Page 91 of Pregnant in Plaid
"We decided not to do a honeymoon until after the baby's born anyway," Tessa says, settling onto the couch and patting the spot next to her. "We wanted to be here. For you."
The words make my throat tight. "You guys didn't have to do that."
"We wanted to," Tessa says simply. She tucks her legs underneath her. "Now. Want to talk about the fight?"
"Not really."
"Tough. You're in my cabin. My rules." She blows on her tea. "What happened?"
I open my mouth to say "nothing" or "it's complicated" or one of those other deflection phrases people use when they don't want to admit they've made catastrophically poor life choices. But instead, what comes out is: "I told him I'm leaving tomorrow."
Tessa's eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "Tomorrow? As in, less than twenty-four hours from now tomorrow?"
"Yep."
"And he... didn't take it well?"
"That's one way to put it." I take a sip of tea and burn my tongue, which feels fitting. "He basically tried to forbid me from getting on a plane."
"Forbid?"
"His word, not mine. Well, not his exact word. But the sentiment was definitely in the forbid family."
Tessa winces. "Okay, that's not great."
"Right? Who does he think he is? I'm a grown woman. I can make my own decisions. I don't need his permission to?—"
"But you're also eight months pregnant with his baby and planning to fly across the country."
I glare at her. "Whose side are you on?"
"Yours. Always." She pauses. "But also, maybe slightly Trace's? Because from where I'm sitting, this seems like a situation where everyone's a little bit wrong and a little bit right and mostly just scared."
"I'm not scared." The words come out automatically, reflexively.
"Patrice."
"Fine. I'm terrified." I set the mug down before I drop it. "Happy now?"
"Not particularly." She leans forward. "Want to tell me why?"
And suddenly, it all comes pouring out. The fight. The things he said. The things I said. The way he looked at me like I was breaking his heart and the way I felt my own heart cracking in response.
"He told me he loves me," I say, and my voice wavers. "Last night. And again this morning. And I don't—I don't know if I believe him."
"Why not?"
"Because!" I throw my hands up, forgetting momentarily about the whole center-of-gravity-shifted-by-enormous-belly thing, and almost tip over. Tessa reaches out to steady me. "Because we barely know each other. Because he only found out about the baby two weeks ago. Because what if he only thinks he loves me because of this?" I gesture at my stomach.
"What if he does love you?"
"Then I'm even more screwed."
Tessa blinks. "How is that worse?"
"Isn't it?" I stand up—well, attempt to stand up, which involves several false starts and one moment where I seriously consider just living on this couch forever. "What if I stay here in Ashwood Falls? What if I let myself believe this is real? And then six months from now, when the baby's crying at three AM and I haven't slept in days and I'm covered in spit-up and exhausted, he looks at me and realizes this isn't what he signed up for?"
"Or," Tessa says quietly, "he looks at you and loves you more."
