“You were right,” I whisper.
“About what?”
“All of it. I was running and I lost all control. I…” I sigh, scrunching my eyes shut. “I was angry. I was angry at the world, at everything. I was angry that we don’t get to choose our parents. We don’t get to choose where we’re born, who we’re born to. I was angry that I was held responsible for their sins. I was just… angry.”
“And at me? Were you angry at me? Mad about the fact that you fell in love with me and you had no control over it?”
“No.” My voice is fierce, so fierce it shakes me to the core. It steals my breath away. “Never. I was never mad at you, Pixie. I can… I know I said some things in the heat of the moment. I keep reliving them. Keep reliving our time here. I keep watching those tapes, how I pushed you and pushed you. How I punished you when all you did was love me. All my life, I questioned my existence. I questioned what my parents had. What that made me. And then, I wondered whether or not what everybody said about me was true. Whether or not I was deserving of any love. When I should have had faith. I should’ve had faith in the fact that my Pixie loved me. What else can I possibly need in the world other than that? What else can possibly matter? You chose to love me, no matter what and I blew it. I fucking blew it because I just couldn’t ever move on from the past. My parent’s past. My past.”
There’s silence; it’s fitting. What can you possibly say after you admit to your worst crimes? I’ve never been to a confessional before. But I get it now. I get why people choose to confess their crimes and why they need a partition, why they need silence, the darkness.
It’s not God who’s judging them. It’s not even the priest. It’s them. They judge themselves. In their eyes, they have committed a crime and what can be worse than that?
It’s not the judgment of others we should be worried about. It’s the judgment we place on ourselves. It’s the fact that it’s you sitting in the dark, inside a small box, all alone. It’s you who’s gotta bear the shame of your sins while the world is moving on.
“I should’ve looked into your eyes,” I whisper, resting my forehead on the cold glass.
“What?”
“Your eyes say everything, you know. It’s how I knew that you didn’t really wanna run away from me back when we first met. I mean, I hoped that I was reading you right but… it was your eyes that told me you wanted to be my friend even when you couldn’t be.” I nod. “I should’ve been looking into them, rather than looking into the past, into the camera.”
Her breaths escalate. “Abel, I— ”
“I know that now. You did the right thing. You were smart, Pixie. You’ve always been so fucking smart. You were right to run from me. You were right to leave me when you did. I would’ve destroyed you. I-I would’ve destroyed everything. You were right. I won’t…”
“You won’t what?”
“I won’t call you after this. I won’t bother you. I’m letting go. Because you deserve that. You deserve someone who’s not blind. Who can see. Who can understand things, gauge things. Who’s not prone to mistakes. You deserve someone perfect.” I blink my stinging eyes and shake my head. “I never thought I’d say this but I’m letting you go. I love you, Pixie. I love you enough to set you free.”
It will kill me but if she wants a divorce, I’ll give it to her. It’s the least I can do.
“Abel, I…” Her breaths are loud, so fucking loud. “I’m pregnant.”
Pixie opens the door of the café and immediately, freezes on the spot. She glances around the space, frowns, sort of barfs before covering her mouth with her hand, and running back out.
I jump up from my seat, clattering the table and almost sending the chair crashing down to the floor. My heart’s in my throat as I dash out after her, and find her hunched over on a trashcan, puking her guts out.
“Pixie? You okay? What the fuck…” I trail off as she stands upright but stumbles on her feet.
I catch her by the shoulders and bring her flush to my heaving chest. She grabs hold of my cross, stopping my heart altogether.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my shirt — yellow shirt — without lifting her face. I can only see the top of her head.
I’m still reeling from her proximity, the fact that she threw up and then, almost fell to the ground. I’m reeling. I don’t think I’ll ever stop reeling.
The old lady with a checkered apron approaches us from the café; she’s working the counter. Frowning, she asks, “You okay, dear?”
