Twisted (Tangled 2)

In this market, it shouldn’t take long.”

“No, Drew—I said I want to move out. Alone. I want to get my own apartment.”

his brow furrows. “Why would want to do that?”

You’re probably wondering the same thing. I’ve been thinking about it, planning it out in my head, since I decided I wanted to keep the baby, with or without Drew. Because there are different kinds of dependence. I’ve always wanted to be financially secure, and now I am. But I’ve never been emotionally independent. On my own. And at this point in my life, it’s something I want.

If only to prove to myself that I’m capable of it.

“I’ve never lived by myself. Did you know that?”

Still bewildered, he says, “O-kay?”

“First year of undergrad, I lived in the dorms. Then Dee, Billy, and I and a bunch of other people got a place off campus. After that, it was always me and Billy or me, Dee, and Billy sharing a house or an apartment. And then, I moved in here with you.”

Drew leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s your point, Kate?’ “My point is, I’ve never not had someone to come home to.

I’ve never decorated or bought a piece of furniture without consulting someone. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve practically never slept alone.”

he opens his mouth to argue, but I go on, “And . . . I think you made a valid point about us rushing into things. We went from a weekend hook-up to living together overnight.”

“And look how great that turned out! I know what I want, and I want you. There was no point in waiting, because—”

“But maybe there would’ve been a point in waiting, Drew.

Maybe we would’ve had a stronger foundation to our relationship if we had just . . . dated . . . for a while before moving in together. Maybe, if we had gone slower, none of this would’ve happened.”

he’s annoyed. And a little panicked. he’s trying to hide it, but it’s there.

“You said you forgave me.”

“I have. But . . . I haven’t forgotten.”

he shakes his head. “That’s just chick-speak for you’re going to hang this shit over my head for the rest of our lives!”

he’s got a point. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small part of me that wants to drive the point home—that he can’t treat me any way he wants to. That there are consequences to his actions.

That if he ever screws up again, I can—and will—leave him.

But it’s not just about that.

“You want to redecorate?” he asks. “Be my guest. You want to paint the walls pink and put unicorn f**king sheets on the bed? I won’t say a word.”

Now I’m shaking my head. “I need to know I can do this, Drew. For me. And . . . when our son or daughter moves out on their own, I want to know what that feels like, so I can help them.”

At this point, I expect Drew to agree to pretty much anything I want him to.

Women know when they have the upper hand. You know what I mean. The days after your husband forgot your anniversary, or your boyfriend spent one too many hours at the bar with his boys watching the game. The days following an argument, when the win is in the female’s column, are peaceful. Loving. Men go out of their way to be thoughtful and considerate. They put their shoes in the closet, take out the garbage without being asked, and remember to put the seat up before they pee.

So although I realize Drew’s not going to be happy with my reasoning, I imagine he’ll still be understanding and helpful.

“Well, that’s f**king stupid!”

Not exactly what I’d imagined.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Not to me, it’s not.”

he jumps to his feet. “Then you’re insane!” he pushes a hand through his hair and regains his composure.

When he speaks, his words are calm, reasonable; the levelheaded businessman making his pitch. “Okay . . . let’s agree the last few days have been pretty emotional. And you’re pregnant—you’re not thinking clearly. When Alexandra was pregnant she wanted to chop all her hair off, Miley Cyrus style. The hairdresser talked her out of it, and in the end she was glad. So . . . let’s put a tack in this idea . . . and revisit it later.”

I sigh. “This will be good for us. We’ll still see each other every day, but a little time apart, some space . . .”

“You told your mother you didn’t need space. That we needed to be frigging together to work through this.”

“That was then,” I say with a shrug. Then I go for the old reliable, “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose. “So . . . you’re going to prove you’re never going to leave me . . . by leaving me?”

“No. I’m going to prove I’ll never leave you . . . by coming back to you.”

Drew pulls the front of his pants away from his waist and looks down. “Nope—still got a dick. Which explains a lot, because your reasoning would only make sense to a woman.”

I roll my eyes. And Drew presses on, “You’re f**king pregnant, Kate! We’re having a baby. Now is not the time to take a step back and figure out if you want to be in a relationship!”

I take his hand and sit him down next to me on the couch.

“Do you remember everything you did, before I moved in here?