Wilde by Abby Brooks

Chapter Six

Amy

It’s barely seven a.m. when the shimmy of my phone across the nightstand drags me from the most amazing dream. Forcing my eyes open, I swipe at the device and stare blearily at the screen. In a flurry of incoming texts that can only mean he’s hitting send before he’s decided what to say, Avery informs me that he’s ‘thought a lot about it’ and ‘knows what we need to do.’ That’s right—in little more than three hours, he’s figured out what we need to do. Emphasis on ‘we.’

Did we unbreak-up at some point and I forgot? Or is this just another example of him not accepting my boundaries? Through a sleepy haze, I step through our conversation. How does he not understand this isn’t helpful?

He can’t help me. His chapter in my life is over. No ellipses necessary.

Unwilling to trade my good dream for drama, I set my phone to silent and close my eyes.

* * *

When I wake again a couple hours later, I find ten newmessages plus a half-dozen posts and DM’s across social media. All from Avery. Then, like a cherry on top, an email with a subject line so laced with guilt he knew there’s no chance I wouldn’t read it. Aww, how’d he guess what I need most right now is more anxiety?

By the time my vision comes into focus, so does the rumble in my belly, so I wander downstairs to see if there’s any lasagna left in the fridge. Two bites in and my salivary glands jump into overdrive, warning me to stop. I brace against the counter as a wave of nausea rattles me to the core. After a quick diversion to the bathroom to purge everything I’ve ever eaten, I crawl back into bed and close my eyes. Alas, sleep won’t come, so I pick up my phone and open Avery’s email.

From: Avery McIntire

To: Amy Sinclair

Subject: If anything we had was real, if you ever cared for me at all, please respond.

Amy—

I’m trying so hard to understand what you need. After almost two months of silence, you probably think I should have moved on. But what about the year and a half we have behind us?

Remember how great life was after we synchronized our schedules. That’s what bothers me most. If you could have seen us from a distance, you know what you would’ve seen? The perfect couple, Amy. How else do you explain the way we always agreed on everything? Like actually everything. Can you remember once in our entire relationship, when we ever had an argument? Except for the night you broke up with me.

Face it, we’re perfect together. When I think of us, I see our next thirty years all mapped out. We’ll be just like my parents.

It’s not too late. We’ve already built a solid foundation, Ames.

I can’t understand how what happened to you, happened. But it doesn’t matter because it did and there’s no changing that now. I believe in us enough to leave the past where it belongs. With one small procedure, we could pretend the whole thing never happened. Or not, if you’re not ready to tackle the problem that way.

Let’s face it, either way you’re going to need help. Raising a baby by yourself isn’t easy under the best circumstances. But you went and got yourself knocked up by some random asshole. If you ask me, I’d say that puts you about as far from the best circumstances as humanly possible.

What I’m trying to get at is that we’ve come too far to give up now. We’re supposed to be together. What we had was solid. Don’t throw it away. Let me step back in and take care of you. And the baby, if that’s what you choose. It’s the right thing to do and I’m willing.

Be practical.

-Avery.

“No,” I whisper to myself. “Just no.” I toss my phone back onto the bedside table in disgust.

Be practical? Really, Avery? Oh, to be the lucky girl who receives your wedding proposal. I can hear it now.

“Amy, statistically our retirement plans would perform better if we consolidated them.”

“Oh Avery, what are you suggesting?” I ask, with bated breath.

“Be practical. Marriage of course.”

What an ass.

* * *

I spend the rest of the day ignoring my phone and go to bed early. The next morning, tired of being alone with my thoughts and feeling desperate for human-to-human contact, I scroll through my messages, looking for someone to ping.

Morgan? I open our thread and bring up the keyboard, but no. She’s Avery’s friend too, and he’s probably already told her everything. Explaining and justifying my version of what happened sounds exhausting, especially because I know she’ll side with him. She always does. The message from the number I didn’t know scrolls by—Shit! I never responded to Leo. And it’s been almost two days…

I open the message and add his number to my contacts, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard as I consider different ways to break the ice.

Hey bro, sorry for the delay, I guess you’re as forgettable to me as I was to you.

While satisfying, that one feels too bitchy, considering my goal isn’t to chase him away completely. After a dozen or so other fails, I opt for something simple, then hit send before I chicken out.

Me: I’m glad you changed your mind. Want to meet for lunch sometime to talk?

Within a minute, my phone buzzes with his reply.

Leo Wilde (with an E): Today’s good for me. When and where?

Today? Okay, maybe I didn’t think this through.

I look myself over in the mirror. I am in no condition to be seen. Like, pull the drapes and keep to the shadows, bad. Mortified, I swipe at my hair like that would help. On top of looking like I gave up on life three years ago, there’s the small detail that I can’t keep anything more than crackers down until evening. Why the hell did I have to suggest lunch? Thank goodness I already have a list of everything we need to talk about.

Ugh.

I check the time—five minutes after eleven. Biting my lip, I turn back to the mirror and decide I can probably squeak by without showering, but the mess of straw on the top of my head is going to take some serious creativity.

I google places nearby and spot a new burger joint that’s within walking distance. Plinky’s? I haven’t heard a single thing about it, which makes me slightly uncomfortable, but it checks off the major boxes.

Nearby? Check.

Lowkey? It’s a burger joint named Plinky’s. If it’s not lowkey, then I don’t understand the world. Judges ruling…and…Yes! They’re going to allow it. Check.

Me: How about one o’clock? I’ll send you the address.

Well shit. If the Avery conversation went that badly, I can’t even imagine how this conversation will go. I know what I want. For my baby’s father to be in its life. After growing up with only one parent, I don’t want my child to go through that.

The problem? I’m not sure I want anything to do with the father.