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I stare at him. He stares back.

“The doctor,” he repeats. “The one who brought Chinese food and played Mario Kart in my sister’s apartment like he lived here.”

I close my eyes. “Please.”

“No, I’m serious. I thought something was going on.”

I look down at my lap because suddenly the floor feels safer than his face.

“There was something,” I say.

He doesn’t react right away.

Then, carefully, “Was?”

I nod. The room is quiet for a beat.

Then Nate says, “And now?”

“It’s over.” The words come out too flat.

He hears what’s wrong with them immediately.

“Oh,” he says.

I hate that one small sound nearly starts me crying again.

Nate shifts, turning more fully toward me. “Maggie.”

I shake my head. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“The nice voice. I can’t do the nice voice right now.”

“That seems like a you problem.”

I let out a broken little laugh.

He keeps going, more gently now. “You liked him.”

I give him a look. “That’s a disgusting way to phrase it.”

“It’s also accurate.”

I don’t answer. That’s answer enough.

He exhales through his nose and leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. “Well. Great. Love this. Rich guy drama, secret pregnancy, mystery doctor feelings. Very normal.”

“You’re being incredibly supportive.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re not.”

“No, but I’m here.”

I look at him, and he shrugs one shoulder like it’s obvious. “I’m still mad at you,” he says. “Just so we’re clear.”