“We’ll figure it out.” I reach for her hand. “Somehow. I want to be with you.”

“What we want and what…what is right aren’t always the same.”

My heart lurches in my chest.

“Maybe…” she continues. “Maybe our time was always off for a reason.”

“No,” I disagree.

She wipes tears from her face and turns back around. “Sit with me?”

“Of course.” I put my arm around her and we go back to the bench. Chloe keeps her arms tight against her body , staring out at the lake. A few minutes pass in silence.

“If the baby is yours,” Chloe starts, voice thin. “Then what?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I’ll do my part in raising it.”

“Would you want to be with Stacey then?”

“No,” I answer right away. “I want to be with you.”

“Is that going to cause problems between you and Stacey? She could be the mother of your child.”

Hearing it said out loud like that makes my stomach twist. “She’ll have to figure out a way to deal with it. We got along well enough to…to…”

“Have meaningless sex?” Chloe supplies.

“Yes,” I admit ruefully, though there’s no point in sugar coating anything. Chloe knew about Stacey from the start.

“It was always no-strings between us. I knew it wouldn’t even work out because I was always in love with you.”

Chloe just nods and lets her head fall against my shoulder. It feels so good to have her against me, and the thought of her not coming back kills me.

“Does anyone else know?” Her voice is small and thin.

“Jacob,” I tell her.

“Are you going to tell your mom? She’ll be excited.”

“Maybe. She’s never met Stacey. No one in my family has. We dated on and off for years but I never took her home to meet my family. I really did try and keep things causal.”

“And now you’re sharing the biggest commitment with her. I’m sorry,” she apologizes again. “I don’t meant to sound petty or bitchy.” She pushes her hair back. “I’m coming off as super selfish too. If the baby is yours, then you should be there. I want you with me, but again, what we want isn’t always the right thing. The baby will need you, and I know you’re going to be an amazing father for that child.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and try to find the words that will make everything okay. I come up empty handed and instead take Chloe’s hand, holding it and never wanting to beat go.

Her phone chirps with a reminder about her flight.

“I need to get my stuff and get to the airport.”

“I’ll drive you.” I stand and hold out my hand to help her to her feet.

“No, it’s um, it’s okay. I think…I think we need to take some time and think about things.”

“How much time do you need?”

The wind blows her hair over her face. “I don’t know.”

“This does’t have to change anything between us.”

She blinks away her tears. “But it does.”

25

Chloe

“Nervous flyer?”

Blinking a few times, I look up at the older woman sitting in the aisle across from me on the plane. The red-eye from Chicago to LA isn’t full, and we’re waiting for two more passengers to board before the flight attendants do their demonstrations on flight safety so we can take off.

“Yeah,” I tell the woman, knowing it’s the easy response.

“Would you like me to sit next to you so you’re not alone?”

I was excited to get a row to myself, actually, but this old lady is sweet and kind. Maybe the universe is throwing me a bone.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. It’s late and I’m going to try and sleep.”

“Well, honey, you just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” I repeat.

“Are you from California or are you visiting someone?”

“I’m from there and I’m going home.” I pull another sweater from my carry-on bag to ball up and use as a pillow. I want nothing more than to fall asleep and dream about Marcus and Kellie and their stable, healthy relationship, though I know I won’t be able to sleep. Maybe having this cute old lady move into my row wouldn’t be a bad thing. Talking is a good distraction.

“I’m going to visit my granddaughter. She’s having a baby!”

Well played, universe, well played.

“Congratulations.”

The old woman beams. “It’s my first great-granddaughter. I just got the call that my Abigail started having contractions a few hours ago. I knew I couldn’t wait so I bought a plane ticket and here I am!”

“I hope you make it in time,” I say and then realize that sounds weird.

“I’d love to see the birth, but if not, I’ll get to give my great-granddaughter all the hugs.”

“Your granddaughter and great-granddaughter sound lucky to have you.”

The final two passengers get on the plane, and I pull my hood up, not wanting to be bothered or reminded about babies. It’s late, most people on the plane seem as tired as I am, and with not even half the seats being full, it’s quiet in here. I put in my earbuds and rest my head against my balled-up sweatshirt, tears welling in my eyes.

What a freaking month this weekend has been. I need to break things down and try to process them, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like crying. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m an emotional person. I think being emotional—overly emotional at times too—makes me a good writer. I can put myself in my characters’ situations, feeling what they feel and acting it out as if I’m there.

But I also cry when I get really frustrated, which annoys me because so many people still think crying means you’re weak. Everyone has moments of weakness every once in a while, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I think showing emotion, putting yourself out there open to criticism makes you a hell of a lot braver than bottling everything up and acting like you’re okay.

And right now, I’m far from okay.

I drop my bags in the kitchen and walk through my large, empty house, going upstairs to my bedroom. I’m always a little freaked out to come home to an empty house after I’ve been away from a while. I have a top-of-the-line security system, so logically, I know no one could be in the house without setting off the alarm. I can go through the activity log from the last few days too and make sure no doors or windows have been opened, giving myself peace of mind.

It’s nights like this that make me consider getting a dog, and a big one at that. I should shower and go to bed, but I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. So instead, I go back into the kitchen, dig out my laptop from my bag, and get out a bottle of Merlot. I pour a big glass of wine and start looking at rescue dogs available for adoption in my area.

I’m already an emotional mess, tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed. Add in the wine, and looking at sad, homeless dogs probably isn’t a good idea. I blink away tears, drink more wine, and start to fill out an adoption application.