To say that it’s been a long week and a half would be an understatement. Each passing second feels like a minute. A minute feels like an hour. An hour feels like a day. And well a day feels like an eternity.

Which means we’ve gone through ten eternities since that night. The night I hate thinking about.

I know I should just rip off the Band-Aid and ask him what the hell his deal was. Find out what was so horrible in his life that he had to swan dive off the deep end and straight into a bottle of whiskey.

But I can’t. Because the moment I do is the moment the flood gates open. And once the dam of a pregnant woman breaks, there’s no closing it. Your hormones overthrow all semblance of logical thinking, and it’s nearly impossible to keep your sanity in check.

We’ve gotten pretty good at pretending.

And I kind of hate myself for allowing it to go on as long as it has.

I’m in the kitchen smothering a waffle with peanut butter when I hear the floor creak beneath someone’s feet behind me. My adrenaline spikes and I spin on my heel, holding the gooey butter knife out in front of my body like a weapon.

Oh, sweet Jesus. It’s just Jeff.

I exhale quickly and close my eyes.

“Hey, you,” he says almost sheepishly. And when I open my eyes to look at him, his lips press together in a sad smile.

“I didn’t hear you come in. You scared me.” My voice is shorter than I’d like, but lately, nearly every reaction I have feels out of my control, so I just go with it.

Jeff pulls his arm out from behind his back to reveal a simple, yet beautiful bouquet of daisies. I look at him, to the flowers, and then back again.

“What’s this for?” I ask, not making a move to take the bouquet.

His eyes dart from me nervously, and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it right now. Jeff’s voice is barely a whisper. “Because I love you.”

I take a deep breath before taking the flowers from him. I should thank him, or at least say I love you too, but neither passes my lips. The words that do come, however, surprise me.

“Is this an apology?” I ask as I fill a vase with water, hoping the prompt will shed some light on the unmentionable wedge between us.

“An apology?”

Surely he’s not this stupid?

I shut off the water and take the daisies from him, putting them in the vase. I pop my hand on my hip. “For the other night?” I say, but it comes out more like a question, and damn the uncertainty in my voice. I watch him swallow hard, and he struggles to maintain eye contact. I hate confrontation, but I run the risk of combustion if I don’t at least ask.

“What happened?” The words are barely a whisper.

He shakes his head, but I’m not sure why. “I’m just … overwhelmed, I guess.”

“Overwhelmed,” I repeat, making sure I heard him correctly.

Jeff nods.

And it’s the most underwhelming response he possibly could have delivered.

I laugh maniacally at the word. Overwhelmed. Who isn’t overwhelmed? I’d like to meet one soon-to-be-first-time-parent who doesn’t feel like they’re overwhelmed. I want to tell him that he’s full of shit and if he wants out of this relationship then he should speak now so I can pack my things and leave. It’s one thing to have a crap boyfriend who keeps things from you. But it’s a whole other ballgame the moment you bring that boyfriend into fatherhood status. These games where he’s overwhelmed and incapable of being an adult will soon impact more than just the two of us.

I want to spit obscenities and yell and smack him upside the head until he realizes what he’s doing.

I may be knocked up and certifiably emotionally unstable right now, but even still, I know that words said in haste can easily become the best speech I’ll pontificate and live to regret.

And so I do the smartest thing I’ve done all day.

I choke back the words that would do more harm than good.

“Why?” I challenge, still needing to find a way to connect with him. I need to know what is so bad that he can’t talk to me. “We have a great life. A great home. We both have great jobs. What I think is a really great relationship. And up until recently, I was under the impression that we both felt this child was a great addition. Rather than internalize everything, you should be able to just talk to me. I’m going to be your wife. The mother of your child. We’re a team. Where you walk, I walk … remember? It’s terrifying to think that when things feel overwhelming to you, you back off like you’re looking for someone to tag you out of the ring.”

He winces at my words and rakes his palm down his face. “Can we not do this now babe?”

I scoff and throw my arms up in defeat, trying to bite back the tears.

Whatever.

I guess I expected too much from him.

I’m not hungry anymore. I turn back to the counter and throw away the peanut butter waffle that I never even touched. As I’m walking out of the kitchen, Jeff grabs my wrist and gently pulls me to him.

Jeff’s eyes carry a pained expression as he slowly rubs his hands up and down my arms. He leans over, and I feel the heat of his breath linger before he presses his lips to my forehead. I can hear him breathing me in. I close my eyes and wish all this drama would just disappear so we can go back to being Henley and Jeff, the carefree and happy couple.

After a painfully slow moment that was probably only ten-seconds, Jeff pulls back and finally speaks. “I meant what I said. I love you. I truthfully am just overwhelmed. There is so much going on in my head and I can’t even begin to process everything right now, but when I’m finally able to make sense of it all, I promise we will talk about it.”

It’s the most he’s said to me in a week and a half.

And it’s the one promise that I hope he can keep.

I need to give him the benefit of the doubt and shut down the demons chriping inside my head because if I can’t, at the very least, try to do that, then every last one of these pregnancy hormones is going to eat me alive.