Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I brushed past him and opened the door.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
I offered no response, just a blank look. He needed to figure it out on his own. I had my hands full with passing my classes and growing a human being.
“Is this all about Laurel?”
“Nope. It’s about me, so deal with it.”
“I can’t hear you!” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Please, just write it down.”
Again, I signed, “Go away.”
Ben hung his head and strode toward the stairs. I closed the door, resting my forehead against it. “Oh, baby, your dad’s an ass.” I pressed a hand to my belly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
BAD ENGLISH, “WHEN I SEE YOU SMILE”
Gabby
The next morning, I opened my door to shower before my first class. On the floor in the hallway was a sack. I pulled out a cup of tea that smelled like ginger and honey, a banana, and a breakfast sandwich with eggs and sausage. There was a note folded inside as well.
Dear Gabby,
If you need me, I’m staying with Jason. My bed was still available. I’m an excellent study partner if you need help. How are your feet? I give good foot rubs, and I can braid hair. So if we have a girl, you won’t have to do all the braiding.
Love,
Benjamin Ashford, baby daddy in training
I didn’t want to smile. He had a long way to go before earning any part of my happiness.
After enjoying my breakfast, I showered and hurried to my first class. Instead of going back to my dorm room between classes, I grabbed lunch and hid in the library. I wasn’t ready to risk seeing Ben.
Of course, I was mad about Laurel.
Of course, I questioned if he would have come had I not been pregnant.
Of course, I loved him.
But it really wasn’t about him, and I needed to always remember that.
When I returned to the dorm after my last class, there was another sack with an orange, trail mix (my favorite kind with chocolate instead of raisins), and a baby name book. I tried not to think about Ben casting me aside for Laurel. It hurt to feel disposable and replaceable.
I was young and selfish, which meant I wanted to take an imperfect situation and paint it in gold and glitter. What if Ben had opened every letter the second they arrived, and without hesitation, he hastily wrote me back? A yearning to the urgency in which we communicated. What if he rushed back to Michigan the second he learned of my pregnancy? And when he arrived, I was blown away that he’d been learning to read lips and sign.
My imagination was as vast as the divide I felt between us. But no matter the distance, our baby tethered me to him. It felt inevitable that I would drown before we found common ground, an island to save us.
Over the following week, Ben left meals and snacks along with the occasional note, always signed Benjamin Ashford, baby daddy in training.
He wanted to know the date and time of my next doctor visit, if my feet were swelling, how much water I was drinking, and if I’d felt the baby move. I resisted the temptation to answer him in any form. Ben’s gestures, while sweet, were low-hanging fruit. I needed something more.
Friday after my last class, I took a nap, but before I reached the good kind of sleep where I drooled and had vivid dreams, someone knocked at my door. I yawned while opening it. Ben held a plant, not flowers or a box of candy, a green houseplant.
“Spider plants clean the air,” he said, stepping inside uninvited. “How are you feeling today?” he asked, setting the plant on the floor by the window.
When he faced me, I said, “okay.”
Tiny lines formed across his forehead and he scraped his teeth along his bottom lip. “I hope you said fine, great, fabulous, or something like that. I won’t ask you to write it down, since that ended poorly for me last time.” He scratched his scruffy jaw.
I tried not to grin at his goofy gesture.
“Can I see our baby?”
I rolled my eyes.
“You know what I mean. Your belly.”
I frowned. There wasn’t much to see, but I sat on my bed and leaned backward, legs dangling over the side. Then I lifted my shirt. Ben hesitated for a few seconds before sitting next to me. He rested his hand on my belly above my navel, too high to feel my bump. So I took his hand and slid it beneath the waist of my sweatpants, over my uterus.
He smiled, cheeks a little pink, eyes sparkling. But I kept a neutral face because I was still mad at him. My heart skipped when he ducked his head and pushed down the front of my sweats so he could press his lips to my tiny bump.