Pixie sighs and moves away from me. Every fiber of my being tells me to not let her go, but I defy every single one of them. My fingers loosen around the delicate lines of her shoulder, and she slips through my hold.
“I’m okay,” she says in a voice that keeps me up at night. It’s a voice I’ll probably hear even after I die. “It’s just the coffee, I think. Can’t stand the smell of it. But I thought I was doing better today.”
The old lady smiles. “Ah, you’re expecting.” At Pixie’s nod, she looks up at me, beaming. “Congratulations, both of you. Such an exciting time. I was the same. Couldn’t stand coffee. It’ll pass though. How far along are you?”
“Almost three months.”
“First trimester’s the worst. At least, it was for me.” She rubs Pixie’s shoulder. “Let me get you some water and a wash cloth, okay? You don’t have to come inside.”
She turns around to go to the café, leaving me alone with Pixie on the busy sidewalk.
Three months.
My Pixie’s been pregnant for three months.
I’m pregnant.
With those two words, she made me realize that I didn’t know the meaning of shock until then. I didn’t know the meaning of longing and regret. I didn’t know the meaning of anything.
She asked if I’d like to see her. I laughed, or I wanted to. Such a fucking joke. Like that’s even a question. But I think all I could do was puff out a breath, and said yes. She decided on this café and here we are.
I’m running on zero sleep but I can’t deny that when she faces me, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. In fact, she’s more beautiful than I remembered. More beautiful than my drawings of her. More beautiful than those fucking tapes.
Her hair is loose, the long strands brushing her shoulders, fluttering in the slight breeze. I think she’s lost some weight though. Has she not been eating well? I know she hates cooking but she should be, right? Pregnant women should be eating more. Why else would there be dark circles under her eyes? Why else would the curve of her cheeks be so pronounced?
It’s my fault. I did this to her. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t even be at the café. She wouldn’t be living alone, in a strange city.
“I didn’t… I didn’t know. About the coffee.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “It’s okay. I thought it wouldn’t affect me. That’s why I chose this place.”
I look around, plowing my fingers through my hair. “I, uh, we can go somewhere else. I… I-I can look for a place. I don’t know what will set you off, but I can —”
Just then, the lady comes out and hands Pixie the water, which she takes gratefully. All I do is stand here, helpless, as the lady fusses over the woman I love.
Fuck, is it me or am I the most useless husband in the world?
I should’ve known about the coffee. I should know about other triggers, too. Jesus Christ, how do people keep track of these things?
Books.
There has to be books, which clarify everything. I need to get some books. I’m not fond of reading and rules and following a textbook, but I can try. I’m gonna fucking try.
Even though it’s difficult to move away from her when she’s really here, warm and smelling like sugar, I take a couple of steps back.
She notices, immediately. “Abel?” Her eyes are wide, fearful. “A-Are you leaving?”
I press a fist on my chest; my breaths have become wild. “Yeah. I need to get some books.”
>
“What books?”
I wave my hand around. “For this… stuff. I don’t know anything. I probably, uh…” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I should probably look for a list. You know, of things. That are triggers, that you should keep away from. There’s gotta be a book somewhere. I think I should start with the bookstore just around the corner. I —”
The lady laughs. “Oh God, aren’t you the sweetest thing? Sweetheart, you can find a million books out there but still, you’re not gonna be prepared for everything. Pregnancy is the most fickle bitch. It’s even more unpredictable than falling in love. In fact, falling in love is easy. Bringing a new life into this world, is a little bit more complicated than that.” Chuckling, she collects everything from Pixie. “Anyway, I’ll leave you guys to it. If you’re gonna stay out here and you need anything, just knock.”
When she departs, Pixie says, “You don’t even like books.”
Her plump lips are twitching and I wanna bite it. Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know anything,” I admit.
I should probably not show how terrified I am but honest to God, I am terrified. She’s having a baby. My baby. My kid is in there and I’ve got no clue how to deal with that.
