The Lies That Bind(92)

    My eyes fill with tears. “Thank you,” I say, thinking that I didn’t know how much I needed to hear her say that.

As my mom starts to cry, too, my dad stands and walks around the table to me, reaching for my hand. I give it to him, and he pulls me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me. “I love you, CeeCee,” he whispers into my ear.

I try to answer—tell him I love him, too—but I’m too choked up. So instead I just hug him back as hard as I can. Over the next few seconds, everyone else stands, too, and we’re all taking part in an awkward, totally cheesy, but completely wonderful group hug.

My brother is the last to join, throwing his long arms around as many of us as he can. “Whoever the father is—this kid you’re carrying has the world’s coolest uncle.”

“And don’t forget the world’s coolest grandfather,” my dad says with a loud sniff.

“And the world’s coolest godfather,” Scottie says, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

We all start laughing as we peel apart, then sit back down and finish our kringle.



* * *



—

The rest of the week is very peaceful. I help my mother cook Thanksgiving dinner. My sister and I take my niece to the park. Scottie and I watch eighties movies under blankets at his place. My dad and I go on long walks around the frozen duck pond near our house. It’s exactly what I need to clear my mind, and I just keep telling myself that everything is going to work out, somehow.

At the last minute on Sunday morning, right before my dad drives me to the airport, I tell my parents I’m moving back home, at least temporarily. I’ve been sitting with this plan all week, just to make sure it feels right. And it does.

    My mom is thrilled with the idea, quickly suggesting that we set up a nursery in Paul’s old room.

My dad, suddenly concerned, looks at me and says, “So wait. In this scenario, would you still be with Matthew?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” I say. “We still have to figure all of that out. But probably not. Probably I’d be alone.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be alone,” my mom says, as my dad takes off his glasses, a sign that he’s about to say something of import.

Sure enough, he puts them on the table and says, “Listen to me, Cecily. And listen very carefully.”

I nod, thinking that this is a huge advantage of being the kind of person who doesn’t talk a lot. When you do speak, people really listen.

“You were right the other night when you said that love isn’t about passion. That it’s about loyalty and sticking by someone…but I gotta say, it doesn’t feel like Matthew is sticking by you.”

I look down at my engagement ring, which I haven’t been quite ready to take off. “By saying he wants to wait?” I ask in a small voice, my stomach in knots.

My dad nods.

“I know, Dad,” I say. “But I can’t really blame him….I mean, I don’t think it’s fair to expect him not to care who the father is.”

“He can care, and still want to be with you regardless of that outcome.”

“And he might. We just have to sort through everything.”

He nods, looking sad. “Well, just know that we are always here for you. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” my mom says.





Other than an exchange of emails wishing each other a happy Thanksgiving, Matthew and I don’t communicate until my return from Wisconsin, when he walks into my apartment on Sunday night.

He looks like shit—unshaven with dark circles under his eyes—which could mean either he has missed me terribly or he is ready to break up, although I guess the two things aren’t mutually exclusive.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he says, even his voice sounding run down.

I give him a little hug, then lead him over to my sofa, the way I have a hundred times before. When we get there, I ask about his holiday. He says it was low-key and nice—they all went to their country house in Bedford—but that his parents are worried about us. I start to ask what exactly he told them, but decide not to go there. While I care about his family’s opinion of me, it can’t factor into our ultimate decision any more than my own family’s feelings can.

So I just nod, as he asks how the rest of my trip went. I tell him it went well, adding, “It’s so much easier for me to think in Wisconsin.”

“Away from me?” he asks.

I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just so much quieter there.” I take a deep breath, and say the rest, that I’ve decided to move back home. “It just makes sense,” I add. “At least in the short term.”

    “But what about your job?” he asks, which feels like a telling response. My job?

I shrug and say, “There are other jobs. I’ve been sending my résumé out….”

“Wow,” he says. “So you’re really doing this?”

I nod and say yes, I am.

Matthew lowers his eyes, looking downcast, and whispers wow for the second time.

“What? Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say, wondering if he’ll push back on the idea at all, offer another suggestion, although I don’t know what that would be. We both know I can’t move in with him right now.