by JD Hawkins
“Oh my God… I… You… Shit. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“Mia! Calm down. What’s happened? Is it him?”
“I’m… I’ve just been offered a position at Johns Hopkins… And I was in the bathroom for an hour feeling like I was on some bad acid trip… Well no… First I was in the bathroom and then they offered me the— No… Wait… First I ran into Colin… He completely ignored me. Not ignored me. We spoke but… He was completely like… A different person. Just cold, and like. Then the bathroom. Then they offered me a position at Johns Hopkins And… And…”
“Hold on, hold on, honey. Slow down.”
“And… And…”
“Where are you now? I’ll get off work and come meet you.”
“And…”
“And what, Mia?”
“And…” I take a deep breath, not wanting to admit my suspicions out loud in case I jinx myself. “I think you were right. I think I might be pregnant.”
19
Colin
I get home and drink. Then I drink some more. But even drunkenness can’t numb the cold pit of grief inside of me. The only thing it does is make it impossible to get off the couch. I try and collapse back, muscles heavy, my center of gravity in my head.
Something’s gotta give, I tell myself. But I know it isn’t true. It wasn’t true when I ended things with Saskia and she made it her life’s goal to wreck mine. It wasn’t true when I discreetly took a job at Santa Teresa in the hopes of building a new life. It wasn’t true the first time with Mia. It wasn’t true the second time.
No… Something doesn’t have to give… This kind of punishment can last forever…
I don’t know what time I got home, grabbed the whisky bottle, and dropped onto the couch—but I know there was still daylight. It’s dark in the apartment now. The occasional car headlights outside filtering through the blinds, making lines of light scan the room like flashes of memory.
It’s been like this for days now. Missed calls and texts racking up on my phone while I sit alone like a sad sack of shit with nothing but booze to comfort me. I never had much respect for guys who said they were lonely—how could you be lonely when there are so many beautiful women in the world? Maybe I thought that because getting their attention was never a problem. But now… Poetic justice, I guess. There are still so many beautiful women in the world… But only one of her.
All it took to understand loneliness was experiencing the opposite.
Fuck it. I’m allowed to feel sorry for myself. It’s one thing to be apart from someone, another thing to be rejected by them—and a whole new level of pain to be forced to reject them yourself thanks to whatever twisted situation I’ve found myself in.
I had to look Mia in the eye and treat her like a total stranger. Had to turn my back on her and walk away when she called my name looking for some semblance of humanity in me. The hardest thing I ever had to do, and I couldn’t even let her know I was doing it for her own good. Because Saskia was right there, and acting even remotely friendly toward Mia would have been enough for the bitch to go after her. Hurting Mia myself was the only way to stop her from being hurt even worse by my ex. This is how it’s going to have to be.
I’m so drunk the whisky just makes me feel sick now. I grab the remote and flick on the TV, the light from it hurting my eyes a little until I get used to it, and then I start flipping channels. I stop on some period drama and let the green hills and elaborate costumes wash over me. After a while I realize it’s a version of Pride and Prejudice, and start to imagine Mia reading quietly somewhere. I let the image settle in my mind as if it were a real thing I’m looking at. I’d give anything just to watch her read at this point…
What if…
No. It’s over. I can torture myself with figuring out if there was a way I could have played it better, but that doesn’t change anything. Even if I solved the Saskia problem there’s the “colleague” problem, and if I solve the “colleague” problem, there’s still the “me” problem. I’m not the relationship type. Even these…feelings I’ve got for Mia might not last. I don’t trust myself. I need to protect her from myself just as much as from Saskia.
“Fuck, dude,” I say out loud as I bring the bottle to my lips.
It’s cheap whisky, but the alcohol doesn’t even burn anymore, and the sip is cut short. I swallow and hold the bottle up to the light of the TV and see that’s it finally empty, then let myself fall back onto the couch, the bottle onto the floor.
I dream of her. A strange, surreal visual amalgamation of us together, like we were, except in nineteenth-century clothes. In the dream she’s mine, but not quite, and the distance between us is so small but impossible to overcome. It’s a restless, frustrating dream that makes me wake up sweating and horny on the couch, feeling like someone’s taking a hammer to my skull, sandpaper to my throat, and poured twenty pounds of cement into my gut.
I pull myself up off the couch and it feels like an entire workout session in a single movement, my muscles aching and my head throbbing. The TV is blasting garish, annoying commercials and I click it off. The darkness of the room now providing a little relief.
I’m in need of a shower, and I could do with something to eat—but most of all I just want to get some fresh air, and get away from my damned apartment. I pull on some jeans and throw on a shirt, not even stopping to button it before I rush outside, desperate to breathe.
I walk as if I know where I’m going. Unconsciously drawn to quiet streets, seedy areas, dark alleys. Pacing with a sense of frustration pent up in my body, a scowl I can’t remove from my face. The cold night air goes some way to sobering me up a bit, cleaning out the grogginess of my drowning session on the couch—but lifting the cloud of bleariness only gives more clarity to the painful thoughts that got me into that state in the first place.
