(Elle)

It's... strange, really strange, that week after the proposal that wasn't. We're not fighting, in theory everything is fine and nothing has changed, but something is definitely off. Off-kilter, off-balance, off-pitch.

Coming home from the Flynn house Sunday is the worst of the awkwardness. We've agreed that we're done talking about marriage and engagement and the rest of it, at least for now, and we haven't actually argued, but how do we get back to ordinary conversations after Noah all but proposed and I all but turned him down? I mean, I didn't turn him down—I turned the proposal down. I turned down the prospect of him proposing right now. Which is different than turning him down, but still a weird, uncomfortable thing to move on from.

We'd planned to unpack Noah's stuff on Sunday, and eventually we just get to work on that without really talking about it. Having something to do helps, though, and soon enough the mood starts to feel a tiny bit lighter.

I fall asleep on the couch when we take a break in the late afternoon, and by the time I wake up Noah has picked up dinner. There's no mention of whatever plans he'd originally had for tonight. Instead, after dinner, Noah cedes control of the remote so I can catch up on the shows I'd missed while busy with finals and graduation. He stays next to me as I stretch out on the couch, though, his phone in one hand while the other tracks Dinah's movements. She's running out of room, so now instead of somersaults she's really into kickboxing, which isn't a win for me. Still, it's nice to curl up next to Noah and not have to talk about all those things we're not talking about.

And then of course one of my shows has to bring all the awkward back into focus by featuring a surprise proposal as its season finale cliffhanger. I wonder if joking about it would help. Noah must think it would, because he mutters Don't worry, I'm not taking notes without looking up from his phone. And yeah, I guess it did help, because now I'm laughing.

"You'd better not be. Flash mob proposals are so over."

"Damn it, the flash mob. That's what I forgot to call off." Noah deadpans, snapping his fingers.

"Hilarious as always."

The humor helps, a little, but things are definitely still... off. Noah doesn't follow when I head to bed and I fall asleep alone, but I'm relieved to wake in the morning with the familiar weight and warmth of his arm draped over my side and his chest pressed against my back. And that's how the next few days unfold, things normal but not quite, awkward but not overly so. It's a relief the week is as busy as it is, because it's easier when we have something safe to talk about, something tangible to do, to distract from everything we're not talking about.

Monday Noah helps me move out of my campus housing, which is to say that he and Mickey do all the work while I direct traffic and vote keep or pitch on random items. I haven't mentioned the non-proposal to Mickey, but by the end of the day she can tell something's up between us and she tells Noah she's stealing me away for one last roomie dinner.

"You're an idiot," Mickey informs me after I finish explaining what happened on Sunday. Or, rather, describing, since I realize there's no good explanation for it.

"You think I don't know that? But knowing I'm being ridiculous doesn't actually change how I feel."

"Hey, you didn't let me finish," Mickey protests. "You're an idiot, but I get it. Come on, give me some credit for knowing a thing or two about how you operate. You're not done wrapping your head around the fact that all this is really happening, that all this future you thought was in the hazy far-off distance is actually right now, and you're going to keep fighting this until your brain finishes working through the situation and you feel in control again. Sound about right?"

I let out a long exhale. Maybe if acting doesn't work out Mickey could go into profiling. "Yeah, I guess."

"Tell Noah to call me next time he's thinking of proposing. I could have told him how this would go if he tried it now."

"I have to tell him, next time. He said we're not discussing marriage again until I put the topic back on the table."

"And when is that going to be?"

"I don't know. That's the point—I don't know. But I know it's not now."

"So what is it you're waiting for? What's the plan?"

"What plan?"

"You say you don't want to decide like this. So how do you want to decide? When? What's the magic thing you're waiting for that's going to make you okay with this?"

"I don't know. But I know it's not now." I'm not sure how many times I need to say it.

"No offense, Elle, but you need an endgame. A plan to resolve this. Otherwise you're just torturing yourself, not to mention him."

I let out a frustrated sigh before answering. "I need... to trust myself, I guess. Trust that we'd be doing this anyway. That we wouldn't be screwing this up otherwise. That the baby isn't what fixed us. God, maybe that's it. To know that we could have done this on our own."

"Elle, do you seriously think the baby made things easier?"

