Page 113 of My Ex's Best Friend

In the week that passes, Jake doesn't stop coming by my house. He's there every morning, afternoon, and evening. He always asks to talk to me, and he always has something with him. It's either freshly made donuts and bagels from this bakery we used to hang out when we were younger, or flowers, and maybe even a book. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, I come down to a gift in the kitchen.

Every morning, afternoon, and evening, after I insist, my parents will have it removed. I'm too proud to ask where they put them, or if they do what I asked and threw the gifts out.

Except this morning. Jake hasn't come yet.

I'm sitting on the couch, pretending to read Emma, when in truth, I'm watching the clock like a hawk. He's late.

Maybe he finally realized how futile his actions are and decided to stop trying.

That doesn’t give me a lick of satisfaction, and all I feel in my stomach is a pit of emptiness.

My mom peeks into my room. “Is this a good time?”

I’ve been on the edge a lot, so I can tell my parents are tiptoeing around me. The last time I went to a doctor, they told me that my blood pressure range was a bit concerning. That alarmed my parents, but at least they haven’t brought up Jake ever since. He’s like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in this house even though I know he stops by every day, several times a day.

“Sure,” I say. “Did Jake send you in here to talk to me again?”

She frowns. “No, he isn’t here yet.”

“I see,” I reply, averting my eyes.

“He might be leaving town,” she says. “Your dad saw him earlier today going in the opposite direction. Maybe he went back to the city.”

I turn a page. But I don’t register any words in my head as my vision blurs. “Good.”

“Do you really mean that?”

I slam the book shut. “Well, what exactly do you want me to tell you?”

“Baby, I’m just trying to understand,” she says. “You don’t have to get mad at me. I know that’s easier said than done. The first trimester is always the hardest part. And I just don’t want to see you doing that alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I say. I hate the way my voice cracks. “You’ve been taking care of me, talking to me, knitting clothes for a baby that isn’t here yet, and bringing me food every few hours. Doesn’t that count?”

“I’m your mother, sweetie. But I can see that you’re obviously unhappy. Maybe talking to Jake would ease some of that pain.”

“No,” I say firmly.

“You don’t have to be stubborn all the time, Kiera,” she says. She sounds mildly frustrated.

I know this must be as hard for her as it is for me.

“I’m not.”

“Do you ever plan on talking to him, Kiera?” she says. “That boy has been here every day for the past week. He’s dying to talk to you. I can see that on his face.”

“Don’t you think I am?” I say. “I love him.”

She smiles at me. “I knew it.”

“Well, are you happy now?” I say, looking away. “There, I’ve admitted it. I love him. Even knowing what he did, I still do.”

“Then what’s the harm in talking to him? You guys are going to have a baby together. You can’t shut him out of your life. And in a few years, when the baby grows up and asks you the difficult questions, what are you going to tell him?”

I look away, clenching my teeth. I don’t want to imagine a future where there is no Jake by my side. “I don’t know.”

"Maybe we should talk with the Bennetts," she says.

“Over my dead body,” I say.

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