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For the first time since the start of this awkward conversation, our eyes meet and something pure flashes between us. An almost friendly familiarity. And for the first time since we met, I feel a trust blooming between us. I can’t remember the last man I really trusted, so this is nice.
“Now that we’ve established that,” he says, “are you going to tell me why you were late this morning?” he asks.
There’s something so satisfying about hearing that infuriatingly stern tone of his again. It feels so normal already.
“Well, if you must know. It’s because I spent the morning throwing up.”
He winces in disgust. “Is that normal? To be so sick all the time?”
“How the hell should I know? This is my first time doing this.”
“Have you seen your doctor yet?”
I deflate into the couch. “No.”
“Why not?” he asks in a scolding tone.
“Because I’m putting it off. If I make the appointment, then it becomes real, and I’m not ready for it to be real.”
With a huff, he stares at the ceiling. “These things rarely wait until you’re ready, Miss Green.”
Oh, thank God. No more Sadie.
“I know that. I’m not an idiot,” I argue.
“Then pick up the phone. And call them. Now.”
Glaring at him obstinately, I grab my phone from the table. As I glance down at the device, scrolling for my doctor’s number, I realize that I’m doing this because he’s making me. Hypothetically. Not literally. But something about that makes it easier. Less overwhelming. More manageable.
When I find the number, I stare at it for a moment. Making this call is huge. I’ll have to say those words out loud again. The words that my mouth seems to fumble. I’m pregnant.
“I think I need to…be alone for this.” My voice sounds so small, but Luke doesn’t argue or question it.
He just stands from the dining room table and says, “I’m going for a run.” Then as he passes the couch, he lays a hand on my shoulder. It’s so oddly comforting. The same hand that spanked me this morning. “You can do this,” he says, and I swallow those words like medicine.
I can do this.
With that he leaves, and I hit the button.
Twelve
Lucas
“Rise and shine, Miss Green.”
Standing over Sadie’s bed in the guest room, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for her to show signs of life. It’s past nine and I know she worked late. She’s lying on her side, curled up in the fetal position, hugging a pillow to her front with her long red hair braided over her shoulder.
Her lips are parted, and her cheeks are red. She looks so at peace, and part of me hates having to wake her up.
“Miss Green,” I say again, nudging her on the leg. She stirs but doesn’t wake up.
I let out a disgruntled sigh as I glance around the room. Her dirty clothes are piled in the corner, and there’s a pile of empty water bottles on the nightstand. She really is like Isaac.
It’s infuriating.
She’s been here for two weeks now, and for the most part, it’s been uneventful. She spends a lot of time at work or studying, but when she is here, I notice quirky little habits that drive me insane. Like how she is constantly singing something, even when there’s no music playing. She dances in her seat when she eats, and she leaves her shoes all over the house instead of in their place by the door like I’ve told her.
But even with all of that, we haven’t had another incident like we did in the classroom. I still don’t understand what came over me that day. I’ve never done anything like that in my life, and I still worry that it was wrong. Even if she said she liked it.