"Not... easier. But it took away the escape routes. We had to."

"You really didn't."

I raise an eyebrow at Mickey. "Oh yeah, and exactly what alternative did I have?"

"All kinds. Ending the pregnancy. Not ending it, but never telling Noah and giving up the baby. Having the baby and telling Noah you don't want him involved. Some kind of custody sharing. Some kind of friendly custody sharing without the two of you being together. The two of you co-parenting but taking things slowly romantically. Literally dozens of different ways thousands of other people react to this situation every day. But the only outcome you ever had in mind, even when you were convinced it wasn't going to work, or worried it would be for the wrong reasons, was this one. The one with the two of you together. Really, truly together. Face it, Elle. You know what you want and you have since January. You just don't like how it happened. That you had a curveball thrown at you you never expected."

"I know that. I, like, told Noah that." I'm not clueless. I do have some self-awareness.

"Okay, but that part's never going to change. October and this pregnancy will always have happened the way they did, no matter how long you wait." Mickey points out, increasingly exasperated.

"But the decision doesn't have to happen this way."

"You mean the decision that you've already made? The decision that Noah is the only future you can imagine?"

"It's just different. It just is."

"Like I said—I get it. I know what's going on in your head. I just hope you'll admit how stupid it is sooner rather than later. But I'm done talking now. We're going to eat ice cream and mock bad TV together one last time on this terrible couch, and then you'll go home to your stunningly patient future husband."

"MICKEY."

"Just because you're in denial doesn't mean I have to be."

And just because Mickey's right I'm being stupid doesn't change how I feel.

Tuesday Noah is gone most of the day. He doesn't actually start work until late August, something I'm grateful he managed to negotiate, but today they want him to come in for paperwork and to get to know more people. Things have been progressively less awkward between us since Sunday, but it's still a relief to have an excuse for some time on our own.

Lee comes over to finally see the apartment, and afterward I convince him we need a bestie day. We drive around in the Mustang all day, taking turns picking the next activity. Lee starts with our favorite thrift store, and his taste hasn't improved, but I really can't say no when he discovers there's a kids' section and starts buying Dinah her own collection of crazy shirts. Next I vote for lunch at my favorite pizza place, and after that Lee insists on the arcade. I manage to get through two songs with my dance pad set to the absolute slowest beginner setting, and then I entertain myself by making Lee dance to songs I know he hates with the difficulty set to max. He's incredibly out of practice, and when I tease him about it he admits that he stopped playing once Kristina broke up with him and I was already gone. That revelation kills the mood, so I make our next stop the ice cream stand on the boardwalk. We sit on the beach for a long time, eating our sundaes and catching up, and sometimes I really wish Lee had taken that job in LA. Sure, we still talked all the time when he was in Boston and I was here, but phone calls just aren't the same as actually having him here.

I haven't mentioned the proposal-that-wasn't to Lee. Noah must not have said anything either, or Lee would have been bugging me about it all day. I debate whether to say anything now. It seems impossible not to tell my best friend something like this, but finally I decide that this is one of those times when I need to keep Lee out of it, out of fairness to all of us. It's not like Noah and I are fighting and there are sides to be taken, but still. Lee can't be in the middle of this, and the only way for him to not be in the middle is for him not to know. Besides, I'm really enjoying spending an entire day with Lee that's just us, with minimal Noah or baby talk; it feels like forever since we had that.

Our last stop is Country Day, to pick Brad up after his baseball practice. He's thrilled to get to ride in the Mustang, less thrilled to be seen on campus with his incredibly embarrassing prom-crashing sister, so of course Lee and I don't just pick him up and go, we insist he take us all around campus to see what's changed.

It's hard to believe it's been five years already since we graduated, and realizing that reminds me that Country Day hosts an alumni reception every year around the holidays. The thought of showing up with Noah and Dinah makes me burst out laughing, and when Lee asks me what's so funny I make him promise to attend the reception too. Lee very reasonably points out that Noah and I showing up with a baby won't exactly be earthshaking gossip; besides the fact that Mia already told everyone, there's nothing that unusual about people our age having kids. Sure, we're on the younger side, but it's not like MTV's about to come calling for any reality shows. What Lee's saying may be true, but the idea remains hilarious to me. Maybe it would be different if I were showing up with some guy I met in college and our baby, but I can't be around Country Day with Noah and Lee and not still see us as we were then. And therefore, this whole baby thing? Hilarious. I'm tempted to steal Brad's uniform tie, have Lee take a picture of me by the lockers, and send it to our parents captioned YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE. But, uh, maybe not. That might be pushing them just a little too far. And, to be fair? Also my worst nightmare.

