Page 52 of Embers in Our Past

“Fine, then what if there was a bed in the baby’s room, and I slept in there?” I suggest.

“I still think that’s a no.”

“Always being the final say, Abby.”

“That’s not fair, Clay! I don’t want to fight. Please.” She breathes and then continues eating.

“I’ll drop it for now.” I put my finger up. “I am only saying for now. This will be revisited. But let’s at least swap keys. That would be useful, and I should have a key to this place. What if something happens and you need me or vice versa?”

She chews her bite, thinking over what I suggested, and finally relents. “Fine, I’ll agree that’s a smart thing to do.”

“Okay, good. I already have a spare key to give you,” I say. “I’ll grab it before I leave.”

“Okay, let me grab mine now, or I’ll forget. This pregnancy brain thing is real. I always thought people were exaggerating, but I have forgotten so much stuff. I have to make lists for everything—I swear I had to make a note when I forgot to refill the toilet paper roll in my bathroom the other day. And all I had done prior to grabbing a new one was wash my hands.” Abby does this cute little laugh to herself, and it’s hard not to fall in love with her a little more, watching this little moment between us unfold.

“I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you, Abby,” I tell her, bringing a heaviness to our meal. “I just want you to know that I should have fought harder for you when you left. I crumbled, and I assumed you’d be back. I’m sorry I didn’t do more.”

She’s about to get up to grab the key but stops halfway up from her chair. “No, Clay. I needed to figure things out. I’m still figuring myself out. It’s just how our journey had to be. I appreciate you saying that, but this is on me,” she says, and it doesn’t make me feel any better about how things turned out.

“I’m going to go get that key. I’ll be right back.” She scurries off to her living room.

Maybe if I had put more effort into getting her back, we could have worked things out and avoided where we are today. But then again, here she is, carrying our child, and maybe there’s still a shot at the two of us being together, even if she doesn’t see that future together.

“I had the keys made with these funny designs. You’ll know they’re mine. Don’t laugh.” She hands me a SpongeBob key. She always loved that damn cartoon.

“The guys will have a field day with this on my keychain,” I say as I grab it and inspect the design. I tuck it into the pocket of my jeans before gathering my dishes and hers.

“Well, you said you wanted to swap keys, so you get what you get.” She smiles, and I won’t lie; I would do anything to see that smile directed at me more often.

I help get everything in order in the kitchen before heading out for the afternoon.

“The machine should be all set. Let me know if you need anything else or if it starts acting up again,” I tell her, feeling a little uneasy as I head for the front door.

“I appreciate you coming over. Thanks again,” she says, leaning against the door as she holds it open for me.

I grab my shirt and finally throw it over my head. I thought it would have more power of persuasion. Baby steps, I guess.

We were never this uneasy with one another. From the moment we started dating, we came together so effortlessly. This feels strange, this limbo we are living in. Now that we have the baby coming, we need to find a way to coexist, but all I want to do is go back to being married, and I can’t even touch her.

I run my fingers through my hair, needing to keep my hands busy, or I’ll pull her in to kiss her. I see her look down at my lips, and her cheeks turn that light shade of pink that I used to love when she’d get shy around me at the beginning of our relationship.

“I guess I’ll see you at the next appointment?” she asks, trying to figure out how to part ways.

“Yeah, sounds good,” I say, turning and walking further away from her, wishing I didn’t have to say goodbye.

I finally press the button to the elevator. The moment I walk inside the metal box, I hear the door to her apartment close, and I swear I can take a full breath again. I don’t even know how I’m going to go months like this, having to keep my hands to myself. All I want to do is touch her and feel her in my arms.

The elevator ride is filled with thoughts of the months ahead. I’m about to walk out the elevator doors when I realize I forgot to give her a key to my place. Whoever said pregnancy brain was reserved for the person carrying the child alone was an idiot. I am apparently having sympathy symptoms, which is ridiculous to even think, so I walk myself backward and press the number to her floor.

I tap my foot impatiently as I ascend the elevator back to her level. The moment I get there, I knock on her door, but she doesn’t answer. There is no way she left. What if she fell and hit her head? What if she’s unconscious?

I reach into my pocket to text her when I feel the key. I pull out the ridiculous SpongeBob contraption and decide to make use of it while I can.

The moment I get inside the apartment, I yell out for Abby. She doesn’t answer, but I do hear the water running. I remember Abby mentioning she was going to take a shower, so she must have gone straight there after I left.

I can’t help but feel the parallels of this scenario to my brother’s encounter with Kennedy when he walked into her hotel room the day they first started things together. That brings a smile to my face. That sort of catapulted everything to a whole new level for them, and he’s never been the same.

I decide to grab my keys to pull my extra set off. I’m about to leave mine on the console table when I hear my name in the distance. I turn around to see if Abby may have heard me, but she’s not in the hallway, so I’m about to leave when I hear it again, this time with a soft moan.

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