“Well, I don’t know about that,” I tell him. “I didn’t leave you much choice. I’m having a baby.”
“No,” he says. “In high school.”
I smile and shake my head, but then I realize he can’t see me, so I give him the verbal cue he’s looking for. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“I think I wanted to pin it on you because I didn’t want to admit that I might have avoided this whole thing if I’d acted differently back then.”
“Avoided what? Me being pregnant?” I don’t want to avoid being pregnant. I like where life has led me, and if he can’t handle it, that is not my problem.
“No,” he says. “Being without you for so many years.”
“Oh,” I say.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I loved you from the moment I met you at Homecoming and you told me you listened to Weezer.”
I laugh and work my way down to sit on the floor.
“And I broke up with you because I thought I was going to marry you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was nineteen and a freshman in college, and I thought, I have already met the girl I’m going to marry. And it scared me, you know? I remember thinking that I’d never sleep with anyone else. I’d never kiss another girl. I’d never do any of the things my friends at school were doing, things I wanted to do. Because I’d already met you. I’d already met the girl of my dreams. And you know, for one stupid moment in college, I thought that was a bad thing. So I let you go. And if I’m being completely honest, even though it makes me sound like a total jerk, I always thought I’d get you back. I thought I could break up with you and have my fun and be young, and then, when I was done, I’d go get you back. It never occurred to me that you have to hold those things sacred.”
“I didn’t know that,” I tell him.
“I know, because I never told you. And then, of course, I realized that I didn’t want any of those stupid college things, I wanted you, but when I came home for Christmas to tell you, you were already dating someone else. I should have blamed myself, but I blamed you. And I should have fought for you, but I didn’t. I felt rejected, and I turned to someone else.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No,” he says. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I keep chickening out. I see what I want, and I’m too scared to do what it takes to have it. I’m too much of an idiot to sacrifice the small stuff in order to have the big stuff. I love you, Hannah. More than I have ever loved anyone else. And I told you, when I got you back, that I would never again let anything get in the way.”
I nod to myself, even though I know he can’t see me.
“And what do I do? At the first sign of trouble, I back out.”
“It’s not that simple, Ethan. We started dating again, and within two weeks, I told you I was having another man’s baby. These are extenuating circumstances.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not sure I believe in extenuating circumstances, not when it comes to this.”
“You said it yourself,” I tell him. “Sometimes the timing just doesn’t work out.”
“I’m not sure I believe in that anymore, either,” he says. “Timing seems like an excuse. Extenuating circumstances is an excuse. If you love someone, if you think you could make them happy for the rest of your life together, then nothing should stop you. You should be prepared to take them as they are and deal with the consequences. Relationships aren’t neat and clean. They’re ugly and messy, and they make almost no sense except to the two people in them. That’s what I think. I think if you truly love someone, you accept the circumstances; you don’t hide behind them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I love you, and I want to be with you, and if you want to be with me, then nothing is going to stop me. Not timing, not babies, nothing. If you want to do this, if you want to be with me, I will take you in whatever form I can have you. I will love you just as you are. I won’t try to change a single thing about you.”
“Ethan, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do,” he says. With my back against the door, I can feel that he has stood up. I stand up with him. “Hannah, I believe you are the love of my life, and I’d rather live a life with forty babies that aren’t mine than be without you. I have missed you every day since I last saw you. I’ve missed you for years. I’m not saying this is an ideal situation. But I am saying that it’s one I’m on board for, if you’ll have me.”
“What happens when my baby is born?” I ask him.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I know I said that I wasn’t ready to be a father. But I keep thinking to myself, what if it was my baby? Would I behave differently? And I would. If you were pregnant by me, accident or not, I’d get ready.”
“And now?” I ask him through the door. “When it’s not your kid?”
“I’m not sure I see much of a difference anymore,” he says. “What you love, I love.”
I stare down at the floor. My hands are shaking.
“We can figure out how you want to play it,” he says. “I can be a dad or a stepdad or a friend or an uncle. I can help with all the classes and be there when you give birth, if you’ll let me. Or I can hang back, if that’s what you want. I’ll follow your lead. I’ll be the person you need me to be. Just let me be a part of this, Hannah. Let me be with you.”
I put my hands on the door to steady them. I feel as if I might fall down. “I don’t know what to say,” I tell him.
“Say how you feel,” he says.
“I feel confused,” I say. “And surprised.”
“Sure,” he says.
“And I feel like maybe we can do this.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I feel like maybe this was how it was supposed to go all along.”
“Yeah?” he says. I can feel the joy in his voice as it vibrates through the door.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe I was meant to have this baby. And I was meant to be with you. And everything is happening the way it’s supposed to.” What I believe to be fated seems to fall perfectly in line with what I want to be true at any given moment. But I think that’s OK. I think that’s hope. “It’s messy,” I tell him. “You said earlier that it’s messy, and you’re right. It’s messy.”
“Messy is OK,” he says. “Right? We can do messy.”
“Yeah,” I say, tears now falling down my face. “We can do messy.”
“Open the door, sweetheart, please,” he says. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say. But I don’t open the door.
“Hannah?” Ethan says.
“I’m fat now,” I tell him.
“That’s OK.”
“No, really, I’m growing a double chin.”
“I have back acne,” he says. “Nobody’s perfect.”
I laugh through my tears. “Are you sure you can be with a fat lady?”
“What did I tell you?” he says. “I told you that you could gain four hundred pounds and I’d want to be with you.”
“And you meant it?”
“I meant it.”
I open the door to see Ethan standing on the stoop. He is wearing a light blue T-shirt and dark jeans. His eyes are glassy, and his mouth is smiling wide. He has a box of cinnamon rolls in his hand.
“You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” he says, and then he steps into the house, and he kisses me. And for the first time in my life, I know I have done everything right.
THREE MONTHS LATER
I can walk now. Without a walker. On my own. I use a cane sometimes, when I’m tired or sore. But it never holds me back. Sometimes I walk to the convenience store down the street to get a candy bar, not because I want the candy bar but because I appreciate the walk to get one.