“What are you talking about?” I ask, seriously fucking confused that she’s more worked up about food and drink right now than me asking her to marry me. Lynsey barely complains about being pregnant, so none of this makes any fucking sense.
She drops her knife on the counter and points at her belly. “I can’t find out I’m pregnant in a fun way. I can’t move in with a guy in a fun way. And now I can’t even get engaged in a fun way. Everything that’s happened to me is by fucking default.”
I splay my hand on the counter and face her, my chest aching at the pain in her voice. “Did you really want a big grand gesture like what Miles did?”
“Maybe.” Her brown eyes are wide and watery. “Would that have been so bad?”
I bow my head in frustration. “But those are typically for people who are…”
“What?” she huffs, her nostrils flaring with indignation. “In a relationship?”
I press my lips together, knowing that anything I say right now will upset her further but also knowing that she needs to look at this pragmatically, not emotionally. I take a deep breath and clutch her shoulders, ignoring the way she winces beneath my touch. “We’ve been doing really good here together, Jones, and I think getting married would be a lot more of the same but just take any of the uncertainties out of it.”
Her brows pinch together. “Uncertainties meaning?”
I shrug. “Where we’re going to live. Who’s going to pay for things. Whose last name the baby will have. Whether we’re ever going to date anyone else in the future.”
Lynsey’s lips part in surprise. “Seriously?”
My irritation spikes because all of this seems so fucking obvious to me. We’re having a baby together, for fuck’s sake. I glance at her belly, the ache in my chest thumping again because the baby is right here, between us, growing, living, thriving. Why can’t she see us getting married as a good thing?
I speak calmly. “Lynsey, this child is going to tie us together for life, no matter what. That’s why you and I getting married makes so much sense. I thought with your Catholic upbringing and the millions of hints your mother has been dropping, you’d be happy with this idea.”
Her chin trembles as she deflates in my arms.
“This isn’t how I imagined any of this would happen,” she croaks, her voice wobbling as the emotions she was barely holding onto before spill out. She presses her head to my bare chest, and murmurs, “I was barely awake, and you asked me to marry you like you were asking me if I wanted pancakes or waffles.”
“How was I supposed to know you’d want charcuterie?” I reply, rubbing her back and trying to make a joke.
She doesn’t laugh. Instead, she pulls back and looks up at me fiercely. “Do you even love me, Josh?”
My chest heaves with that loaded question, and I press my lips together, hating that she’s putting me on the spot right now and hating that I can’t give her the answer I’m sure she wants.
My voice is thick when I reply. “I care about you, Lynsey. You’re honestly my closest friend. But I’m not capable of love. My brain just doesn’t work like that anymore.”
She bites her lip and closes her eyes as two tears fall down her cheeks. “Sounds like a great reason for me to say yes.”
I tilt my head. “I thought this would make you happy.”
She shakes her head, her eyes red with tears. “You really thought proposing to me without being in love with me would make me happy?”
When she puts it like that, it sounds awful. But fuck that, it doesn’t have to be. Unconventional relationships happen all the time. Lynsey and I are good together. These past several months have proven that fact. “Marriage doesn’t have to be that big of a deal, Jones. We can still be us but just…married.”
“And not in love,” she replies flatly, turning away from me and getting back to her food. I move to put my arm around her, but she holds her hand up, halting my motions. “I need some time and space to think about this, Josh.”
I nod and rub the back of my neck. “Do you want to come back to bed though maybe? It’s so early.”
She shakes her head. “If I do, I’ll go to my room.”
My heart lurches at that reply. Her room hasn’t been her room since we started having sex again. My room has been her room. And so ridiculously, unfairly, unimaginably…my chest aches at the sense of rejection cast over me.
Her hands tremble, and a horrible sense of guilt hits me for so many things. For getting her pregnant. For letting Dean get into my head. For my past changing me in a way where I can’t even fall in love with the perfect woman for me.
“I’m sorry, baby.” I try to take her hands, but she pulls away.
Shaking her head, she replies, “I know you are. But I can’t deal with this right now. I fall so easily into your arms, and I ignore the fact that you keep me at a distance.” She wipes her eyes, and my guts twist.
I screwed up monumentally here.
She adds, “Maybe I can think better if we take a step back again. My hormones are all over the place, and we both need to really think about what’s happening here and where this is going.”
She turns to leave the room, but I can’t let her go like this. Leaping after her, I stop her. “I’m here for you, Jones. For this baby. You want to think about it, and I get that. Just know this truly is what I want, and I think we could be happy together.”
She nods stiffly pulling her lip into her mouth, obviously doing her best not to cry as she leaves the room.
I just made the situation worse.
Fuck. I really am a dick.
“Oh, my God,” I groan as I double blink at the scale, hoping my eyes are deceiving me.
The nurse smiles. “Totally normal at thirty-four weeks pregnant.”
“Normal?” I exclaim, my jaw dropped in horror. “That much weight gain is normal? What’s abnormal?”
Josh shifts behind me.
I swing around, holding a finger up to him. “Don’t you dare look at the number on this scale, or I swear to the pie gods I will shank you with a well-sharpened plastic fork.”
Josh levels me with a flat look but smartly backs away.
The nurse writes the horrifying number down before guiding us to the exam room. Peanut wiggles, clearly doing everything he or she can do to find room in there because my pie butt is clearly having a pie baby.
“Just slip into this gown, and Dr. Lizzy will be in to see you guys soon,” the nurse says, her eyes checking out Josh who’s looking all hot and doctory in his work scrubs before she steps out of the room.
I change quickly in the bathroom and shuffle out feeling like a beached whale in a muumuu as I crawl up onto the exam table. “You get to stay hot and be checked out by cute nurses while I get to pork up and be optioned as inspiration for a Thanksgiving Day parade float.”
“Stop,” Josh grumbles, leaning back in his chair beside me. “You’re not fat. You’re pregnant. And even if you were fat, you’re still hot.”
“I don’t feel hot,” I groan and lift my gown, pointing at my belly. “I now have that weird vertical pregnancy line, and I’m certain my belly button will never look the same after this.”