How do you deal with someone who’s going to be completely and utterly dependent on you? Especially when, you’re prone to making so many mistakes. When you’re the most imperfect being on this planet.
For the first time since she got here, I drop my gaze and look at her stomach. She’s wearing a white dress with red flowers. Always fucking flowers for my Pixie. I don’t see anything different; her tummy looks flat. But still, I want to touch it. I want to touch the expanse of her body where my kid is sleeping.
I want to feel it. I want to feel the temperature of her stomach, the texture, the curve, everything. Is it any different from before? Does her skin run hotter now?
“Me neither.”
I look up at her admission. In her gaze, I see similar fears and I want to tell her everything is going to be okay. I’ll make everything okay. But I don’t. I stand here like a dumbass, without moving, without giving her any words of comfort.
“Do you want to sit somewhere?” she asks.
“Yeah, uh, I need to…” I’m scanning the area for a place to sit. I know the coffee place is out. Maybe we can go to a restaurant, but it’s gonna be smelly too. My body fills with dread at the whole not-knowing thing. I don’t know where to go, where to take her…
“Abel?” I focus on her. “We can sit over there. On the bench. It’s nice outside, don’t you think?”
“It’s fall. Fall’s great in New York,” I inform her like it’s the most important thing in the world.
She chuckles, softly and walks to the bench she pointed at. It’s a wooden thing, located outside of a deli. She takes a seat and looks up at me, gesturing me to do the same. Swallowing, I sit beside her.
A breeze wafts between us and my lungs fill with her sugary smell. If I’m not careful, I’m gonna embarrass myself and start smelling the line of her neck, where her scent is the thickest. I clear my throat and take a slight sniff of the air, anyway. Her smell isn’t as strong as I’d like, but it will do.
“Where did you go?” I ask, clearing my throat.
She gives me a meaningful look as she says, “Queens. Uh, Flushing.”
My eyes flare at her reply. I open my mouth to respond but I don’t know any words. I don’t fucking know how to talk.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
I nod. Like a moron.
Then, I shift in my seat. When that doesn’t do anything to calm me down, I steeple my fingers together and dig my elbows on my thighs. Like I’m too weak to sit straight. Too weak to hold my head up high.
“I never thought to look there. I kept looking for you in the city. I never thought you’d even go there.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I went there because that place is special to you. I wanted to see where you grew up. I remembered your parents’ address from when you told me. I see their house every day on my way to work.” I frown at her in question. “I work at this bookstore up there. It’s pretty nice. They like me over there.”
I went there because that place is special to you.
It jacks up my heart, her statement. But I won’t pay attention to it. Won’t pay attention to my heartbeats. Her love for me was never the question, was it? It’s what I did with it. It’s how I crushed it, strangled it, threw it away.
“Well, fuck yeah, they like you. Why wouldn’t they?”
Her chuckle is watery. “I should’ve worked at a bookstore from the beginning. Don’t know why it didn’t occur to me. Working for Milo was a bust.”
I tighten my fingers together, almost crushing the bones. “A lot of things were a bust.”
Without volition, my eyes go to her flat stomach. I’m almost disappointed that it’s flat. I wanna see the bump, some indication that something I made, something we made is in there.
My baby.
She wrings her hands in her lap, looking up at me with frank eyes. “I got scared.” I whip my gaze to hers. “The night I went away, I knew I was pregnant. Well, I didn’t know for sure but I realized that I’d forgotten to take the pills and I felt it. Like, something moved inside my tummy.” She presses a hand on her stomach and my fingers, my very blood roars to cover it. “But you were so lost in everything. I didn’t know if you even wanted the baby. I didn’t know if you even wanted me. I thought… I thought I wasn’t enough for you. I thought I was your trophy, a possession and nothing more. I told Blu not to say anything. I just wanted to get away. I thought I was making everything worse for you. I kept thinking that if I wasn’t so mad myself, if I wasn’t so caught up in hurting my parents, maybe I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve stopped everything. I didn’t know what to do. I was so terrified.”