I walk until I start to feel like some kind of stray animal. Homeless and wild. Searching for something to get me through the night. I pass a strip club, a liquor store, an all-night pharmacy, a bus station… And each one makes me hesitate a moment, and consider throwing myself away. Each one conjures up a different future where I give in. But I keep walking.
The only thing that makes me stop is a sign on a boarded-up window of a run-down, small building. It looks old—for Los Angeles, at least. Faded lettering above the large door that I can’t read. Arched windows where even the boards have been smashed in. Old-fashioned brickwork that’s been battered to hell and back. Under the thick, shady canopy of a huge ficus tree behind the building, I can see part of the roof has caved in. It’s like a miniature version of the Bradbury Building—after about a year of carpet bombing.
And yet something about it makes me stop and look. Like it’s an art installation rather than a dead business in a dead part of town. It looks like a place with a soul, and that soul looks about as bruised as mine is.
If I said that to Mia, would she think I sounded crazy? Probably not. She’d probably get it. She’s probably the only woman I’ve known who would.
A cold wind sets my hairs on end, and I suddenly remember the first night with Mia—walking her back to her apartment. I knew something. Even back then before it all started, I knew something was different with her.
The memory makes everything else feel suddenly ridiculous. Saskia. Work. Whatever rules or hang-ups both of us decided to let keep us apart. Out here, in the night, standing in front of this abandoned building, only one thing matters—and it’s the one thing I’ve allowed to slip away from me. Her.
Now a new clarity comes. A new sense of purpose and direction that’s been missing amidst all the bullshit. The problem wasn’t that we went too far—it was that we didn’t go far enough.
I stare at the sign scrawled on the side of the building in dripping, fading paint.
FOR SALE
(323) 555-9197
20
Mia
“I hate to say I told you so,” are the first words Maeve says when I open the door to her
. She moves past me into the apartment and makes a beeline for the living room sofa.
I’m still shaken up from work, but the sight of Maeve flopping onto my couch wearing a typically vixen-ish dress makes me feel a little more secure. I sit down next to her and hug a throw pillow to my chest.
“I noticed something was up with you, honey,” she says as I sit. “I told you. You’ve got something…the ‘glow’? Isn’t that what they call it?”
“I’m probably not pregnant,” I sigh. “I was just rambling. I haven’t slept well or eaten right since… Well, since Colin. And I think I’m coming down with something, for real. I mean, it’s been less than a month and it’s extremely rare to exhibit signs this visceral so early. In all likelihood, it’s probably psychosomatic because I spend so much time around women who—”
Maeve stops me by pulling something from her handbag and tossing it onto the table loudly. I look down at the pink box and feel my back stiffen.
“What’s that?” I say, knowing full well what it is.
She rolls her eyes. “A pregnancy test. Let’s get some answers.”
“You know these things are wrong five percent of the time?”
“You’re right…” Maeve says, a little sarcastically. “If only we knew someone who had plenty of experience with pregnancies, access to a full suite of testing, and could help us confirm the answer later…”
I tut out of annoyance but still smile. Maeve’s casual, easy attitude taking some of the edge from my apocalyptic mood.
I pick up the test box and turn it over in my hands, then sigh despairingly.
“I really don’t want to have kids. I never did. I see mothers every day and even when they tell me it was a mistake I can see that they’ve got something in them that I just don’t have.” My breath quickens as I speak until it’s so short I can barely get another word out. “I just… The whole thing is…”
Maeve slides closer, hugging me to her. I let her warmth soothe me a little, and when I finally feel a little more together I pull away to smile my gratitude at her.
“It’s all right, sweetie. It’s all right. You’re probably not even pregnant. You said you used protection anyway.”
I nod. “We did. But… I mean we did it so many times—”
Maeve laughs at this and despite feeling like I’m at the end of my rope, I can’t help but laugh as well. A black humor.
“God…” I mutter, starting to see myself through Maeve’s eyes and realizing how ridiculous I must sound. “And for this to happen right when I get the opportunity of a lifetime…”
“Johns fucking Hopkins,” Maeve says. “To think, all the jokes I’ve made at your expense, and it turns out you were one of the best and brightest.”
“I don’t feel like the best and brightest right now.”
“Men aren’t as simple as medicine,” Maeve quips. “You have to learn on the job, and good teachers are in short supply.”
We swap a look and she pats my back a little. I look at her desperately.
“Should I take the job?”
“Absolutely not,” she says emphatically.
I shoot her a surprised look. “Why not?”
“I’d miss the fuck out of you. You’re the last person keeping me grounded to my humanity—to reality. Do you know what an absolute monster I would become if I didn’t have you?”
I laugh but Maeve doesn’t, making me think that she’s being serious.
“I’d go a little crazy without the Thursday meets too,” I say. “I’m not exactly the best at making new friends. Honestly, I feel almost obliged to take it—just because it’s such an amazing opportunity…but…I even told Saskia this: I really am happy at Santa Teresa.”
“Saskia?” Maeve says, frowning a little. “That’s your new boss?”
“The new hospital admin. Yeah.”
Maeve keeps the frown. “Isn’t it a little strange that she’s been your boss for a week or whatever and she’s suddenly putting you up for some hot job like that?”
