Page 95 of River Wild

“We’re, um, neighbors. Neighbors help each other.”

“True.” I nod. “But you made it perfectly clear that you wanted nothing to do with me, period. So, why would you want to be neighborly and help me?”

“Because you’re pregnant?” It sounds more like a question than an answer.

“I’ve been pregnant for five months now, and I’ve managed just fine on my own for all that time.”

“Not all the time.”

“No?” My eyes widen with annoyance.

He shakes his head. “Your Christmas tree. You needed help with that.”

“I didn’t need help. You offered it, and I accepted, thinking we were friends. But, the next day, I learned that wasn’t the case. You just fudging tolerated me, right?”

He winces.

“I brought you a tomato.” He shoves his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a large tomato, holding it in his outstretched palm to me.

“A tomato?” I slowly say the words to make sure I got that right.

I see the tips of his ears redden.

“An heirloom tomato. That’s how big the fruit baby is now, right? The size of an heirloom tomato.”

Oh.

An ache flickers in my chest. “How do you know that?” I say quietly.

He lifts his shoulders, giving an awkward shrug. “I saw it on the fruit baby website.”

“Why were you looking at that?” I lift my eyes to his.

Another shrug, one shoulder this time.

“I didn’t know you knew how far along I was.”

“I don’t exactly.” His words are quieter. “I just remembered the olive conversation and figured it out from there.”

I remember the olive conversation, too. That was the night that you threw our friendship away.

The tomato is just sitting there in his outstretched hand. I think this is his way of extending an apology—an olive branch so to say, no pun intended. But it’s just not enough.

He hurt my feelings.

“Well, you miscalculated. I’m a little further along. The baby’s the size of a small banana now.”

His expression falls. “Oh,” he murmurs in a voice even quieter than before.

Guilt clogs my throat even though I have nothing to feel guilty for.

“Guess it was stupid to bring you a tomato anyway,” he mumbles.

Not stupid. Actually sweet. But it doesn’t change anything.

“Why did you bring me the tomato?”

Expressionless eyes flicker to mine. “Because the baby …” He stops, sighs, and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”