Lee has dinner plans with friends, and I'm relieved that means he can't stick around long enough after driving me home to see Noah. Things have been getting better, sure, but Lee would still notice something's up if he hung out with both of us long enough. And if Lee notices, then Lee's in the middle, and I've decided I need him out of this.

At least dinner is less awkward tonight. I've got all of my adventures with Lee to recount, Noah's got all sorts of stories to tell about his future coworkers, and for the most part it feels like a normal night at home. Not that we actually know yet what a normal night at home is for us; we've had three months of weekend visits, two and a half years we won't speak of, and several years of dating before that, but we're not even a week into living together. The fact that this is home for both of us, that neither of us will be heading back to their own apartment or dorm room at some point, is still novel. Well, except that Noah actually will be leaving very soon, at least briefly, because one of those Harvard weddings he was invited to is coming up this weekend.

The wedding is in New York and there's no way I'm flying that far, or really anywhere, at this point, but when Noah had asked me weeks ago if he should bow out and stay home with me I'd told him absolutely not, that I'd be fine and that there was no way Dinah would show up this early. I'm getting more nervous about that as the date approaches, but I'm also glad to have the excuse for some space this weekend, some time to myself. Noah asks again now if I'm sure he should go, and I tell him yes. He doesn't press the question, and maybe he needs the space too.

We hadn't actually had anything planned for Wednesday, but somehow that morning we both remember things we need to do, things that will conveniently take us out of the apartment for a few hours. I mean, I really had promised my advisor we'd meet after graduation to talk about those articles and that textbook I'm going to be helping her write, it's just that maybe it didn't need to happen today, if I hadn't been looking for a reason to be busy. But Noah's excuse is no better, something about one of his gearhead friends in San Francisco wanting him to go see a vintage bike someone in LA is selling, to see if it's worth the friend flying down to check out. And Noah conveniently makes his plans for the afternoon while I make mine for the morning. Purely by coincidence, of course.

But avoiding each other isn't actually any fun, even if right now it's sometimes easier, so when Noah returns from his extremely important motorcycle evaluation mission I announce we're going out to see a play Mickey's friends are in and then hang out with all of them. The play is... bizarre and experimental and probably we weren't meant to laugh as much as we did, which is also an accurate description of these particular friends of Mickey's, but it was the right call for the evening. I'm still giggling by the time we get home, and when Noah informs me that we need to make ourselves forget ever having seen that play as soon as possible, I have no complaints with how he suggests we accomplish that.

The next morning is the most relaxed we've been all week, but it's also cut short far too soon by Noah needing to head to the airport. He's invited to the bachelor party and the rehearsal dinner for that Harvard wedding, and so Thursday morning he flies to New York after reminding me one more time that he can be back at an airport within an hour if at any point I think anything Dinah-related is happening.

It takes exactly one day alone in our new apartment to regret having wanted time to myself. Not that I regret sending Noah to see his friends, and probably the time to myself is still a good thing, it's just not an enjoyable thing. We've just spent seven continuous days in the same city and on speaking terms for the first time in nearly three years, and yet having Noah gone already feels unnatural.

Thursday I keep myself busy unpacking and arranging the stuff from my old apartment, and then I've got my now-weekly appointment with Dr. Kim, who reassures me everything looks normal and nothing seems imminent. The prospect of an evening alone isn't appealing, so I invite myself over for dinner with Dad and Brad and let them distract me with their usual squabbling. Add Dad and Brad to the list of people I haven't told and don't plan to tell about the un-proposal—this is our thing to figure out, Noah's and mine. Sure, I told Mickey, and I guess Noah is welcome to tell Adam, but that's different. Mickey and Adam aren't entangled in this the way our family is.

