Page 125 of The Difference Between

Gavin doesn’t fight me this time.

I give Donna the ice and shove all the blood rags in my pockets. “Gavin.” I gesture with my head toward the door.

He stands, eyes not leaving mine.

“Thank you so much for your help,” I say to Donna. “I’m so sorry to intrude.”

I don’t breathe or speak until we’re both in the truck, and even then, my throat feels like it’s been stung by bees.

Gavin knows.

Maybe not all of it, but enough.

“Drive,” I say without looking at him.

He does. All the way back to his house without speaking. No radio. No wind. Nothing. Just a silence that feels loud and the presence of a man who was never meant to be mine.

Thirty-Four

I’m staring through the windshield like there’s something to see other than Gavin’s garage door—we both are—until I can’t stand the sight of it and turn to my mom’s house—the house I grew up in. The porch light is on. Mom’s probably watching TV or climbing a ladder. Above the porch is my bedroom window.

“I used to climb out of my window onto the roof to sneak out,” I say for no reason. “I’d meet Amanda and we’d go meet Greg.” I laugh a little. “I was always a third wheel with them, I guess. But they never made me feel like it.”

Gavin wrings his hands around the steering wheel, and I wish the airbag would deploy from the dash and explode in my face.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I finally say. “I’m not—” I shake my head, hating how raw everything is. My voice, my heart, my cuticles that I picked until they bled on the drive here. “I lost a big account because I work too much”—I can’t bring myself to admit that I’m completely alone—“and to save my ass I said I was trying to get pregnant. By a sperm donor.” I pause to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “I’ve always wanted kids but I’m busy. And you’ve probably noticed I’m a bit stubborn. And afflicted with follow-through.” I look at Gavin; he’s already looking at me.

Staring really.

With a slack jaw.

And wide eyes.

“Anyway,” I continue. “I went forward with the plan. And I—” The truth sticks in my mouth like gum on the bottom of a shoe. “Acquired donor information through alternative means to ensure I pick the right one. And that’s what this has been. Holden. Theo. Leland. They’re all donors who fit my criteria whom I⁠—”

“Stole information on and stalked,” he finishes for me.

I let out a sharp breath. “That’s dramatic.”

An angry sound rattles in his throat.

“You’re mad.”

“Ya think?”

“Why?”

“Why?” He’s incredulous. “You lied, among about four hundred other things, Reese.” He snatches the hat from his head and throws it on the dash then drags both hands down his face.

“What other things?” The lying, I get. Even the ethics of stealing the medical information. But aside from that, I’ve done nothing wrong. I want a baby so I’m having a baby. And he doesn’t even know that I lied about having friends. “Because of the account I lost?”

“Do I look like I give a damn about your job?” His voice is too loud for the cab of the truck. “I’ve been trying since the day you showed up to be good enough for you. To show you I’m not who you think I am, and now you tell me that not only am I not good enough, but you’ve been out scouting men—based on some fucked-up criteria—with my help—” He pauses for impact and it works. I hate how he makes me sound. “To have a baby with. Not just any baby though—” He points a finger in the air. “A perfect baby.”

Now I’m incredulous. “And what’s wrong with wanting a perfect baby?”

“What’s wrong with wanting a perfect baby?” He clenches his fists. “People aren’t perfect, Reese!”

“I know people aren’t perfect,” I argue. “But I can do the best I can to make sure I have a healthy baby with every advantage. There’s nothing wrong with that and has nothing to do with you. Just because I’m making sure there isn’t some weird trait or genetic⁠—”