All I Want

THE FEELING SHE’D been wrong dogged Meg all afternoon.

It shouldn’t. Charlie had been so ridiculous, so familiar. She’d wanted to reach across the table and bash him over the head. With what, she didn’t know, but reasonable “action plans” always made her want to rip her hair out.

And he had been a jerk, so she shouldn’t feel one second of regret over calling him on it.

But it was something in his expression after she’d said it, a kind of weary acceptance, one she recognized from her family simply refusing to see her. Eventually, you just accepted they weren’t going to.

Everything about that last minute with Charlie burrowed under her skin and she couldn’t itch it away or ignore it. Something was off, and she had a terrible feeling the fault rested with her even though he was the one insane enough to propose marriage.

A proposal. Ha! It was a stupid suggestion and she hadn’t been wrong to scoff at it. But she didn’t feel right about the way she’d treated him.

What had happened to doing what was best for her child? Being a responsible, mature adult? There hadn’t been a lot of that going on at that table. She’d reverted into old familiar patterns that weren’t particularly fair when it came to Charlie.

He was involved in making half this kid’s DNA and it seemed as though he was interested in being a part of the kid’s life. She had to find a way for that to work, marriage to a stranger aside.

So he was traditional. Either that or he didn’t have a high opinion of marriage and thought easy peasy, we’ll get married. She didn’t know, because she hadn’t listened enough to find out.

She’d been too busy freaking out, because what man in his right mind proposed marriage to a stranger?

“And you can keep going on and on in this idiotic mental circle or you can call the man and find out yourself.” She stared down at the herbs she’d been processing and took a deep breath.

Part of growing up—part of getting clean—had been realizing she needed to own up to her mistakes. Accept them, and then learn how to move on from them. But that was all her, and the thing about being pregnant, even if she was the one dealing with all the growing and laboring and whatnot, was that she hadn’t gotten here alone.

She had to deal with the father of the baby, had to be bigger than her knee-jerk reactions. She had to be the reasonable one if he wouldn’t. He may have been calm and sure, but he was not reasonable if he was proposing marriage.

So she couldn’t get nasty about it. She had to show him he was wrong. This would be the first step in learning how to be parents to the same child even though they obviously all but lived on different planets.

She grabbed her phone out of her back pocket, and his card that she’d crumpled into the front pocket of her jeans. She dialed the number before she could talk herself out of it, hoping the scent of lavender would keep her strong.

When he answered, his voice was skeptical and wary and she couldn’t even work up any irritation for it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Charlie. It’s Meg.” Mother of your child, some way, somehow. “I think this afternoon kind of spiraled away from us.”

“That’s a way of putting it, yes.”

Oh, that measured, reasoned way he spoke was so grating. But she would rise above it. She would. “So, I was wondering if we could try again. It’s pretty important, after all.”

“Yes, it is.”

She bit her tongue for a few humming seconds, literally held it between her teeth just to the point of wincing pain so she wouldn’t say something snippy.

“Are you free this evening?” he asked.

She blew out a breath. “Yes, are you too far to come out here? It might be easier to do in private, and I can’t really leave the goats alone that long without more notice.”

“The goats. Right. Um, no, that’s fine. I can come out to your place.”

“Okay. So...”

“I’ll bring some dinner. That is, if you’d like?”

She narrowed her eyes, allowing herself the snippy expression, since he couldn’t see it. But like the chicken sandwich order and telling her to eat it, she wondered. “Why are you offering to bring me dinner?”

“Why do I feel like the truth might actually get me into trouble here?”

She softened a little. He didn’t really embody the snooty aura he gave off—at least not all the time. She needed to remember he was also the man who’d danced with one of her goats. Even if the memory was fuzzy, and it was 100 percent the fault of alcohol, there had to be some semblance of a human being beneath the surface that reminded her all too much of the world she’d left behind.

But that surface was also a part of him, and she had to be careful about how much she let it influence her, how much she bent to it. So she forced her tone to be kind, even though she was refusing him. “I can feed myself, but I appreciate the offer.” She swallowed. “Do you remember how to get here?”

There was an odd silence, one that made her nerves jump at the idea of him being back here. Sober. Just the two of them. Doing the opposite of what they’d been doing last time they were here.

No goat dancing. No drinking. And 100 percent no sex.

“Yes, I remember.”

There was something about his voice, something she didn’t particularly notice when she was actually in his presence and he looked like he’d just gotten off a golf cart with her dad. A kind of steadiness, a surety. It was confidence, but not used as a weapon. Her parents’ surety in their decisions and their lives and their place in the world was usually wielded like brass knuckles. No, that was too undignified. One of those ancient but giant swords that could cut you in two with one well-practiced down-the-nose look.

Charlie’s confidence was different. Besides, he really hadn’t looked like Mr. Put-Together today, had he? He’d grown a beard that looked less like he was trying to fit in with the urban hipsters and more like he just couldn’t be bothered to shave. He’d looked... She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was oddly familiar, the expression, the different way he’d carried himself, and yet she couldn’t label it.