Page 62 of Pregnant in Plaid
"Patrice, I love you. Stay."
Simple. Direct. Absolutely terrifying.
How hard can it be?
Later, after she's gone to bed, I'm still on the couch. The practice doll sits on the coffee table, its plastic eyes staring at nothing.
Derek made it look easy. Five seconds, perfectdiaper. Meanwhile, I couldn't manage it in thirty minutes.
How am I supposed to be a dad if I can't even handle a doll?
But it's not the diaper changing that's keeping me awake.
It's the way she said ‘for the wedding’ tonight. Like she's already planning her exit. Like this is temporary for her.
I pick up the pregnancy book, flip to the page I'd bookmarked. Seven weeks until the due date. Seven weeks to convince her to stay.
To tell her I love her.
To figure out how to be the kind of man she'd want to build a life with.
The fire's dying. I should add more wood, but I don't move.
Tomorrow, I'll show her the town. Help her see what a life here could look like. Show her it's not just survival—it's home.
And then, somehow, I'll find the courage to tell her the truth.
Before she decides ‘for the wedding’ is all she can give me.
Chapter 10
Patrice
The drive to Anchorage takes two hours, which is approximately one hour and fifty-nine minutes longer than my bladder can currently handle.
"We need to stop," I announce for the third time in forty minutes.
Tessa glances at me from the driver's seat, grinning. "Again? We just stopped twenty minutes ago."
"You don’t have a baby using your bladder as a trampoline. I do. Different rules apply."
She laughs and takes the next exit. "Fair point. But at this rate, we're going to hit every rest stop between here and Anchorage."
"Consider it a guided tour of Alaska's finest public restrooms," I say. "Very educational."
By the time we actually arrive in Anchorage, I've peed four times, eaten an entire bag of pretzels I didn't remember buying, and listened to Tessa's playlist ofwhat she calls "empowering breakup anthems" even though she's getting married this week.
"Why are we listening to songs about terrible men when you're marrying a good one?" I ask as we pull into the parking lot of the bridal shop.
"Because they're catchy," she says. "And also because I like to remember what I escaped. Kyle was a nightmare wrapped in expensive cologne."
"True. Though I feel like Gage is the opposite of a nightmare."
"He's a dream in flannel," she agrees, turning off the engine. "Which sounds cheesy, but it's true."
I haul myself out of the car with all the grace of a beached whale attempting parkour. Everything hurts. My back, my feet, my dignity. The baby kicks, and I press a hand to my stomach.
"Settle down in there," I mutter. "We're on a mission."
