Page 148 of For Wrath and Redemption
I sigh and look back at him.
“Jonah, I need you to really think about this for a moment, okay? You and me? We would be terrible parents. You said it yourself—you don’t want to think about all the ways you could fuck a kid up.”
He shakes his head. “No. We can do this. We can do this together.”
“Me being pregnant isn’t going to just erase all our issues. I’m still going to have slept with your dad, remember? That was a huge trigger for you. I’m still going to be me, and you’re still going to be you. You’re an addict, Jonah, and I’ve relapsed with my eating disorder. We both hate ourselves. We can’t even get our own shit together. How can we coparent a child?”
“I don’t want to coparent with you, Trouble. I want to do this with you. Together. Me and you. Mom and Dad.”
I shake my head and bite the inside of my cheek. He’s not getting it.
“I didn’t get pregnant to trap you into being my baby’s daddy, Jonah. That’s not what I’m trying to do, okay? I’m not going to force you into a situation you don’t want to be in, especially when I don’t know what I want either.”
He tilts his head, then lowers his voice to a whisper.
“What are you saying? Are you saying you want an abortion?”
“No,” I whisper back. “I considered it, but no.”
All the fears that have been building inside me bubble over and spill out of my mouth as anxiety wraps around my chest.
“But how can I be a parent? How can I be a mom when I can’t even take care of myself? What if I fuck it up? What if I make all the wrongdecisions? How can I do that to a baby? I don’t want to saddle a child with my baggage. I don’t want to fuck it up the way we’re fucked up. It didn’t ask for that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears, and not for the first time since discovering this pregnancy, my stomach swirls with anxious nausea. My body wants to vomit, and it just makes everything worse. It just confirms all of my fears. I place a hand on my abdomen and breathe through it. I picture the little strawberry, and I breathe.
As soon as I think I can open my mouth without throwing up, I try again. I speak more calmly, but my voice still shakes. My words are still cloaked in despair.
There is no hope here.
“I watched my mom struggle after finally getting away from my father. She tried her best, but the damage was done. Macon turned to alcohol and drugs. I started purging. If I try to be a parent, I’m going to fail. I’m going to fail, and this baby is going to pay the price. I’m not cut out for this. I can’t do it. I’m going to fail.”
Calloused hands cup my cheeks as I’m engulfed in the scent of Jonah’s bodywash.
“Listen to me, Trouble. I love you.”
I shake my head, opening my mouth to protest, but two fingers press against my lips.
“The only person in this room down on you is you. You’re so busy beating yourself up that you can’t understand why anyone would love you, but I do. I’m sorry I made you doubt it. I did and said stupid fucking things because I was afraid of how I felt. Even today, when you said you were pregnant, I thought it was too good to be true. I fucking love you. I’ve never felt so connected to another person like I do to you. You are the strongest, smartest, most caring person I’ve ever met, Claire Davis, and I want to have this baby with you.”
Tears stream down my face as his words settle in, but I don’t speak. I don’t move. I barely breathe. Then he presses his forehead to mine and threads his fingers through my hair.
“Tell me you haven’t thought of it. Tell me you can’t see it, Claire. Me and you and this baby. Happy and together. If you haven’t thought of it, if you’ve never once wanted it, tell me, and I won’t bring it up again. But if you have, even just once, I’m begging you to do this withme. I’ll even be the more loving one.If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.I don’t mind. If it means I get to keep you, I don’t mind. Tell me, Claire.”
I force a swallow and shake my head, and I feel his body droop in defeat. His breath hitches, his fingers loosen in my hair, but just as he starts to pull away, I grab his shirt. I keep him close to me.
“I’ve thought of it,” I confess. “I have.”
I don’t say any more. I don’t tell him that I’ve dreamt of it. I’ve seen it so vividly that I’ve woken up in tears, longing for him. Mourning that life I thought I’d never have.
And yet...
I keep going back to him in that hallway with the roadie. Him in the hotel room digging through my suitcase in search of my prescription. Spiraling over things I can’t change.
Checkmate, Trouble. Pack your shit and get out of my life.
You’re cute thinking I talk to my therapist about anything of importance.
The only thing I learned in rehab is how to be a better liar.