The very first thing my Pixie said to me on that bus long ago was that she wasn’t afraid of me. I think that’s when I knew that I was going to fall for this blue-eyed, yellow-haired girl. I knew she was going to own my heart and make me a fool.
She did.
But then I ruined it all. “I never wanted you to be scared of me. That was the last thing I wanted.”
“I know.” She nods as a tear streaks down her cheek. “I know you love me, Abel. But then I realized that I also wanted you to choose me. Those tapes, that room, whatever we did. I realized later that I was giving you my love and I wanted you to take it, and forget about everything else.”
She’s glowing right now, as she bares her heart. She’s shining like there’s light inside her. Tiny bulbs under the surface of her skin and all I can do is feel this giant fucking pain in my chest. A chasm of pain and regret and longing.
I look into her blue, beautiful eyes and make a promise. “I want you to know that nothing like this will ever touch our baby. I know I’ve broken promises before. I know that I broke your heart but I won’t break this one. This tiny heart inside you. Whatever I’ve done, whatever mistakes I’ve made, whatever mistakes I will make… nothing will touch our kid. I won’t let it. You have my word.”
She nods, sniffling. “Do you want this baby, Abel?”
I release a puff of air and with it, a broken laugh escapes. I look at the sky, the orange flecks of the sunset. I remember the things I said to her before. I remember how badly I wanted to get her pregnant, plant my baby in her. But I never thought about the baby itself. Never thought about the tiny hands, the tiny feet, an actual human being who won’t even know how to feed herself.
I imagine her now, been imagining her all night. I have a feeling it’s a girl. I want her to have Pixie’s blue eyes and her light-colored hair. I want her to have her mother’s smile, along with her penchant for reading. Maybe she can learn to like sketching, as well, like her dad. Most of all, I want her to know that her dad will do anything for her.
I’ll even move mountains for her, but I know in my heart that, what she needs the mos
t from me is to stay away.
Looking back at Pixie, I tell her, “I won’t fuck her up.”
“What?”
“I can’t. I already love her too much to fuck this up.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I can’t have her. I can’t stay too close to her. I’m not sure if I’m better. Than before. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be better than before.”
The words are shards of glass, cutting my tongue, scraping my throat, brutalizing my chest. Even though, we’re sitting outside and the air is plenty, I can’t remember drawing a breath.
“So, you won’t watch her grow up?”
“From afar, maybe. I’m not abandoning you, Pixie. I…” I plow my hands through my hair. “I’ll be here. I’ll be around. If you need me for anything, I’ll —”
“Oh wow, that’s great.”
“Pixie —”
“You won’t know anything about her, and you’re okay with that. You’re okay with never knowing what her favorite cereal is or what her bedtime routine is, or if she likes apples or chocolates or if she hates them both. This works for you.”
Her face is sparkling with anger and I wanna kiss her furious lips. Angry Pixie used to amuse me, used to get me hard, and she still has that power. I wish I had the privilege to do something about it.
Before I can answer her, she asks me the question that steals all my resolve in one second, “You’re okay with never touching her? Or hugging her or kissing her forehead?”
I look at her stomach again as currents zap through my system. It’s like my body is fighting against myself. My hands are shaking, almost reaching out and touching Pixie’s stomach, but somehow, I’m stopping myself.
“You want to, don’t you?” She puts a palm on her stomach. “You want to feel her.”
I nod, while my lips say something else. “I can’t.”
“You can, Abel.”
“I can’t. I don’t know if I’m strong enough or capable enough to choose her. I thought I was. I thought my love for you was so big and so fucking huge that I could never hurt you. But I ended up hurting you, anyway. I ended up hurting the one person who I was supposed to cherish and protect. What’s the guarantee that I won’t do the same with our baby girl?”
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