze back to her.

“Congratulations thing. I’m keeping it.”

“Oh. Okay.” She touched the thick purple frames of her glasses. “Congratulations, but…”

“But,” I agreed with a nod. “I’ll need to find another place to live, even though I know we’ve leased through June.”

She let out a loose laugh, pressing her hand to her chest. “Good, and don’t take this the wrong way, but if you were planning on bringing a baby here, we’d have a problem.”

“I know. I understand. I wanted you to know so you had time to find another roommate.”

“Won’t be hard. People always need a place to stay around here.” She forked another bite of food into her mouth, and I picked at my nail polish for a few seconds, grateful she was always straightforward. I didn’t have to worry about stepping on her feelings.

Especially when my own seemed so unpredictable lately. Exactly why I squeezed my eyes shut at the burning in them. “Okay, well, I’m gonna head upstairs.”

When I opened my lids again, my vision clear, I grabbed an apple and a water bottle, happy to have that conversation behind me. Inside my little bedroom with the radiator that didn’t work, I changed into sweats and slipped a hoodie over my head before burrowing into the covers to eat my green apple, the slightly sour taste on my tongue negating my previous nausea.

Curling on my side, I reached for the black-and-white ultrasound picture on my nightstand and traced the blob, smiling through my tears. When I’d realized I was pregnant, I was terrified. And elated. Then alarmed. Until I finally settled on happy.

I was happy to have this second chance at what I’d lost. I often wondered about what could have been. What my life would be like now. How different it might be. What my child would look like, what they’d be learning in school. If I’d still be with Danny. Probably.

Maybe.

Placing my hand on my stomach, I closed my eyes and let myself remember, let the grief wash over me, then I let it go. That’s what my support group had taught me all those years ago. To feel all the feelings and then let them go.

So that’s what I did.

What I would continue to do.

After, I opened my laptop and played Our Planet . Though only a few minutes into the episode, my phone buzzed with a text alert.

Nate

I’m glad to see you can follow my directions.

I left because I felt like it.

Nate

What’s that mean? Are you sick?

I’m fine.

Nate

Did you eat dinner?

Yes.

Nate

What was it?

I rolled my eyes. He never stopped micromanaging.

I’m not telling you what I had for dinner.

Nate

That means you didn’t eat it.

Nate

You need to eat.

I do eat. I’m eating. I had an apple.

Nate

A fucking apple?!?!?!

Nate

An apple? Tabitha. A goddamn apple is not dinner.

Please stop texting me. I’m tired and want to go to sleep.

Nate

Not until after you have some real food.

Nate

Your dinner will be arriving in 25 minutes. I want proof it arrived and that you ate it, or I’ll be knocking on your door later tonight.

I tossed my phone down with a huff. He was so fucking hardheaded. Stubborn and annoying as hell when he wanted something.

I’d hate it if I didn’t respect it so much. As he’d said, the doorbell rang twenty-five minutes later with a delivery from my favorite Italian place containing my usual order—chicken parm with baked ziti, and oil and vinegar for the side salad. He even got me mozzarella sticks.

How irritating.

I sat on my bed with it all and snapped a picture to send to Nate.

I won’t be able to eat all this.

Nate

I don’t care. Eat as much as you can and then save the rest for tomorrow. Send me a picture of how much is left.

You are out of your mind if you think I’m documenting what I eat.

Nate

I know you, and I know you scrimp and save and would eat peanut butter sandwiches every day if you had to. So, no, I’m not out of my mind to make sure you’re eating dinner.

Nate

You need food. Good food.

Nate

Eat it and say thank you.

I couldn’t argue with him about being a pain in the ass because it all smelled so good, and I was pretty hungry now that I had time to relax. I ate the salad, about half of the chicken and ziti, and all but two of the mozzarella sticks. I sent him a picture of my leftovers, along with my middle finger.

His reply?

Nate

The nerve.

My weekly schedule remained mostly the same. Walt’s was open every day, but I had Mondays off and preferred to close at the end of the night because it tended to be quieter. I’d always been a night owl, so it suited me, especially since my classes were all in the afternoon.

