Page 90 of Maybe in Another Life

Hearts are just like legs, I guess. They mend.

It’s not yours,” I tell Ethan. He knows this, of course, based on timing alone. But I have to make it crystal clear.

“It could be, though, right?” he asks me. “I mean, maybe last week...”

I shake my head. “I’m eleven weeks. It’s not yours.”

“Whose is it?”

I breathe in and then out. That’s all I have to do. In and then out. The rest is optional. “His name is Michael. He and I dated in New York. I thought it was more serious than it was. He and I were careless toward the end. He doesn’t want another child.”

“Another child?”

“He’s married, with two children,” I tell him.

He sighs loudly, as if he can’t quite believe what I’m saying. “Did you know he had a family?”

“It’s sort of hard to explain,” I say. “I didn’t know at first. For a long time, I assumed I was the only one he was with. But then I should have known better and, let’s just say, I... made some mistakes.”

“And now he doesn’t care that you’re pregnant?” Ethan stands up, furious. His emotions are just starting to set in, reality just starting to grab on to him. It’s easier for him to be mad at Michael than it is to be mad at me or at the situation. So I let him, for a moment.

“He doesn’t want the baby,” I say. “And that’s his right.” I believe in a man’s decision not to have a baby as much as I believe in a woman’s.

“And you’re just going to let this asshole treat you like this?”

“He doesn’t want the baby. I do. I’m prepared to go it alone.”

That word, the wordalone, brings him back down to earth. “What does this mean for us?” he asks.

“Well,” I say, “that’s up to you.”

He looks at me. His eyes find mine and hold on. And then he looks away. He looks down at his hands, which are placed firmly on his knees. “Are you asking me to be someone’s father?”

“No,” I say to him. “But I’m also not going to tell you that this doesn’t change things. I’m pregnant. And if you’re going to be with me, that means you’ll be going through this with me. My body will be going through a lot. I’ll have mood swings. When it gets time to have the baby, I’ll be scared and confused and in pain. And then, once the baby is born, there will be a child in my life, at all times. If you want to be with me, you’ll be with my child.”

He listens, but he doesn’t speak.

“I know you didn’t ask for any of this,” I say.

“Yeah, you can say that again,” he snaps. He looks at me with remorse.

“But I wanted you to know so you could make a decision about your future.”

“Our future,” he says.

“I guess,” I say. “Yeah.”

“What do you want?” he asks.

Oh, boy. How do I even begin to answer that question? “I want my baby to be healthy and happy and have a safe, stable childhood.” I suppose that’s the only thing I know for sure.

“And us?”

“I don’t want to lose you. I think you and I really have something, that this is the beginning of something with huge potential for us... But I would never want to put you in the position to do something you aren’t ready for.”

“This is a lot,” he says. “To process.”

“I know,” I say. “You should take all the time you need.” I stand up, ready to leave, ready to give him time to think.

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