I cringe. It sounds so absurd in my head, and it would sound even worse in reality.
I could always send a text. I dismiss that idea right away though. Nate would not be happy about a text message announcing this kind of news. It’s too brusque and informal.
Besides, I have to see his face when I tell him. I can’t quite explain why, but I need to know his initial and genuine reaction to this development. That will affect how I proceed.
I wrap my arms around myself at the idea of proceeding. My options are all terrifying.
If I keep it, my life will be forever changed. If I get rid of it, my life will also be changed, in a different way.
I don’t even consider hiding this from Nate. I promised him I would be honest with him always, and our fight tonight doesn’t change that. Besides, I have a moral compass, and this is something I believe in: it takes two people to create a life. It should take two people to decide what to do with that life.
I don’t think I can tell him tonight though. It’s almost one in the morning, and I’m not at all in the right headspace.
Apparently, I wasn’t out of tears earlier, because they started coming again. These are different and more complicated tears. I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m pregnant and scared, or crying because I’m pregnant and all I want to do is share this news with Nate, but I can’t because he hates me now.
Mostly, I think I’m crying because I wish that I could have at least figured this out a day earlier. Then I would have told Nate yesterday, when he didn’t despise me.
And maybe then, I would be sleeping in his arms right now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nate
I know I acted too impulsively. It takes me almost an hour, but I start to calm down and regret my actions. As my anger fades and is replaced with sadness that Cynthia isn’t in my home where she belongs, I start to regret everything I said. It was cruel to belittle her and say she was too young and fickle. It was downright obnoxious to have that kind of conversation out in the driveway instead of at least inviting her inside so we could talk in a more civil setting.
I just got overcome by my emotions. I acted on some primal instinct, when I should have calmed down.
Honestly, I shouldn’t have even been out there spying on her in the first place. I should have let her tell me what she needed to tell me afterwards. No relationship can grow without trust, and I showed Cynthia that I don’t trust her at all tonight.
I overreacted and I should have done a lot of things differently, but I can’t go back in time. I just have to figure out how to make this right.
I still want to be with Cynthia. I lashed out in part because I was frustrated with myself. I hadn’t told her that I was ready to commit long-term, so I was mad that my oversight led her to questioning me in the first place and needing space.
I need to tell her all that now. Wasn’t I the one who got so mad a few weeks ago when she sent that text trying to deny her feelings? I can’t do the same thing. I have to own my feelings for her.
It’s not going to be easy. Things are still complicated. But she needs to know where I stand.
I think of the best way to do this. The image of a defeated Cynthia trudging back to her place with her shoulders slumped pops into my head. I realize I need to act now. I can’t leave this for tomorrow. I can’t let her go another minute thinking I don’t care about her.
Rejuvenated with a fresh wave of determined energy, I stand up and throw a jacket on. I snatch my keys from my door and exit my house. I cross the driveway, and the night is dead silent. But when I look up, I see that her light is still on.
I take a deep breath. I can’t mess this up. I won’t have an infinite number of chances with Cynthia, so I need to get this right.
I pick up my phone and call her.
It takes a few rings, but she picks up.
“Nate.” Her voice is muffled, and I can tell she’s been crying.
“I’m outside with my keys,” I say as gently as I can. “Can I come up?”
Cynthia sniffles, but she doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I shove my keys in the door and bounce up the steps.
When I open the door to her apartment, I find her in light blue pajamas, sitting on her couch as if she’s been waiting for me. Her eyes are red and poofy, and my heart aches for her.
I cross the room. She stands up, despite her obvious fatigue, so she can face me head-on. She’s scared and defensive, I can tell by the way she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Cynthia, I’m so sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said any of that, I only acted that way because I was upset to even think you might be with someone else.”
“I’m not with Tommy,” Cynthia says. “I was trying to explain that to you.”
“I know.” My voice comes out strangled and desperate. “Sweetheart, trust me, I know. I should have let you talk, and I’m willing to do that, I promise I won’t cut you off.”
Cynthia shrugs and stares at a point somewhere beyond my left shoulder. “There’s not much to explain. Tommy gave me a ride home from the party, and he told me he had feelings for me, but I had to tell him I didn’t return them. I know he may be good for me on paper, but it’s impossible. I know what I feel for you, and it’s so much more powerful than
