Fortuity (Transcend 3)

“I know.” He grabs the remote from the table and tries to angle it around me to turn back on the TV.

“Wait … what? How can you know? I just found out I’m not pregnant, but that doesn’t change anything because I love Nate and Morgan, and Nate adores you and we will all be very happy together and …” I stop my rambling as my brain echoes his words again. “Wait … how did you know that we’re moving? And why aren’t you making an argument for staying?”

“No reason.” He manages to get the TV turned back on. “Can you please move?”

“Did Nate call you?”

He huffs. “No. We’re moving. Aren’t you happy?”

Yes. No. Dammit! What is going on? I’m emotionally drowning in devastation that I’m not pregnant. And at the same time, Gabe has surrendered to moving, which is exactly what I wanted. The extreme swing of the pendulum leaves me dizzy, but the forty-something hormones win, and I just need a good cry. So I lock myself in my room, flop onto the bed, bury my face in a pillow, and cry.

When the tears stop, and I let my thoughts move past the fact that I’m not pregnant—since two weeks ago, I didn’t know I wanted to be pregnant—I splash water on my face and call Nate.

He doesn’t answer. I’m not sure a text is the way to tell him, but I have to tell him.

Hi.

Gabe has agreed to move, but it will just be the two of us.

I’m forty-two. He’s forty-seven. Is it a good idea to start an eighteen-year process at this stage in our lives?

Still …

I let my heart go there. I let it dive off the cliff to the deepest depths of my imagination, reawakening old dreams with a bright new light.

And now …

I feel the loss of something I never had. I feel the loss of a dream all over again and … it hurts.

When I leave my room, Gabe pokes his head out of his bedroom. “Want to go Rollerblading?”

Gabe … Gabe … Gabe …

The men in my life are pretty damn spectacular—my dad, Mr. Hans, Nate, and Gabe. When one can’t be here for me, another one steps in.

“Yeah.” I smile. “I’d love to go Rollerblading.”

We drive to Mission Bay and hop on the trail.

“Will I be in Morgan’s class … in school?”

I glance over at him. Where did this come from? “I don’t know. I’m sure it depends on the size of the school. You’ll probably have different teachers and different groups of kids for each class. So there’s a chance you might have at least one class with her. Is that … okay?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

After a few miles, we find a bench and grab a drink, watching the beachgoers covering nearly every inch of sand.

My phone vibrates and I pluck it from the pocket of my shorts. It’s Nate. I send it to voicemail. If I hear his voice, I’ll cry.

A few seconds later, my screen lights up with a text from him.

Morgan told me he said yes to coming. I assumed that meant yes to the other question. Call me.

I slip my phone back into my pocket before my emotions take a bad turn again.

“Feels like an ice cream day. Don’t you think?”

Gabe grins. “Definitely.”

We get ice cream, grab some fish to grill for dinner tonight, and head home. Mr. Hans does a great job of acting surprised when Gabe tells him we’re moving. However, my surprise to Gabe’s slight enthusiasm is very real.

After we finish the dinner dishes, I grab a shower, tell Gabe goodnight, and snuggle in my bed with my phone to call Nate before it gets any later. It’s already eleven there. He’s probably asleep.

“Hey,” he answers on the third ring.

“Am I waking you?”

“No. I’m just reading. How … are you?”

“Fine,” I say immediately.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I wipe a few tears he can’t see.

“I guess we never discussed this. Really discussed this. I’m forty-seven. You’re—”

“I know. I’m forty-two. It was probably a little insane, something that felt like a good idea in a time of passion. It doesn’t matter now. For some unexplainable reason, Gabe is okay with moving, so the rest doesn’t matter.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Unless it does.”

I laugh while wiping more tears. “My uterus probably doesn’t work. I’m not sure why I felt like I could get pregnant.”

“Did you really want to be?”

Yes.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Gracelyn, quit saying that. It matters to me.”

“Well, it shouldn’t.”

“But it does. We should have talked about it. Really talked about it. And now I’m worried you’re not telling me how you feel. You can—”

“Yes!” I cover my mouth, hoping Gabe didn’t hear me. My lips quiver, holding in the sobs.

“You wanted a baby,” he whispers.

I nod several times before I can speak without completely losing it. “Yes.”