June keeps me busy all day Friday; although the nursery looks ready to me, entirely thanks to her, June apparently still has all kinds of decorating planned she wants my input on. I don't think I care nearly as much as she does, but her enthusiasm is contagious and by the end of the day she's got me ridiculously excited about penguins. Penguins everywhere. Don't ask me why penguins, because I have no better reason than an adorable stuffed penguin having been the first thing I saw in the first store she took me to. I will say, though, that the penguin theme ends up a brilliant choice because it means I can nudge June away from too much pink by reminding her that penguins are black and white.

Noah calls on Friday night after he gets back from the rehearsal dinner. He sounds just a little tipsy, nowhere near drunk but just enough that he's loose and teasing and our conversation doesn't have that stilted feeling it's often had this week. It's a relief and we chat about everything and nothing until we both fall asleep with the call still connected, the way we sometimes would his first year at Harvard. But washing away the awkwardness with a little alcohol really isn't a long-term solution.

On Saturday I'd planned to go through my old room to decide what to move to the new place and what to finally get rid of, but at the last minute I take Mickey up on her plan to hit the beach. A lazy day with friends turns out to be exactly what I needed, even if being in a swimsuit is doing nothing for my creeping feelings of enormousness. The most ridiculous part is that my bikinis actually fit better than anything else right now; even the one-piece I'd bought to swim laps is reaching its limit. Mickey helpfully offers to paint my belly like a beach ball with her stage makeup collection and I'm laughing so hard I almost can't manage to flip her off. Almost.

We spend the day under the shade of a giant beach umbrella and every once in a while, when the other girls have wandered off to the waves or aren't paying attention, Mickey and I talk about what's still, always, continually on my mind. Everything she's saying makes sense, she's right that I need to figure out what exactly I'm waiting for, what exactly will convince me, and yet I still just know that now isn't the right time. We've been through so much that we deserve to make this decision for ourselves, not because of anything, and I can't shake the conviction that the only reason we're discussing this now is because this baby has us on a deadline.

Speaking of Dinah, even she seems to be weighing in to concur in Mickey's frustration. She's been getting the hiccups more and more often lately, which was cute the first few times I realized what I was feeling but has long since lost its charm. Usually when Dinah starts hiccuping Noah chases her around in their usual game of tag, and for some reason that gets her to stop, but when I try the same thing today she just stubbornly keeps on hiccuping. Clearly she's picked a favorite parent already and I should have known it wouldn't be me. I lean back in my beach chair and watch my stomach jump with every hiccup, and as aggravating as it is she's not going to change my mind that easily. Baby girl, after rearranging every other part of my life for you, this decision I'm making on my own.

Noah sends updates and a few pictures throughout the day, mostly passing on greetings and news from Harvard friends, but occasionally joking about some detail or other of the wedding itself. And it's weird, so weird, joking with Noah about a wedding right now. But it's just the silly stuff we're talking about, like the outrageous number of bridesmaids and the cringe-y toasts and the fact that the cake looks amazing but tastes like cardboard. Or so Noah claims, at least. It's possible he's lying about that to make me feel better after having unwisely sent a picture of the dessert table that nearly made me cry with jealousy.

Mickey invites me to dinner after our beach day, but I've had enough socializing and I'm finally craving that quiet apartment that seemed so lonely earlier. I make myself the laziest dinner ever, yet another toasted peanut butter and jelly with a giant decaf latte on the side, and I enjoy the fact that every time I reach into a cabinet or a drawer I'm faced with a jumble of my stuff and Noah's. I send him a picture of my dinner and immediately get an eyeroll back along with a comment that I can't be left unsupervised even two days before reverting to childhood eating habits. Which is nonsense, because I hated coffee as a child, so this is absolutely an adult dinner.

I'd been hoping Noah would call again Saturday night, but we don't manage to connect; he doesn't pick up when I call as I'm going to bed, and I wake up Sunday morning to a series of missed messages saying he's back near his phone, and then a sweet message wishing me a good morning in advance.

It's been a week now since that terrifying little box landed at my feet, one long weird week, but we're getting our groove back, slowly but surely. One more day apart and one more lonely night until Noah gets back, and then we can start fresh. What we have is already so good, and this awkwardness isn't going to last; there's so much left to do to keep us busy and so much to look forward to. Including, at some point—when life feels normal again, when the moment feels right—finally putting that box back on the table. Not today, but at some point.