Page 115 of Free to Run
* * *
We pullup in front of an apartment complex a few minutes later. Alison hops out of her car and gestures for me to roll down my window. “Visitor spaces are along the back. I don’t want you to get towed.”
Nodding, I roll up the window and turn into one of the spots. In my rearview, I watch as she uses her key to pop open her trunk to grab her purse.
Following her, we climb a well-maintained set of outdoor stairs and walk down a short hallway. Opening her door, she says, “Come on in.”
“Not bad, but not exactly as nice as home,” I remark about the cramped space. I’m happy to note the cardboard boxes and tape guns on the coffee table.
She pauses on her way to what I assume is the bedroom. “I honestly don’t think I knew what it looked like for the first few weeks I was here.” Ducking her head in embarrassment, she turns. “Let me jump in the shower really quick?”
“Take your time.” I’m antsy. “Can I make you anything in the meantime? Are you hungry? Is there anything you shouldn’t have?” I have no idea what she needs for her pregnancy.
“Anything in the fridge is good for me, Keene. Have at it.” The door closes quietly between us as I make my way over to the small kitchenette. Opening up the fridge, I smile. It looks remarkably like her refrigerator at home, filled with fresh fruit, vegetables, dairy, eggs, and—oh holy hell, there’s an avocado in there. Almost blindly, I reach for it and hold it, shutting the refrigerator door absently.
This is the size of my baby. This isn’t molecules or cells. This is a measurable weight in my hands. My chin drops to my chest as I stare down at the ripe green fruit.
Her state of mind when she left wasn’t because I betrayed her by withholding information; it was because I betrayed them.
My family.
Just like my father betrayed his.
I’m suddenly unable to breathe as the impact of every mistake I’ve made comes crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I asked her to dive in with me and open up her heart to what we were building, but what did I give back? Just enough so I wouldn’t be hurt.
I’m still holding the avocado in my hand, lost in thought when I hear my name. “Keene?”
Concerned, Alison stands there in a camisole top and running shorts, her hair wet from her shower. My eyes rake over her body, taking in each and every change. Her breasts are slightly larger, and her stomach is no longer concave. Other than that, you’d never know that she’s… “How far along does the size of an avocado mean?” I blurt out.
Her lips part slightly. “Sixteen weeks.” She clears her throat. “Or once I calculated it back…”
“The first time we slept together,” I conclude, doing the mental math myself.
“Yes,” she replies softly. “I swear I was on the pill, but the doctor said…”
I wave my hand, the one not cradling the avocado. I believe her. Alison doesn’t have it in her to lie about something so critical. “When did you find out?” My voice is low.
She sighs. “I’ll answer all your questions, but can I grab some food? I’m starting to get shaky.”
Shit. I got so lost in holding the avocado, I forgot to make her something to eat. I just can’t bring myself to put it down. I look at her with this wildly panicked expression.
Alison bursts out laughing. “Move out of the way, Keene.” Alison joins me in the cramped kitchenette. Pulling open the fridge, she yanks out a Tupperware of cubed cheese, some fruit, and grabs some bread off the counter. Leaning past where I’m still standing with my avocado, she grabs a knife, a couple of paper plates, and napkins. Popping everything on the bar top, she walks past me, calling over her shoulder, “Grab some bottles of water, would you?”
I jump into action and follow her to the living room, to find her muttering at the mess on the coffee table. “Want me to move anything?”
Bent over, showing me an outstanding view of her rear, she replies, “If you could twitch your nose and get all my stuff packed for me, that’d be great. Other than that, no. I’ve got it.”
I’ll be calling the movers after we’re done talking.
Putting the bread, cheese, and fruit down on the table, she turns to me and holds out her hand. “Fork it over, Keene.”
I give her a confused look.
“The avocado. I’m hungry. If you want to feel your baby, I’ll let you touch the real one after we talk.” She holds out her hand.
I practically throw it at her. “Thanks. I’ve had these cravings for avocado and cheese sandwiches for weeks. When I saw the doctor this week, I said it felt a little morbid. She said if that was the case, I wouldn’t have eaten grapes or lemons, or anything else on the baby size chart.” Alison masterfully begins peeling the outer skin of the avocado. Slicing the inside, she squeezes and lays the slices on her plate. Using her knife, she also slices off some cheddar and grabs a hunk of bread. Popping a bite of the unusual combination into her mouth, she moans. “So good. If only I could handle salsa.”
I pick up the conversation gambit. “Can’t handle spicy?”
