Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
His eyes shifted to the customers at the other end of the bar. They were too busy yelling at a horse race on one of the TVs to pay us any mind. Though my brother lowered his voice anyway. “I think most of parenting you learn as you go, and most advice people give isn’t worth shit because every situation is different. But there is one important thing I learned that’s worth sharing.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t make someone else happy unless you’re happy yourself. After Anne died, I spent years pretending I was happy for Olivia’s sake. But she knew the truth—kids always do. Once I allowed myself to feel happiness again, I saw a change in my daughter. She was lighter, laughed more. Of course that was before the teen years set in, but I think you get what I’m saying. I hope things work out with Wilder, if that’s what you want. But if they don’t, focus on finding happiness for yourself. The best gift you can give your kid is showing them not to dwell on the things we can’t change and live life to the fullest, even if it’s not the one you planned.”
I kissed my brother’s cheek. “Thanks, Will.”
“Congratulations, Peaty. You’re going to be a great mom.”
* * *
Later that night, I climbed into bed exhausted at nine o’clock. I’d spent yet another day rushing around, trying to outrun my thoughts. What I needed was some mindless TV and a good night’s rest. So I flicked on the television and went directly to one of the channels that was always good for reality TV. Except Say Yes to the Dress was on, and the bridal boutique they were in reminded me of the morning Wilder had shown up unexpectedly to help me keep my appointment to sell my old wedding gown.
I sighed and flicked to another channel. Love Island was on that one—and the guy currently flirting with a curvy blonde was British. I jabbed my thumb at the remote a third time and a movie flickered on—where the woman was pregnant. That was it for my attempt at mindless relaxation. I turned the TV off, forcing my eyes shut.
But a few minutes later, my phone buzzed from my nightstand. Wilder’s name flashed on the screen. Just seeing it made my heart beat faster. It had been a few days since his last uninspired text, so I was certain this would just be another four-word letdown—how are you feeling? or whatever. Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself for disappointment yet again.
Wilder: Could we talk?
I sat up in bed. Could we talk? It didn’t sound very promising. But at this point, any outcome was better than the unknown. So I texted back.
Sloane: Of course. When?
Wilder: Are you busy now?
Oh God. My stomach rolled. As much as I needed to know where he stood, I was also terrified. I reached for the lamp and switched on the light. We usually FaceTimed, but I considered suggesting a call so he wouldn’t see me get upset. But screw it, I had every right to cry. Served him right. Though I should be prepared with some tissues.
Sloane: No, just give me a minute and I’ll FaceTime you.
He typed back before my feet had even hit the floor.
Wilder: Would it be okay if we talked in person?
My brows furrowed.
Sloane: You’re in New York?
Wilder: I’m downstairs. I came straight from the airport and took a chance you’d be home.
My eyes widened. I jumped to look out my bedroom window. Sure enough, Wilder was standing on the sidewalk. I watched him pace back and forth a few times, emotions twisting a knot inside me.
Two weeks of four-word texts and he just shows up with no advance notice?
He took a chance I’d be home? What else does a pregnant woman do on a Saturday night?
He’s come to tell me in person that he wants nothing to do with us.
Us.
My heart squeezed. I wasn’t a me anymore. I was an us.
I was so busy worrying about a dozen things that could happen, that I forgot what was actually happening and didn’t respond right away. Eventually, my phone buzzed again.
Wilder: I should’ve called. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. I can come back tomorrow, if you want.
I might not be able to focus enough to respond to a text, but I knew for damn sure that I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I turned him away. There was no point in prolonging things any more.
Sloane: I’ll buzz you in.
Living on the fourth floor of a walk-up at least gave me a minute or two of lead time. I went to the bathroom, ran my fingers through my unwashed hair, and swiped at what I thought was day-old smeared mascara under my eyes. But it turned out it wasn’t makeup; it was dark circles from lack of sleep.