{Worth the Wait: A Love Story Part VII}

The talk.
It was awful. Excruciating. Frustrating.
Scott felt that my feeling were stronger and that he was missing something in his feelings for me.
He was unsure about our relationship because he couldn’t commit to wanting to marry me.
I made all sorts of arguments and pointed out how he behaved as though he loved me.  He seemed torn.  This tore at me.  It was so glaringly obvious that we were supposed to be together.  Why did he have to complicate things.  The heavens weren’t going to open and a voice wasn’t going to boom, “Jenny is the one for you.”  Was that what he wanted.
I cried. I begged.  But, he ended it.
I was devastated.  At first, I almost felt resigned.  Another breakup.  This was my lot in life.  No one would ever want me.
I texted my brother and he and his wife came over.  They were as shocked as I was.  
Then began the long months of loneliness.  The empty ache.  The quiet apartment and nights spent crying on my bed or staring into nothingness.  I lost my appetite and some weight.  I lost my desire to do things.  I prayed and begged and sobbed.
During this time, my brother and his wife (now almost 8 months pregnant) invited me over a lot.  I spent many a night on their couch watching movies or playing games.
I spent time with my married friends, but I was no fun.  I was depressed and listless.
I finally called Scott.  He answered and sounded flustered.  He hadn’t meant to answer.  I told him that I had a letter.  He came to get it.  It was a 10 page letter explaining everything I thought and felt.  In the moment of the break-up, I hadn’t been able to organize my thoughts well.  This letter allowed me to.  He kissed me that night when he left.  It was cruel, really. But, I so enjoyed that moment.
Then, one Sunday after church, we talked.  He looked awful.  His beard had grown out.  He was pale and thin.  He still seemed confused and unsure of his decision.  I was hopeful.  Despite my praying and sorrow, I truly felt that Scott was the man that the Lord had for me.
It was superbowl sunday.  He was going to a party we had gone to together the year prior.  He said he wished that I could come and my heart soared.  I didn’t go, of course.
He texted me during the party while I was at a party with all of our friends.  He was flirtatious.  My girlfriends fumed, “Do NOT text him back.  How can he do this to you.”
I lived off those few moments of contact.
Another week would go by, and maybe I would see him at church.  I listened for any news of him from mutual friends. I cried on the couch to my girlfriends and they listened and comforted so patiently.
Then another night, when my mom was in town and we sat in my apartment watching Anne of Green Gables, he texted me.  Nice things.  My mom tried to refrain from acting hopeful, but she was.  I was too.  These were all good signs, weren’t they?
It was a Saturday, when I woke up to a text that said: What are you doing today.
I responded: Nothing until noon when I have a bridal shower for Chelsea. We were both to be attendants in the same wedding that was coming up in March.
He responded: Want to get breakfast?
Of course I said yes.  It wouldn’t have mattered what I had originally had planned, I would have said yes.  I have never been the strong girl who can walk away and hold her ground in an argument.  I was never good at playing hard-to-get.  I especially couldn’t do it now.  Not when I missed him so much.
He picked me up, we went to breakfast.  It was lovely.  We talked.  I poured him coffee.  It was like old times.  He put his arm around me as we walked to coffee and my heart beat wildly as thoughts raced through my head in confusion.
We went back to my apartment so I could  make cookies for bridal shower.  He sat on the couch reading as I whipped up the cookies. We talked from opposite rooms.  Then, quietly and slowly, he entered the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me.  I held my breath, enjoying the feel of his strong arms around me once again.  I closed my eyes.  He kissed the top of my head.
He repeated this a few more times.  It was as if everything was normal again.  Then, I scooted off to the shower where my friend Emily took one look at me and said, “What happened?!  You are glowing!”  I told her everything and she squealed in appropriate girlfriend fashion.
I was elated . . . until later that night.  When I texted him and he barely responded.  It was as if we hadn’t spent the morning together acting as we had while dating.
That whole week he ignored any contact I attempted to make.  I was anxious, nervous, upset.  My poor mother endured numerous phone calls a day filled with tears and worry.
I figured I would see him on Sunday and demand an explanation. Or at one of the practices we had scheduled for my friend Chelsea’s wedding.  We were doing a surprise reception dance-off.  A dance-off in which Scott and I were partners and had to act like we loved eachother.  I was secretly stoked.
I went to the drive-in that Friday night with my brother and his overdue wife.  We saw Alice in Wonderland from the back of their Volvo. I tried to enjoy it amid the pain and confusion.
Sleep welcomed me that night.  A wonderful escape from my painful reality.
The phone rang at 3 a.m. 
It was my brother.
“Hey Jenny, we are heading to the hospital. Hannah is in labor.”
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