Four and a half months

Sonya is four and a half months pregnant now. I can see the bump when she's not hiding it under baggy clothes. It's real. She's real. This is happening whether I like it or not.

I went to therapy this week like I promised. Dr. Bernini asked about my feelings about the baby. I told her I'm excited. Terrified but ready. That I'm trying to be present.

What I didn't tell her is that I spent the session thinking about Simona. That I took Sonya's hand while talking about commitment and inside I was calculating whether Simona would ever look at me the way Sonya does.

The gym has become a problem. I go there to see Simona. I pretend it's for the workout. But I'm there at her class time. I'm in the back watching. She knows. I think she knows. She's started moving to the other side of the room when I come in. Teaching away from me.

It's working though. This distance. It makes me want her more.

Sonya mentioned taking a maternity leave in a few months. Staying home with the baby. The thought of that—of her being home all day waiting for me, needing me, depending on me—made my chest tight. Made me want to run.

Instead I said: "Whatever makes you feel safe, I support that."

She looked at me with so much gratitude. Like I'd said something profound. Like supporting her was actually generous instead of just the bare minimum of not being a complete bastard.

I don't love her. I think I've known this for months. But I'm good at saying the things that make her believe I do. And right now, that's enough.