As we sit at dinner, we talk effortlessly, hardly a moment of silence, awkward or otherwise. And I can tell that he isn't just making polite conversation, he genuinely wants to know about my life, and I want to know about his. He tells me about life in medical school, about his family, about his past girlfriends. He says none of them have been quite as.. different as me.
Before I know it I'm gushing all the details of the past few years of my life, my relationship with Zach, the conception of my baby, every single detail of the past five months, with excruciating detail. Some of it brings tears to my eyes, but I blink them away, not wanting to seem younger than I am. I don't know why I told him I was 16, I mean, I'm seventeen, nearly eighteen, but sixteen just slipped out. I guess I thought that if I told him I was nearly an adult he wouldn't take so much pity on me, I thought that all his pity came from me being a small and defenceless practically-child.
"Oh!" I suddenly gasped.
"What?" He asks, looking ready to leap up.
"No.. I think.. I think the baby just.. kicked!" I smile, putting my hands on my bump. I feel another nudge, and taking his hand, press it onto my stomach.
"Oh!" He mimics, as he feels the nudge. We both laugh.
Then we flop onto the sofa and switch on the t.v, watching an old episode of friends with our arms around eachother. Before I know it I'm dropping off.. I'm just so warm, and comfortable and... I'm asleep.