Page 58 of The Lookback

I don’t care what his endgame is. I have no patience for it. “If someone had said that to me while we were dating, or really, while I was dating anyone in the past two decades,” I say, “I might have been worried. Or maybe not. Maybe that’s why I never dated anyone I cared about. But for the first time, I am dating someone I trust.” I smile. “And it’s glorious. You should try it sometime.”

As I walk out, I realize that it’s the first time I’ve ever dated someone like David. That’s the real reason I said yes when he proposed. It’s not that I wanted to get married. The very thought almost gives me hives. But with David, it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d never have another woman on the side. He’d never be unreasonable and demanding. He’d never betray me in business, either.

He’s the kind of guy who gives money to kids with cancer.

He offers to fly out and punch my ex, who clearly deserves a shiner.

He lives in Manila half the year, because I have family there.

He’d be a wonderful dad.

The thought, as I’m climbing into a car that will take me back to the airport, shocks me. It’s true, but it shouldn’t matter. Those stupid socks are in my bag, the one that’s already in the trunk of my car, headed for the airport. The socks I don’t need. The socks I don’t want.

By the time I reach Utah, it’ll be late. Past midnight. Way too late for me to try to talk to anyone. But I want to, anyway. So I text David and tell him that I need to see him. I tell him the meeting didn’t go well, but that I’ll be back late, and I know his family’s there, and I know it’s bad timing.

I’LL WAIT UP FOR YOU. COME BY MY PLACE?

I knew he’d say that. I knew it. His place is a small house he bought from a retired couple and renovated with leftover stuff from the resort. It’s far, far too nice for the area, and I’m sure he’ll sell it before too long. But there’s space for his parents in his guest room, and he doesn’t have a dog, so showing up shouldn’t wake them.

On the flight, I plan to review my leads for the last few shareholders. I’m only about three percent away from a controlling vote, but that three percent can make or break any attempt to take over. I need to lock the last few votes down, fast.

Instead of working the leads, though, I find myself opening a Word document and making two columns.

Keep. Terminate.

The reasons on the terminate column fill up fast. Health. Time. Sleep. Freedom. Financial success. My happiness. Health and business risks. Baby’s happiness. Baby’s health. Possibility of health issues for child, increased because of my age.

The more I think about it, the more obvious it becomes that the cost of my having a baby would be catastrophic. If it just means I do one less deal a year, my board members would be justified in losing their ever-loving minds.

The keep column, on the other hand, has nothing listed beneath it. It’s still blank. I finally type, ‘Make Abby and Mandy happy.’ I reluctantly type ‘Make David happy.’ That is a big one, and I know that. I want to make him happy. I do. I finally write two more words. Otter and then socks.

But looking at those columns, it’s clear.

I was confused by bear socks and rhetoric. The only smart move is to tell David—so my conscience is clear—and either tell him that I have an ectopic pregnancy or that I’m terminating the pregnancy. The white lie about the ectopic would be easier, but I’m not sure whether I can say it out loud.

I’m not sure whether I can survivenotsaying it.

When I finally drive out to his house, my hands are shaking. I’m still wearing the black dress. I feel less like a black widow and more like a widow in mourning. Will David hate me? Will Abby?

Will I hate myself?

Why do women have to go through all this while men get off scot free? I’ve wondered that a dozen times during my life, nearly every time myself or a friend has had a pregnancy or std scare.

Until now.

I pull out my phone to text him, but David’s already walking toward me. He’s wearing plaid flannel pajama pants and a dark blue shirt, which I can barely make out from the backlight of the porch. He opens my door and pulls me up and into his arms.

His mouth presses against my temple. “I’ve missed you so much.” He sighs. “Are you alright? What happened?”

I’ve never once shown up here late at night like this. Never.

I practiced my speech the entire way over. I know exactly what I should say, and I need to be sitting across from him, in a chair, calm and collected.

But my speech falls apart. The columns blur. My heart is pounding, and I feel sick, and I’m scared, so I just blurt out the words, “I’m pregnant,” like they’re a grenade I’m lobbing.

David freezes for a split second, and then he pulls me even tighter against his chest. “Oh, Helen, I’m so sorry.”

He’ssorry?

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