Page 20 of Because of Them

When our lips collide, Michael lets out a rumbling moan. His kiss is slow and tender, like he is testing the waters. I’m testing them too, especially when I run my tongue along his lips, practically begging him to open up for me. But he doesn’t.

He holds me close to him, planting gentle kisses along my top lip, then the bottom, then he pulls back to plant the softest kiss of them all on my temple.

Immediately, I fight against his grasp. Stepping back, heat flares up my shoulders and across my cheeks. I want to run. All the way home to hide under my bed. I can’t believe I kissed him. I can’t believe he didn’t kiss me back—at least not in the way I wanted.

“I … I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at my feet.

Michael closes the gap I created between us, but keeps his hands by his side. “Don’t be sorry. New rule, you’re not allowed to be sorry.”

I close my eyes. My attempt to hide my tears is deemed futile when they escape through my lashes to stream down my cheeks.

“I’m not sorry you kissed me, Audrey,” Michael says as he takes my hands in his. “I love that you kissed me, and I want you to kiss me more. But I don’t want you to fall into me just because we are having a baby.”

He squeezes my hands and I look up at him, all blurry through my tears. IthinkI see tears in his eyes too, but he doesn’t let go of his hold on me to wipe them away. It’s almost comforting to think we are both standing here in the middle of a public park, crying at our circumstances.

Crying because we didn’t plan this but it happened anyway. And now we have to navigate down a road we had no intention of turning on to. Crying because maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us.

“Let me drive you home.”

I let him, because my legs have officially clocked out for the day, and my lungs aren’t far behind. The drive is silent as he navigates through the side streets and down the long gravel driveway. Finally, when the car is in park and I open the door to step out, Michael turns to me.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admits. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to act, or what I’m supposed to do. I have no idea if it’s inappropriate to still like you so hopelessly or if I’m supposed to cool off and pretend I never fell. I have no idea what to expect, no idea how to look after a baby, or how the two of us becoming parents would even look. I have no idea, Audrey. But I know one thing and I hope more than anything that you’ll believe me when I tell you that I’m not running away.”

He leans across the centre console to plant a kiss on my forehead. I lean into his touch, wanting more but also knowing that more is not what we need right now. His words are chipping away at the icy walls I built around my heart, but I’m not sure I’m ready to trust him.

“I’m not going to run away again,” Michael adds.

And maybe it’s reckless—maybe it’s setting myself up for heartache—but I believe him.

AUDREY

The week since I finally found the guts to tell Michael he was going to become a father has been an exhausting blur of long workdays and sweet goodnight messages. I stopped leaving him on read and a little of the easy banter between us has returned. When he asked if I was free, I found myselfwantingto see him. Wanting to find a little piece of what we could have had. So here I am, completely out of my comfort zone, at Michael’s gym.

Weights and machines clang all around the wide, open converted warehouse. The sound echoes around the high ceiling, with its exposed vents and wiring. Beneath my feet, foam mats mould against the soles of my years old, worn-down shoes.

Michael reaches down and holds my hand as we walk further into the space. Everyone stops and stares, but smiles at Michael before returning their attention to their own workouts.Weighted squats over here, cardio machines over there, rows of dumbbells and plates set up to work every inch of muscle in your body. My chest is heavy. I don’t know how to use any of these machines. I end up out of breath after pushing the shopping trolley around for an hour. This was a dumb idea.

I’ve stopped walking, frozen in my place near the temporary lockers set up by the door. Michael squeezes my hand.

“We don’t have to be here.”

I shake my head, mustering up a little confidence. “No, I want to be,” I tell him, even when my body protests.

I do want to be here. But not because I want to work out with Michael. Honestly as we’re getting ready to start, I can’t think of anything worse. No. I want to be here just to be with Michael. Everything about us, from the first few dates we’ve been on, to everything that’s sure to come with the baby, has been about me.

Michael took me to the epic science fiction movie I desperately wanted to see at the cinema, even though he has no interest in far off, imaginary, desert worlds. He suggested we go to the gardens because I told him I love being in nature when I’m stressed. And he came tomyhouse to meet Maisie, even though it ended terribly.

If we are going to be tied together by this baby, it’s time for me to put in an equal amount of effort.

“You’ll just have to show me what to do,” I say as I dump my handbag into a free locker. “And go easy on me.”

Stepping towards me, Michael rests a hand on my arm. His other hand lingers between us, but he waits until I give my head a small nod before he spreads his fingers out over my stomach.

“Are you sure you should even be doing anything? Won’t it hurt the baby?”

I lean in to his touch, pressing my not really showing yet stomach against his hands. “Exercise is good for me. Healthy, and I could probably do with a little movement. Plus, he’s prettycosy in there, as long as you don’t make me deadlift my own bodyweight or something ridiculous, he’ll be fine.”

“Right, no deadlifts.”

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