Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
The hurt in his eyes is unmistakable, and I know it should make me happy to see him pained, just like I am, but it doesn’t.
“Are we ready to order?” The waitress asks, and I’m too busy gazing into his sad eyes that I didn’t even see her come over.
“No,” we both respond at the same time, and I watch her retreat out of the corner of my eye while Josh stares my way, silently.
“You have every right to hate me,” he pleads. “I’m thankful when you saw me yesterday you didn’t turn away, and I’m even more relieved you agreed to go on a date with me-”
“This isn’t a date,” I interrupt, shaking my head. “You should know that I’m sort of seeing someone.”
“You are?” His face falls. “Is… is it serious?”
“No,” I sigh at my natural instinct of wanting to immediately cheer him up, and I curse myself. I should have lied.
“Good,” he relaxes.
“You have no right,” I protest. “Not when-”
“I’m no longer married,” he interrupts, reaching into his suit pocket and throwing an envelope on the table. It slides my way quickly, nearly falling off. “The kid wasn’t mine,” he takes out a second envelope, also sliding it my way. It pushes the other, and they both fall onto my lap.
I shut my mouth, swallowing hard.
“He didn’t look anything like me,” he explains. “I knew it. I saw it in your face when you saw him. I saw it on everyone’s faces, and one day, after she continued to deny it, I saw the guy he looked like,” he laughs quietly. “I was relieved. How fucked up is that?” He’s not looking for an answer, which is good, because I’m too stunned to give one.
“When I told you I filed for divorce I really did. It’s all in there,” he nods at the envelopes. “I never stopped the process. I just didn’t continue it after I found out about her pregnancy. It was a mistake,” he continues. “The paperwork officially went through last January,” he swallows. “That other envelope is the paternity test.”
I pick up the envelopes and push them back his way.
“Don’t you even want to see?” His expression is a mix of shock and worry.
“When did you decide to divorce your wife?”
“The summer I told you,” he answers, his eyes pleading. “The summer before I met you.”
“But you stopped the process when you found out she was pregnant?” It’s half question, half statement.
“I never really stopped it,” he explains, and I give him a doubtful look. “I didn’t push it through. I was waiting until after the child was born. I was waiting until I saw how things settled. I was trying to do what was right for the kid!”
“But you went back to her!” I clench my teeth.
“After graduation and for a very brief time,” he clarifies. “And nothing happened.”
“Right,” I roll my eyes.
“It didn’t work out. It never could work out, even after the kid,” he sighs. “I was too into you.”
“I’m not the blame,” I spit.
“No,” he shakes his head. “You’re the reason.”
I don’t even try to understand what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.
“When did you find out the kid wasn’t yours?” I demand.
“September,” he answers, slowly and carefully.
“Of what year?” I match his tone.
“I saw you at graduation in June, and by September,” he whispers, knowing exactly what I’m implying, but I spell it out anyway.
“And you waited all this time?” I can’t help the tremble of my lips.
“You have to understand,” he pleads. “You were already in Italy. I knew what would happen! You would have come back,” he looks at me, confirming that yes, that’s exactly what I would’ve done, saving me years of heartache. “And after what I did to you how could I let that happen? How could I be that selfish? To have you throw away the rest of your life, after how I treated you?”
“How dare you decide that for me!” I slam my fist on the table before lowering my voice. “How dare you not even tell me?” I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair, desperately trying not to cry.
“When I heard about you getting into school last minute, and being able to go to Italy for the semester, I was so happy for you,” he leans forward. “And then when you returned, you went to Boston. It sounded like you had a life.”
“How do you even know what I’ve been up to?” I demand angrily.
He looks at me carefully before answering. “Gracie.”
“What?” My voice is a breathless whisper.
“I’d find her in the hall and ask about you,” he confesses. “She agreed to tell me things as long as I promised not to reach out. She said I don’t deserve you, that I hurt you too much.”
My jaw is practically on the floor.