“What’s the plan?”
This is the second time someone has asked me about it, and even though I’m still reeling from Conrad’s anger and rejection, I tell Reed. Because I will keep telling anyone who asks. I will keep repeating it until the whole world knows that I’m going to fight for her.
I keep my chin lifted and my battle stance grounded as I say, “I’m planning on quitting school. I’ll talk to the principal this Monday, move out and get a job. I was planning to live with Con but I think I’m gonna get my own place now, something cheap, and save up. Of course, Juilliard is no longer an option and that’s fine. I know I have other talents. I can figure things out for myself. But I’m not getting rid of her.”
The silence that follows feels excruciating.
Maybe because I’ve been talking a lot. I’ve said too many words and now the quiet is unbearable.
Especially when the only thing that’s filling it is my panting, heaving breath.
“Her.”
Even though he’s only said one word after my deluge of them, flutters move and swirl in my belly, and for the second time since last night, I say, “It’s a girl.”
I detect another shake of his arms. “Y-you already…” he swallows, “know…”
It’s the shake in his voice that gives me some indication. Some clue as to what he wants. Because I’ve never ever, in all the time that I’ve known him, seen him this unsure, this shaken and taken aback.
But I’m afraid to hope.
I’m afraid.
“No, I don’t. I can’t… it’s too early. But I want it to be.” Before I can stop myself, I ask, with stupid hope in my voice, “Do you have a problem with that?”
He slowly shakes his head. “No.”
I exhale a breath. “You don’t?”
“No.” He licks his lips as he keeps staring at me. “I’d like a girl.”
My eyes circle wide. “You w-would?”
“Yeah, a tiny ballerina in a pink tutu with blonde pigtails. I’d like that.”
He’d like that.
He said that, right?
He said, he’d like that. He’d like a girl with blonde pigtails and a pink tutu and Jesus Christ, I think I can breathe. Relief bursts through my veins and my body sags. “Well, she could… she could have dark hair.”
Like you.
Like her…
Like her daddy’s.
I think he hears my unspoken words because his lethal, animal eyes melt. “No, she’s going to have blonde hair.”
Like you. Like her mommy’s.
He doesn’t say it either but I hear it. He’s not done talking though and these next words he says fiercely. “And she’s not a mistake. It doesn’t matter how she… she came into existence. But she’s not a fucking mistake.”
His words, intense and spoken with so much heat, shock me. They leave me speechless for a few seconds and all I can do is blink at him.
But then I notice something.
On the island, where he’s still standing bent over.
A book, and as I stare at it, my words burst forth. “You’re reading a book.”
He straightens up abruptly. “And?”
I ignore his defensive tone. “I’ve never seen you read a book before. Not even in school. But…” I’m still staring at it when it occurs to me. “It’s a pregnancy book.” I snap my eyes to him. “You’re reading a pregnancy book.”
His cheekbones are flushed and he rubs the back of his neck, frowning. “It’s not exactly noteworthy.”
He even picks up the book from the counter and puts it in the drawer, as if he’s embarrassed at being caught. And I can’t… I can’t help but think it is.
It is noteworthy and it is crazy and gosh, adorable that he’s so embarrassed. And so unlike him.
And I can’t help but ask, “You’ve been preparing, haven’t you? You’ve been reading up. For the past week. Like me.”
He stares at me a few moments, his jaw tight before he replies, “Yes.”
Yes.
He has. He’s been preparing like me.
Even though I’d been running from him, even though I hadn’t told him myself, he was getting himself ready. He was reading up on things like me.
“What if I had told you…” I pause to calm down my racing breaths. “What if I’d said that I didn’t… I didn’t want her.”
His eyes pierce into mine. “Then I’d have…” Now he pauses and I know that it is for the same reason as me, to calm down his heaving chest. “I’d have taken care of it. If that’s what you wanted.”
I know he would have.
I can see it on his face. In the determined look of his eyes. I also know that he wouldn’t have liked it; that’s also apparent on his face, but he would’ve let me make the decision.
Up until this point, up until he said it, I hadn’t known that it was important to me.
This freedom of choice.
As important as it is that he wants her too. He really wants her. He doesn’t think she’s a mistake, and suddenly, everything sinks in.
Everything settles in my bones, the relief, that I feel dizzy.
I feel it so much that I stumble.
But he doesn’t let me fall.
Like last night, he’s there to catch me. He’s there to put his hands on my waist to steady me. Not only that, he also picks me up and puts me down on the island.
“Are you okay? Are you… are you going to be sick?” he asks, his warm hands holding me tightly, keeping me grounded.
Without really thinking about it, I move closer to the warmth. I latch onto it with my fingers, grabbing onto his forearm and trying to breathe.
And I get a whiff of that scent again.
That scent which calms down my stomach, and I whisper, “What is that?”
“What?”
“T-that scent. It…” I swallow and dig my nails in his forearms. “It makes me…”
“Makes you what?” he asks, a thick frown between his brows. “What the fuck is going on, Fae? You want me to —”
I steal his words by fisting his t-shirt and pulling him close. I bury my nose in his chest and breathe him in, moaning, “Oh God.”
He cradles the back of my head, his chest swelling and contracting against my burrowed-in face. “What —”
I cut him off again, this time with words though. “What is that scent?”
His fingers flex on my waist. “What scent?”
I look up at him. “That scent. Coming from you. Your t-shirt. It makes me feel better. I know it’s not your regular scent.”
“What’s my regular scent?”
I nuzzle my nose in his hard, heated chest first before replying, “Wildflowers and woods.”
He’s offended, his chest vibrating with his words. “I smell like flowers.”