The Plan (Off-Limits Romance, #4)(62)

“You sure?”

I nod.

Kat’s lips pinch. “Okay—if you’re positive. You gonna text me later?”

“Yeah. I will.”

I try not to look at the house’s lower level as I walk to my stairs. I haven’t heard Gabe in a few days, but I still need to be careful to avoid him. Right now, if I encountered him, I think I might fall down and weep, or slap him. So I keep my eyes on my feet, on my stairs, until I reach the top and find a package. It’s about the size of a shoe box, with a floppy green bow atop it.

I kneel slowly, rifling for a tag I can’t find, so then I read the label on the package.

Grow Your Own Christmas Tree!

Forevergreen

It's always a little sad, once the holidays are over, to say good-bye to the tree. Kick off a new tree tradition of yearly growth and reminiscence with our Christmas Tree Grow Kit. Sweet-scented Douglas Firs are one of the most popular holiday trees—they've graced the White House at Christmas —beautifully bedecked with soft, shiny, dark blue-green needles. They thrive in a wide range of environments, so give a kit to someone you love to sprout and grow indoors for the first year. Then throw a tree birthday party and transplant it to its permanent, outdoor spot. Celebrate together every year as it grows into a large Christmas tree. No worries about saying good-bye to this one: These western North America natives can live for 1,000 years. Detailed instructions, a recycled tea grow bag, and soil are all included with the seeds. Made in California.

I check the again, but there’s no tag. Gabe, I think, but then of course I think it’s him who left it for me. My brain is hardwired to want that man, and look where it got me this time.

I carry the tree kit inside and set it on the kitchen counter. Finally, in the silence of my apartment, I allow myself to really lose it, sobbing so loudly, I feel sure that all of Fate can hear me. Can he hear me? Is he home? I tell myself to shut up. I crawl into bed, where I fall quickly into a deep, tired sleep.

Hours later, when I wake up feeling tired and nauseated, I hear Gabe for the first time in days: flushing the toilet, running the sink—the father of my baby living his life right below me. Finally, I just admit it to myself: I said I wanted a break, but I don’t want to give him a pass for believing me. He should know better.

I tell myself I’ll be okay. I talk to the baby. In a few hours, I’m asleep again. The next day, I’m back at work. Not because I feel okay or ready, but because it’s flu season, and the clinic really needs me.

I get nice comments about Mom, but nothing about the pregnancy. And I realize with a laugh, it’s because no one knows. It’s obvious to me, but I don’t have a belly yet. And Kat, Lainey, and Gabe have kept my secret.

I try my best to have a good day, focusing on being positive and making all my sick kids feel better—and it works, just a little. When I get home, I’m surprised to find another package at the top of my stairs. It turns out to be a bag of M&Ms…except when I look closely, I see that they’re really M&Gs.

My stomach bottoms out. I think I might be sick as I hurry inside and sit down on the couch with my head in my hands. Gah, I hate feeling dizzy…

When I’ve got myself under control, I look again—and sure enough, they’re really M&Gs.

It has to be him…

I bite my cheek to keep from crying. God, the fucking crying. Who has time for this?

I pop an M&G into my mouth and lean back on the couch. A few tears dribble from the corners of my eyelids, just to spite me.

Fucking Gabe.

So he does care. I grin, and hate myself for it.

I take the bag to bed with me and doze off like some animal, with melting chocolate in my mouth. When I wake up the next morning, I’m sleeping on a half-melted G.

That evening, after a particularly long and tiring work day, I smile as I top the stairs and find a pie. God, what kind of pie is this? It looks delicious, topped with thick and fluffy whipped cream.

Smart boy…

I get inside, take off the top, and inhale a glorious whiff of key lime. Oh, dear God. One of my favorites.

I eat two pieces—one for baby—and then decide to do some dancing. I can hear him downstairs. I hope he can hear me.

Thank you, thank you, tap tap tap!

I forget to eat enough before bed, so in the middle of the night, I’m sick. I think I hear him downstairs at about that time, and afterward, I lie in bed and wonder: what is wrong with Gabe, that he won’t come to me? Is it really him leaving the gifts? Surely it must be—but why? Is it even possible he cares about me now? Would I forgive him if he came back?

Please, God…

As if in answer, pie piles up. A brand new pie is waiting for me each night after work, as if he knows he hit his stride and he is going to exploit that knowledge. Fudge pie, pumpkin, apple, pecan, chocolate, strawberry, rhubarb, lemon, peach… I go through a week of pies, then two. I dream about our pretty baby, and end up sobbing over Mama every time I take a shower.

Why can’t things be right? Like books or movies. Why can’t things just ever, once, be right?

That afternoon, I find the pinnacle of pies: a peanut butter Reese’s one.

I’m glad I’ve got a reason for this growing belly. Truthfully, I think it’s mostly pie.



*

Gabe





I lie downstairs in the lacy room and listen to her. Every morning after she leaves for work, I call Victor’s mom and tell her what pie I need made. That afternoon, I bring her $50 and pick it up.