Halfway to You(97)



“Weren’t you?” My body didn’t know yet to feel disappointed, to sink. It was as if my balloon had stopped rising and was hovering a mile above the ground, still high in the clouds.

Todd shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart, Keith asked me to get Una a birthday gift, remember? We discussed it this morning. I was . . .” He trailed off and hung his head. When he looked up again, his brows had knitted further, shadowing his eyes. “Are you really pregnant?”

That’s when I saw it: disappointment.

“I’m late,” I managed, staring into his face, hoping I was seeing it wrong, but—no. He was frowning now. There was no way to misinterpret that.

“How long have you suspected?”

“Only a few days.”

Both his hands lifted to his head, where he pressed his palms into his temples. “Have you taken a test?”

“I took a test in Chiang Mai,” I said, and added, “it was positive.”

“You need to see a doctor, right? You can’t know for sure until you see a doctor.” Todd was pacing now. “Pregnancy tests are wrong all the time. They yield false positives.”

“Todd, I’m certain.”

Perhaps he was just surprised. Perhaps he was just considering all the complicated aspects and not the happy ones. After all, I’d done the same thing when I’d first figured it out.

I stepped forward and grasped his wrists, urging him to lower his arms. “We’re going to have a baby,” I said, staring at the neon reflections in his irises. The heat of the crowded evening pressed against us, and I began to sweat. I was no longer so weightless. My voice was thin. “Sweetheart, aren’t you glad?”

For a moment, Todd’s face was still as stone . . . and then it quaked. His lower lip quivered, and he began shaking his head, back and forth, back and forth. No, he was not glad. He wasn’t glad at all. “I . . . I can’t . . . Ann . . .”

My heart popped, and suddenly my helium was gone. I was plummeting toward the earth from thousands of feet up. “Why not?” I asked. “Don’t you think we could have a family together? Don’t you love me?”

“Don’t do that,” Todd said. “Don’t do that, Ann.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t guilt-trip me.”

I blanched. “I’m not trying to guilt-trip you. I’m happy. I was surprised and worried at first—but once you think about it, you might—”

“You don’t understand!” Todd yelled, his voice straining.

I jumped back, startled.

He drew a breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you don’t—I can never have a child again. Never. Not after . . .” A sob escaped his lips, and he balled his fists, staring up at the night sky.

“I can’t will it not to happen,” I said quietly. “Why can’t you see the good in this, Todd? This will bring us together.”

“Are we not close enough as it is?”

My eyes filled with tears.

“I mean, fuck. If you’re still feeling distance between us, that’s your problem, not mine. You don’t bring a baby into the world to repair a relationship. A baby sure as hell isn’t going to fill that void.”

I gritted my teeth. “You can’t blame me for feeling distanced,” I said, my words tight. “You’ve held back since the moment we met.”

“I’m not holding back now,” Todd said, spreading his arms. “We’ve been together every day for the past six weeks. I’m here. Right here.”

“Then raise this child with me,” I said.

“I can’t do it again. I can’t lose—” He broke off.

“You won’t lose us,” I said, touching his face. “You won’t.”

But when I looked into his eyes, I could tell I’d already lost him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, removing my hands from his cheeks. He squeezed my fingers, then released them. “I am not prepared to love like that ever again.”

There. The impact. My heart hit the ground.

But rather than feel broken, I grew angry.

“You can’t love like that again?” I said. “You can’t love me, or our child, as much as you loved your previous family?”

“I love you, Ann, I do. But there will always be a part of me that is locked up, locked away,” he said. “There will always be a part of me that is terrified to . . . because if I lost . . .” He shook his head. “It would wreck me. Forever.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?” My voice was ice. “Why would you string me along for fifteen years of my life?”

“Don’t make me do this.”

“Do what?” I asked. “Break up with me? Or ask me to get an abortion?”

A tear slid down his cheek, but I was steel by then.

He reached for me, but I stepped back.

“I would never pressure you to. . . I’m not a monster,” Todd said, low.

“Then what are you, Todd? If you’re not asking me to get an abortion, then what exactly are you saying when you tell me you can’t do this?”

“I don’t know.” He ran his fingers into his hair, tugging. “I don’t know—this is a shock. I . . . I just went through a miscarriage. I need a chance to think.”

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