Spring [Completed]

FORTY-ONE

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HER

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tense
adjective
1. (of a situation, event, etc.) causing or showing anxiety and nervousness.

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The scent of Ethan's car freshener makes me nauseated as I sit in the passenger seat of his truck. The air is suffocating as we sit in silence, the soft glow of the stop light filling the space between us. Time moves agonizingly slow as the monotonous clicking of his turn signal turns my brain to mush.

I sigh, opening my phone and quickly closing it when I realize I have no one that I want to talk to. The only person I want to talk to is sitting right beside me. We spent an hour at the obstetrician's office together and I still haven't gotten the courage to say more than hi to him.

It took me months to come up with a convincing enough lie to get him to drive me, and now I've got less than ten minutes left with him and I'm completely blowing it.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm turning on the radio, flipping through stations. I stop when I come across a song I haven't heard in years. If I'm not mistaken, it came out the summer Ethan and I got together. Out of the corner of my eye, I peer over at him, wondering if he's remembering all the memories associated with this song.

He doesn't look at me, keeping his eyes trained firmly on the road as the light turns green. I hum the music a little louder as my favorite part approaches, and my heart skips a beat when I catch the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile. The hope that arises in me dies swiftly afterwards as he shuts off the music to my dismay.

"I don't like that song," he mumbles in response to my protest. He doesn't look at me, and I don't say a word.

Tears prick my eyes as I try to hold in my disappointment. I close my eyes, resting my hands on my belly as I regain my resolve.

"Thanks again for giving me a ride, Ethan. I really appreciate it." I try my best to smile as he nods, sighing softly.

"Yeah, well I didn't want you driving that truck with no A/C. Especially with how hot it's been lately." Ethan runs a hand through his hair, glancing at me with an expression of indifference. "It wouldn't be good for the baby."

"Right." For the baby. I nod sourly as I turn away from him and stare out the window. The world zooms by in a blur as my chest tightens with the promise of fresh tears. I hold them back, not wanting to get so emotional over a man who clearly doesn't want anything to do with me. I know this is my own fault and I can't be mad at anyone but myself, and yet, it hurts.

Pregnancy is supposed to be a beautiful thing. Something that inspires hope and fills everyone with joy. It's supposed to be a good thing, a happy thing, but all this pregnancy has done is reminded Ethan and I of a life we could've had together. It's a constant reminder of the secrets that I kept, a reminder that to him I'm no longer a lover, but an obligation.

Ethan clears his throat, and heat burns my cheeks as I sit up, realizing that we've arrived. A sadness settles inside me as I realize I missed my shot. I only ever see him once every two weeks at the obstetrician or when he and Cara make plans to see one another.