Page 82 of The Devil Gets His Due

“Is this your way of saying I wanted that Birkin because I’m empty inside and trying to justify it? Because I love my Birkin. Every time I carry it, I feel like a shiny little jewel on my way to better things.”

“I loved my guitar too. Same reason. But you know what the most freeing moment of my entire life was? When I stood on the ledge of my building and realized I didn’thaveto jump. That I could just fucking walk away.”

I blink. Sure, I realized Mark’s life hadn’t been a bed of roses leading up to this moment, but I kind of thought he’dgrown intothe person he is. Like a man who figures shit out and joins a Buddhist monastery, with this busy corner of central LA his ashram.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” I reply. “I can’t walk away from anything. I’m having a kid.”

“But that’s just it, Keels,” he says. “You’ve spent your whole life jumping because you’re so terrified of what happens if you don’t. And now you’re stuck on that metaphorical ledge, telling yourself you want to jump when maybe you just need to ask yourself why sticking around terrifies you as much as it does.”

“Sometimes I think you’re too smart for us to be friends. If you’d explain stuff using examples from reality TV, I’d probably understand you better.”

He laughs. “You’ll figure it out. But I’ll try to come up with an example using the Kardashians for next time.”

I go back upstairs, sadder than I was and no less confused. I don’t entirely understand what he was saying to me and yet…I sort of do. I have spent many, many years trying not to get too close to anyone, but now it’s happened, almost by accident. I love this baby. And I think I might love Graham.

If I gave him the baby and walked away simply to avoid being devastated later on…I’d be devastated anyway. If I discover in a year that I’ve got cancer, am I going to begladI didn’t spend that year with him? Will it be a relief that he never knew how I felt? That I never allowed myself just to fall head over heels for him?

No. Of course it won’t.

I want him with me, for every second I’ve got left. And I guess this is what Mark was saying: maybe my path is simply to step off the ledge and face all the pain that’s going to come with living a life I love. In the end, I might be glad I did.

But I don’t even know if that’s what Graham wants—he’s sure not acting like our night meant much to him—and the not-knowing is so awkward, so painful.

I’m glad he’s not on Instagram. I’d probably be on there, liking every one of his posts, until I could figure out how to ask.

He comes in late.I stumble across my room in the dark, half-asleep, wanting to see him and check on him and maybe tell him all the things I fell asleep thinking. He’s standing by the sink, drinking a glass of water. His Adam’s apple—which is actually just thyroid cartilage surrounding the larynx—bobs as he drinks.

It’s my favorite thyroid cartilage in the entire world.

“Hey,” he says, looking up, frowning. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You can always wake me, Graham. I want to see you. I miss you when you’re gone.

I’m not telling him that. Especially when he looks so wary, the way I do when I know a guy is about to say too much and I’m thinkingplease don’t do this. Don’t profess your feelings when I’m about to ask if we can take a break. “It’s okay. How’s Colin?”

He runs a hand over his head. “Not great. He thinks she’s got cold feet.”

The old Keeley would come alive at drama like this. I’d race to the counter and climb on a stool, placing my chin in my hands as I said,“tell me everything!”I’d pry and pry, doing my best to get Graham to admit he doesn’t like Mandy, or to reveal something shady Colin did that brought this on. I’d suggest Mandy is cheating, and he’d accuse me of enjoying other people’s tragedy too much, which is completely true and about which I would be wildly unrepentant.

But the realizations I’ve had over the past day or two about myself and Graham have thrown me into internal disarray. I find myself tongue-tied, a big tub of awkward as I try to find a path between being the old me and being the girl who begs a guy to like her back.

“The crib’s being delivered Friday,” I say, struggling to meet his eye. When have I ever struggled to meet someone’s eye? “They left a message. Can you let them in?”

He stills. “I’m actually leaving for New York Friday. Did they give you a window?”

“New York?”

He never goes to New York. He’s been here for months without going back once, but suddenlynowa visit is a necessity?

“I have a few loose ends to take care of, and as we get closer to your due date it’ll be harder to go.” He’s looking off to the left, which is a sign of evasiveness. I learned this fromCriminal Minds, not med school, so it’s definitely true.

And what loose ends? With technology, no meetings actuallyhaveto take place in person, and the only loose ends I can think of that demand a face-to-face are personal ones. Is it Anna? And is he doing this for closure, or is he doing this because she’s a loose end he might want to pick back up, now that the end is in sight?

God, did sleeping with me make him realize how good he had it with her?

My mouth opens but I can’t think of a way to ask without sounding like a jealous harpy.

“Go back to bed, Keeley,” he says softly. “It’s late.” Even hearing the wordbedfall from his lips is a turn-on for me.

---