“Um… Well… I suppose.”
Maeve smiles at me mischievously.
“You’re just that good, huh? Go on. You can have an ego about your work, honey. With me, anyway.”
I smile back.
“I mean, Santa Teresa is a pretty renowned hospital too. It’s known as a tough place, and a lot of doctors who worked there went on to do bigger and better things. And it’s not like I don’t take every opportunity to prove myself. I did that proposal—which was a lot of work. I’m practically the head of obstetrics in everything but title. I was always helping Bob when he was acting administrator. Saskia probably just took a good look at my file, my resume.”
“Of course,” Maeve says. “I know. But still… I’ve known guys who looked great in a suit, were perfect gentlemen, came with a very good pedigree—but when push comes to shove, there’s usually a catch. How many times did you even speak with Saskia before yesterday? It’s all just kind of…odd.”
I knit my brow for a second while I think about it, a little defensive now.
“I dunno…three? Four times?” I say, though I know I’m being generous—even including a couple of ten-second exchanges in the hallway.
Maeve gives me a dubious look.
“Anyway, I’m sure it’s fine,” I insist firmly.
“Okay then,” she continues gently, “then look at it the other way: Why would she give up one of her best doctors? Right now, she’s probably under pressure herself—being new and all. You tell me all the time about how your department is understaffed and only gets away with it because you do the work of three. Why would she just offer you up to someone else and cause the headache for herself?”
I sigh impatiently and flick my hair back to shoot Maeve a look of annoyance, but when I try to speak I can’t really think of a good counterargument.
“I don’t know. Maybe she has someone lined up already. Look, that’s not really my—one of my many—issues right now, is it? Can’t you just be happy for me?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Maeve says, palms up again. “I know. And I am happy for you. I’m just curious about it, that’s all. Let’s forget it.”
I nod, but now that I’m going back over the whole exchange with Saskia in my mind, I start to get anxious all over again, and I know there’s no way of stopping it. Maeve grabs her phone and toys with it a little while I stare down at the pregnancy kit on the table, the hot pink box looking more menacing by the second.
After a minute, I say again, “I really don’t want to be pregnant.”
Maeve looks up from her phone.
“Honey, whether you take the test or not isn’t going to change whether you are or not.” She flicks her phone and turns it around to show me the screen. “Is this her? Saskia Long? I found her on LinkedIn.”
I nod. “Yeah. She’s a little more bleach-blonde in real life.”
“Impressive. Looks like she could crush a man’s spirit via his balls.”
“She’s tough,” I say, then look back at the pregnancy test. “Okay. Whatever.” I snatch it quickly, as if it might disappear, and then stand up. “I’m going to take the test.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No… I’ll bring it back here and we’ll wait for the results together. Or maybe I’ll give it to you to watch over, and you can just tell me if it’s good news.”
Maeve looks at me with amusement. “Anything you want, honey.”
I smile back meekly and then dart out of the room.
I freeze before entering my bathroom, except this time it’s not my fear that’s stopping me, it’s something else. A nagging feeling that I’ve forgotten something… That I’m ignoring something obvious…
And then it hits me like an earthquake—the third one today. I feel my eyes almost bulge out of their sockets they’re so wide, and a chill as cold as snow running down my back.
I dash back into the living room and Maeve looks up.
“That quick?” she says. “Th
ey’re a lot better than the last time I used one.”
“What if it’s her?”
Maeve frowns. “What if what’s her?”
“Saskia… What if she’s Colin’s ex?”
Maeve releases her frown for an expression of sympathy and gets up from the chair to approach me.
“Oh honey,” she says, coming close and brushing hair from my face, stroking my arm. “If you really don’t want to take the test you don’t have to—”
“I’m serious,” I say, pacing out of her grip into the center of the room, still looking manic, but not caring anymore. “I think it could be her.”
Indulgently, but not without a sense of impatience in her tone, Maeve says, “The woman I just pulled up on my phone? You think that’s Colin’s ex?”
“It makes perfect sense,” I say, starting to pace now with the conviction of my idea. “The ‘blonde ballbreaker’—that’s what Colin’s friend called her. That’s the first thing you notice about Saskia—that she’s blonde, and that she looks like a ballbreaker—even you said it.” Maeve winces, unconvinced. I continue regardless. “He had this crazy ex who stalked him and harassed him and wouldn’t let him go… So where is she now? It would be logical for her to find some other way of getting close to him—say, becoming the administrator at his new hospital. It would be perfect because she’d be his boss all over again.”
Maeve moves toward me slowly and takes my arms, leading me to the couch as if I’m a patient she caught wandering the parking lot at four a.m.
“You’re getting me a little worried now. Let’s just chill out a little bit and leave the…thinking alone for a moment.”
“You even said it yourself, didn’t you? When Toby was here. You said you believed his story about the ex.”
She shrugs cautiously. “I thought the story about an ex hurting him was real, sure. I also said he probably exaggerated it to make it sound like he was on the run from the government.”
“And you,” I continue, not even addressing her response, “were the one just trying to tell me how weird it was that she offered me that big job so suddenly after arriving.”