“I’m talking about how for the last two years I’ve been the biggest pain in your butt. I made everything about me. I lied. I broke promises. All of the stuff I’ve done these last few days, the stuff I’m scrambling to fix, are things I’ve done to you all this time. You, the only person who truly understands me. Who’s been with me from the beginning beginning.”

“Jamal, we don’t have to do this . . .”

“No, we do. I do,” I say, taking her hands. “I’ll probably have to spend the rest of my life making this up to you, but however long it takes, I’ll do it.”

Whit shakes her head. “Don’t you get it? There’s nothing to make up to me. I chose this life with you. I want this life with you.”

“I want it with you too. I’m just sorry I haven’t shown that.”

“Jamal, I know you love me. I feel it. You tell me. You do things that show me. But . . . sometimes you treat me like the enemy. Like you think I enjoy harassing you about school. Like I live to micromanage your life. When in reality, I just want you to be happy. And I want you to have all of the things we would’ve had with Mom and Dad.”

I squeeze her hands. “I want you to have those things too.”

“I need you to work harder. To be consistent. I need you to stop walking around like you don’t care, when we both know you’re the most emotional person in this whole town.”

I laugh, a few tears rolling down my face. “I’m gonna work harder. And you’re right, I do care. I care a lot. And I know you’re only trying to help. I know that.”

“But that can only happen if you let me in there,” she says, letting go of my hands and tapping my chest.

I wipe my face. “You sure you want in? It can be pretty dark in there.”

“Smelly too,” Whit says. “But yeah, I’m still game.” She leans her head into my shoulder. “Okay, between you and this kid inside me, I need ice cream and I need it now.”

“Coming right up,” I say. And she takes a seat at the table while I raid the freezer.

“How come they don’t tell you that pregnancy makes you super vulnerable to the power of suggestion? I mention ice cream ten minutes ago and now it’s all I can think about.”

I laugh. “Are you really saying you’re vulnerable to your own suggestions? That’s like laughing at your own jokes and being like damn I hate being so funny.”

I drop the rocky road carton in front of her and hand her a wooden serving spoon.

“Where’s my bowl?”

“No bowl,” I say.