I forgo whatever tool I should find, and walk straight into the kitchen where she's vigorously stripping wallpaper from the wall. I need to talk to her. She has been giving me the cold shoulder since things fell apart. She still shows up to work here, and she insists that she’s not mad. But there’s a gaping distance between us that I’ve never experienced until now.
I don’t know how to fix it.
“Hey, how's it going?” I ask, striving for normal and leaning against the door frame. I watch her work.
“Fine,” she chirps. She doesn’t flinch at my sudden intrusion. She doesn’t even turn around. It’s almost as though I don’t exist to her.
She doesn't have to say a word to me. She's pissed.
I let my eyes close for a second, pinching the bridge of my nose. Fuck, I knew this baby thing would change our friendship. But I had to go and be selfish and demand that she involve me.
Penny said this wouldn’t work. I refused to listen. Look at us now.
She keeps stripping the kitchen wallpaper with a level of aggression I never knew she was capable of. I flinch. Shouldn’t the contractors be taking care of that?
This is basically how it’s been all week. I try to talk to her, and she answers in as few words as possible.
“So, you got the new, uh, fabric samples you said you ordered?” I ask, daring to move a few steps closer. She has to talk to me about work stuff. Even if I have no idea what she’s doing. “Did you find some floor tiles you liked? And what about those curtains you were talking about? Do you need my approval on anything else?”
“All set. Thanks, though.” She continues to give me her back. And though I love admiring the shape of her body in those messy denim overalls, I'm aching to see her face, to look into her eyes, and know if she's really okay.
I prop my ass against an old stool in the corner while she works. Since nothing else has gotten a reaction out of her, I dive right into the crux of the matter. “I thought maybe we could talk. Y'know, about what happened at the clinic.”
Penny glances back at me briefly, before turning away with a small shrug. “We’re good.”
“Are you sure, Penn? Because I just—”
“We’re fine. I’m fine. I just have a lot of work to finish here before my shift at the bar this afternoon.”
She cuts the conversation short. Again.
“All right,” I give up, turning on my heel to leave. I don't want to push the issue and come across as a creep who's just trying to use this situation to get into her pants. “If there’s anything I can help with…let me know.” Christ. That was a dumb choice of words, considering what happened with the last thing I was supposed to help her with.
As I'm marching off in the direction of the farm, a fucking scary thought sparks…
What if Penny goes back to her original plan? What if she decides to get a sperm donor anyway, now that I’ve fucked up my offer to help her?
If she does that, I just know I will lose her forever.
20
Penny
Today was more of an admin day at the bar—making employee schedules, dealing with suppliers, ordering stock. It felt like an absolute luxury, not having to face the general public with this shitty mood I'm in.
I get home just before midnight, the darkness and stillness of the apartment making me feel icky. And very much alone. I pull my hair into a sloppy bun and collapse onto the couch with an energy drink and a box of frosted cereal.
#NutritionGoals
Not so much.
I feel stuck again. I feel like my life is shuttering to another stall, and I hate it. I had everything lined up, and now it’s been thrown out the window. Like these past months of planning and preparation have all been for nothing. Now, I'm just emotionally drained and I want to hide from the hurt.
I haven’t even told the girls about my dashed plans yet. When they bugged me about how the big appointment went, I just vaguely said I had to push pause on things for a while. They probably realized that I didn't want to talk about it and they were kind enough not to push me to open up at the moment.
As disappointed as I am that Walker backed out on me, I know he feels bad about it. I just haven’t been able to process this bitterness I feel, even though I know it's misplaced. He's made a genuine effort to get back into my good graces over the past few weeks but if I do talk to him, I might just lose it and break down into a snotty, sobbing mess.
At the mere thought of my friend, I grab a throw pillow and brace it against my aching heart. I thought the plan with Walker was a sure deal. We even signed a seventeen-page agreement to make it all official. Not that I would ever force him to fulfill those obligations if he doesn’t want to. I’m not that selfish.
And this whole time, there's been a little voice at the back of my mind, a quiet but constant reminder that, Walker never said he didn’t want to help me have a child. Just that he couldn’t do it in the clinical setting.
As hard as I try to move past it, I can’t stop thinking about his suggestion that we make a baby the traditional way. Did he really, really mean it? Why would he be okay with that, but not okay with donating?
Even still, I can’t help but be tempted. I mean, it’s Walker Kingston. The growly, rugged cowboy vibe can make the steadiest woman a little wobbly. Not even the medical students from the clinic could keep their panties on straight with him in the room.
I know it’s horrible. I know that having sex with Walker—even for a really good reason—is a really bad idea. I
