Page 163 of Even Exchange

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Another moment of impatience and I’m pounding again, psychotically. I did not come all this way to lose my nerve at the last second. Muffled noises draw closer behind the door, and it swings open.

“Jesus, give me a—” Jonathan freezes, lips parted open. “Charlie.”

“Hey,” I say, shifting on my heels.

“What…” He eyes me up and down, and I’m suddenly grateful I went for a loose sundress hiding any hint of the breaking news I’m about to share with him. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure.” He gestures inside, and my eyes fall past his shoulders to the living room. The couch where two teenagers shared a sloppy first kiss. The kitchen where I baked so many cookies trying to perfect my snickerdoodle recipe that Jonathan threw up at football practice. The spot on the floor where we spent hours playing Uno on a rainy Saturday, a day that ended with us tangled in the sheets in his room. My eyes sting, and I blink back tears.

This house is a living memorial of all the times we shared. Memories where we were very much in love from a time we’ll never get back. Just because I’ve moved on doesn’t mean I don’t remember.

“Let’s talk here,” I suggest, motioning to the front porch, and he steps out, eyes darting past me.

“What ishedoing here?” Jonathan asks, tone sharp.

“He gave me a ride.”

“What do you want, Charlie?”

I take a deep breath, feeling queasy for more reasons than one. “I’m not sure how to tell you this.” Instinctively, I put a hand on my stomach, and Jonathan’s eyes drop.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Jonathan.” My tone is gentle.

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “No way.”

“You haven’t even let me talk.”

“Are you gonna say anything other than, ‘I’m pregnant?’” My lips smash together, and he laughs maniacally. “Why are you telling me this? Just to hurt me?”

My brows pull together. “Tohurtyou?”

“It’s Noah’s, isn’t it?” he asks, and I stay silent. His tone softens. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” I say, and his lips part open. “It’s yours.”

He blinks at me. “No.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t…” Shaking my head, I try to gather my thoughts. “From spring break, I guess.”

His eyes analyze me, brain clearly on overdrive. “You’refivemonths pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“And you’rejustnow telling me?” His tone is accusatory.

“I only found out like a month ago,” I argue.

“Amonthago?” he snaps. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

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