Though this was a college town, Walt’s wasn’t necessarily a college bar. It had more of a Cheers vibe, with regulars at certain times or days. We hosted trivia on Wednesday nights and occasional bands, including a standing gig for a group who called themselves the Anchormen on the third Thursday of every month. Which was when I worked another long shift. Because as much as Nate liked to micromanage, so did I.

It was why I usually found Nate behind the bar with me on those nights. Although I appreciated how he had no problem jumping in and getting his hands dirty, I did not appreciate how he glared at me all evening. Even as the guitarist announced he’d popped the question to his girlfriend, offering to buy the entire bar a round. Even as the sister of the bride—Kennedy, I think her name was—tugged on Nate’s arm to go with her and talk to the band and his friend, Liam. Even as I handled all those freaking orders by myself. He glared at me.

Like I’d done something wrong.

I assumed he was pissed that I was pregnant. Guys were assholes like that. Yeah, I was his right hand, but I was also a woman. A capable woman, able to do multiple things at once, like manage his bar and grow a human.

I’d never taken him as one of those barefoot-in-the-kitchen types, but I might’ve been wrong about him this whole time. Especially because he snatched the rag out of my hand at the end of the night and pushed me to the office, ordering me to sit down.

I reeled on him. “If you’re trying to get me to quit, it won’t work. You want to fire me for being pregnant? Then do it.”

He wrenched backward. “What?”

“I said you’re gonna have to fire me.” I was salaried, so he could cut my hours but would still need to pay me the same. If he wanted to get rid of me, he’d actually have to say the words. I held my hands out at my sides, daring him. “Do it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You and your obvious hatred of my being pregnant.”

He grumbled something I didn’t understand then wrapped his hand around my bicep, ushering me to the office.

“Sit here. I can finish closing up. Then we’re going to talk.”

Closing never took long, mostly because I did my job well and made sure bathrooms were checked multiple times a day, and the bar was kept orderly and clean. The kitchen shut down three hours before close, so the only tasks that needed to be completed were counting the drawers and mopping the floor, which could all be accomplished in about twenty minutes.

Nate did them in about ten.

And then he was in my space, practically growling at me. “Let’s talk.”

I scooted away from him in the rolling chair, holding his gaze yet keeping my face devoid of emotion. “About what?”

He waved his hand at my stomach. “You and this baby.”

I kept quiet.

“You drop a bomb on me and expect me to continue as if nothing has changed? When literally everything has changed.”

I wiped my palm over my forehead. He could be so dramatic sometimes. “Nothing has changed for you.”

He threw his arms up as if I was being the irrational one here. “Tab, you’re having a baby , but you haven’t talked to me about any of it.”

“Why would I need to talk to you about it?”

“Because!”

I waited for him to explain, and when it became obvious he wasn’t going to, I stood. “I don’t want to deal with whatever male attitude adjustment you’re going through. You?—”

He sat me back in the chair and leaned over, his hands on either side of me, his face so close I would count the individual hairs in his short beard, the few random grays that from far away appeared blond until you got up close. And up close, they looked good. He looked good. With his gray-blue eyes and wide brow that often had a lock of golden-brown hair hanging over it, like it did now.

“You’re not leaving here until you tell me what’s going on,” he said, more serious than I’d ever heard him. “I want to know everything because I…I care about you, and I know you’re all tough-girl-doing-it-for-herself, but I won’t be able to rest until I know you’re taken care of. So, please…”

He gestured for me to fill in the blanks, but I didn’t know how.

He was the talker. He had no problem expressing his emotions and wore his heart on his sleeve. It’s what made him so successful as a bar owner; he could connect with people. I didn’t have the same ability. I had a brain for numbers, a memory for taking orders, and lived my life one checklist at a time because if I ever stopped to look around, I might not be able to recover. I didn’t have it in me.

“My life has nothing to do with you,” I said eventually, and he merely shook his head.

Then he relaxed against the door, his arms across his chest, ankles crossed like he had all the time in the world. A silent threat to follow through. He really wouldn’t let me out of here.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He lifted one shoulder. “The truth.”