“If we’re going to learn to get along, Hayden. I think we need to put the past behind us,” Michael says. I look across the table at him and sigh.

“Why can’t you go back to grunting and not speaking? Remember that man? Be him again,” I order, turning my attention back to the menu in my hand. I need to be smart here. Michael doesn’t realize how much I want what we had back. I want it more every day I’m with him. The problem is, I don’t think I could survive him leaving again. I need to keep myself together here because Maggie is depending on me.

Michael leans back against the green vinyl booth seat. We got a table that has a booth seat on one side and then regular chairs for me, because there’s no way I can fit in the booth seat. Michael is so big and broad, I’m not sure how he does. Somehow he does, though he still looks almost freakishly big sitting there, giving me this solemn look. I know I’ve disappointed him, and I don’t want that to bother me, but for some reason it does.

“See anything you like, Beauty?” he asks and I really need him to stop calling me that. I can’t handle him being nice to me and using that name. I have to remain strong. I can’t let him back in and survive. I. Just. Can’t.

“Please stop calling me that, Michael,” I sigh. “And I think I’ll have the bacon omelet.”

“No Bananas and peanut butter?”

“I doubt you can get that here, but no. That craving stopped a month ago. I don’t really have cravings now. I just feel fat and tired all the time. The doctor readjusted my delivery date the last time I was there. I wanted to kill him. I waddle when I walk and I can’t see my ankles, but I’m told they’re swollen too,” I rattle off. I’m nervous. Each minute that I’m in Michael’s presence, I feel a little more of my willpower slip away.

“You’re not fat. You—”

“Michael—” I start to warn him, and he holds his hand up to stop me from talking.

“How about we make a deal?” he says and he looks so sensible, so relaxed. I have warning bells going off in my head right now.

“What kind of deal?” I ask cautiously.

“I get to tell you one thing I think is important, and you have to listen without stopping me, without judging what I tell you. You have to take it on faith that what I’m telling you is the complete truth—because it is,” he starts and I immediately shake my head no.

“How is that a deal?”

“You didn’t let me finish, Beauty. In return, I promise to give you one thing that you ask for. Anything you want it doesn’t matter, even if it is to buy you a hundred peanut butter and banana sandwiches,” he shrugs.

“And you promise not to renege? You tell me one thing you think is important and in return I take it on faith and try to believe you and you have to do whatever I tell you to do?”

“Within reason. I’m not leaving you alone and unprotected, but yes anything else. And vice-versa.”

“I like this idea,” I tell him, thinking I could definitely use it to my advantage. He has to be getting something out of it, however. There’s a look in his eyes that makes me think I have to be very cautious. “Wait. What do you mean vice versa?”

“If you tell me something, then I get one favor from you,” he says, and I want to laugh. This sounds easy, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I don’t want to tell Michael anything. I’m much safer not talking with him at all. “Oh, and I should say that if you want to ask me something, or I want to ask you something, the same rules apply.” Okay that little add-on makes me very nervous.

“Ask?” I squeak out, and a nervous jerk moves through my fingers. Why this should terrify me, I’m not exactly sure, but it does.

“Exactly. If we ask one another questions, we have to answer honestly, but the reward will be the same.”

“How often do we have to play this game?” I ask.

The waitress comes over and takes our order as I think over the conversation. I feel like I’m bargaining with the devil and I should stop. I have a feeling the devil always wins. Once the waitress leaves, Michael’s eyes bore into me. Am I imagining how intense he seems right now?

“There’s no limit.”

“Oh no. No way in hell. There has to be a limit,” I argue, immediately seeing scenarios where he is constantly asking me questions I don’t want to answer and hounding me with them.

“Okay fine then. What do you suggest?”

“Once a day,” I say emphatically.

“That seems awful safe of you. Come on Hayden, aren’t there things you want to know about me, that I’ve never told you? Things you’ve wondered, but never asked?” he teases—and it tempts me. I have to remain steadfast here. I have to.

“Once a day, no more than twice,” I respond, taking the bait. Crap!

Michael smiles, a big smile, one that reaches his eyes. He knows he’s won. I’ve played into his hands. I don’t know exactly how, but I have a sinking suspicion I will soon.