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It’s like feeling as if I belong and don’t belong at the same time. For a moment, I thought I could be Lucas’s wife. I thought we had a future together. It was brief, but it was there, and it was more exciting than anything.
And I walked away from that—for my own good.
A pair of tiny hands press against my stomach, and I look down at Abby as she smiles up at me, waiting for the baby to kick.
“Abigail,” her mother scolds, “you have to ask permission before you touch somebody, honey.”
“Sorry,” she says. “Can I touch your belly?” she asks without ever taking her hands off in the first place.
I chuckle. “Yes, of course.”
I give the baby a gentle poke from underneath, which usually gets him or her to do a little kick. When Abby feels it, her eyes widen with excitement.
Briar smiles softly at me. “Thanks for inviting us. You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “I’m glad you could make it.”
In the corner, the men are standing together, Caleb, Dean, and Adam, each with a beer in their hands.
I was adamant to Sage and my mother that I didn’t want a traditional baby shower. No silly games. Even the men could come if they want. And yes, maybe underneath all of that was some ulterior motive in hopes that Lucas might show up.
But apparently, that was being too hopeful.
For all I know, he could have left already. Even though the semester isn’t over, and as far as I know, he’s still teaching, although I haven’t seen him.
But he could also be out with a hot English teacher, or he could be on a plane to England, or he could be sitting in his house alone with jazz playing on the record player and a book in his hand with a glass of whiskey by his side. What hurts is that I have no idea which one it is.
Briar, Sage, and Abby disperse, leaving me to peruse the food table alone. When I glance up through the window of the rec room and see a familiar man standing in the parking lot with his back to me, I freeze. As I watch him, my heart begins to hammer in my chest and I’m flooded with sickening hope.
“Stop it,” I scold myself quietly. “He’s not here for you. Nothing has changed.”
And yet, I can’t stop myself as I turn from the food table and walk toward the door. He turns to face me right as I step outside, and our eyes meet.
All of the days since we have seen each other suddenly feel insurmountable. His eyes trail down to my stomach and back up to my face.
“Hey,” he says casually.
“Hey,” I reply.
“You look great,” he stammers.
“Thanks.”
I don’t quite know what this is, so I don’t know how to behave. Is he here as a friend? Did he stop by just to say hello? Do I mean nothing to him? I don’t have it in me to hope for anything more, so I force myself to stay neutral.
“I didn’t know if I should come,” he stutters, “but I just thought…” His voice trails as if he doesn’t know what else to say.
I stare at his face and remember what it felt like to kiss those lips. I wish I could feel his arms wrapped around me one more time.
I wrap my arms around myself, like a reflex, even though it’s not cold. A bit chilly for March in Texas, but nothing near as cold as this interaction between us.
Part of me wants to ask about the program and if he’s excited about it, but I stop myself. I don’t think I can bear to hear about it.
Instead, I blurt out something I know he will want to hear.
“I changed my major.”
He freezes and stares at me with his mouth hanging open. “You did?”
