Page 49 of Never To Forever

Garrett helps me to his truck and up into the passenger seat. He’s treating me like I’m delicate and breakable. Not long ago, I’d have loved to receive this attention from him, but today, it just makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry. None of this would be happening if he didn’t feel as though he had to do it.

He climbs in next to me and pulls away from the hospital. We don’t speak for several minutes, but eventually, he clears his throat.

“I’m going to be at your beck and call from now on,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “Day or night, don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you need anything, okay? I don’t want you to have to worry or stress about anything.”

I rest my head against the cool glass of my window and gaze out at the passing houses.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, Marie,” he says. “If you need groceries, a ride to work, anything, you let me know. I’d also like to be present for future appointments for the baby, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah… that’s fine.”

My emotions are tumultuous. I just want to go numb, so I don’t have to feel anything right now.

“I want to be as involved as you’ll allow me to be,” Garrett continues. “You don’t have to do any of this alone.”

“Thank you, Garrett.” I try to sound grateful, but my voice is too soft and my tone too sad. Does he notice? If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

I should be grateful, relieved that he’s so willing to be with me every step of the way with this, but he’s not doing any of this because he feels real affection for me. He’s doing it because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.

He’s being the good guy right now, but I wish he would just… I don’t know. Not act like he cares about me when he really only cares about my pregnancy.

We soon arrive at my house and Garrett escorts me inside, holding me up like he’s afraid I’ll tip over. He doesn’t let me go until I’m settled on the couch. Grabbing a pillow, he puts it behind my head and drapes a blanket over my lap.

“Garrett, you don’t have to do all this. I’ll be fine, really.”

“Just rest. I’ll make you something to eat. Nothing too heavy, so it won’t upset your stomach.”

Before I can say anything, he turns and makes his way out of the living room and into the kitchen, moving pots and pans around. Sighing, I sink back into my pillow and pull the blanket up to cover my whole body. I’m so tired and heartsick. I just want to be cozy and forget about everything I’ve been through in the last few days.

Except I can’t forget. I’ll never be able to forget because the reminder is growing inside me right now.

Laying my hands on my belly, I murmur, “Oh, little bean. What kind of a mess am I bringing you into, hm? Your mommy is desperately in love with your daddy, but he just wants to be friends. Such a bummer, huh?”

Damn, I’m already complaining to my kid about their dad. Not really a precedent I want to set.

Sighing, I tilt my head back and gaze up at the ceiling. How am I going to navigate this whole thing with Garrett? I don’t know if I can handle this for the next seven months.

A little bit of time passes with me sitting on the couch, my head spinning, before Garrett returns with a tray. He sets it next to me on the couch, and I peek at what he’s made—a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a small plate of bread with jam.

“You had a can of soup in the pantry,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind that I dug around in there.”

“I don’t mind,” I reply, picking up the bowl and sniffing it. When my stomach doesn’t immediately pitch, I grab the spoon on the tray and slowly start eating. The soup is good. Soothing. My stomach stays calm enough to finally put the food in it, and I realize just how hungry I’ve really been.

As I eat, Garrett moves around the living room and starts cleaning up. The place got a little cluttered when I wasn’t feeling good, so there’s dirty clothes lying on the floor, blankets in piles, empty or half-empty glasses of water, and unopened mail scattered around. He doesn’t hesitate as he folds the blankets and gathers the clothes into a single pile. It’s like he’s done this a million times before, and it feels natural to have him here.

Too natural.

After several minutes, I can’t stand the strained atmosphere between us anymore.

“What do you think of all this?”

He freezes in the middle of folding a large, patchwork quilt my mom made me when I was a kid. He appears thoughtful, as if choosing his words carefully.

“I’m stunned,” he finally confesses. “I’m still processing everything and what this will mean for our lives. I know I’ll love the baby, and a part of me is excited to be a dad. I also know I’ll do everything I can to support you and the baby. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

Again, he’s saying all the right things. However, he doesn’t say anything about what his feelings for me are, nor does he ask me what I feel for him… or about any of this, really.

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