The Truth Is a Theory

by Karyn Bristol

  He grinned and grabbed for her again. “I was just thinking about you in the car. It got me all hot and bothered.”

  Allie stepped back out of his reach. “What can I say? I have that effect on people who’ve been playing golf for hours in the sun. It’s either hot and bothered or sunstroke.” She opened the fridge. “Go shower and I’ll bring you a beer.”

  “Such service. Are we going somewhere? You look so nice. I was expecting to come home and find you dressed as a dusty cardboard box.”

  “Well, I too, was hot and bothered.” She handed him a Heineken. “I just thought we’d clear a path through all this stuff and have a nice dinner together. You know, relish suburbia, celebrate our new kitchen table and chairs.”

  “Just give me a few minutes,” he said over his shoulder as he charged up to the shower.

  “How was your game?” Allie called up the stairs after him.

  “My game sucked. But the game was fun. It was good to see those guys.” He poked his head back over the railing. “They say hi, by the way.”

  When Dana came back down a few minutes later, Allie was arranging brie and crackers on a colorful ceramic cheese plate with a matching knife. “Maybe we should fix John up with Megan.”

  “I think,” Dana said grabbing a cracker, “that you should stop worrying about Megan so much.”

  “It’s my job.” She did worry about Megan, although she had never told Dana the real reason why. She had wanted to, many times, because it felt strange to keep something like Megan’s rape from him. But she didn’t think that Dana needed to know all of her friends’ secrets. And she had promised Megan she wouldn’t tell.

  Dana looked up. “Hey, it wasn’t an accusation. I just think that Megan will find someone in her own time. Let fate take its course.”

  Allie raised her eyebrows at his use of “fate.”

  Dana laughed. “I believe when it helps my case.”

  “You can’t be a fair-weather believer.”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  She giggled. “I almost forgot. Okay, so what’s your take on our getting together? Fate or accident?”

  “Neither. I tripped you.” Dana grabbed another cracker. “It was just good common sense.”

  “Maybe all this talk about fate is just a cover for the fact that you don’t want to go on a double date.”

  “See? When it helps my case. And anyway, I thought that was in my contract at the wedding—no more dating, double or not.”

  “You misread the fine print. It is now our job to fix up all of our friends, so that they too can enjoy marital bliss, or at the very least, coupledom.”

  “Ah. I did miss that fine print. We’d better get to work then, we’ve got a lot of friends to fix up.” Dana pushed a box out of the way and fell back onto the couch. The corners of his lips flirted with a smile. “Let’s start with Sean. Which one of your friends gets the privilege?”

  Allie threw her hands up in exaggerated exasperation; she couldn’t stand Sean. “You win. No matchmaking.”

  She sank down on the couch next to him and draped one leg over his. They chatted away about nothing and everything, and when they finished the cheese and crackers, Dana lit the grill and they enjoyed a simple dinner of grilled steak, potato salad, and fresh corn on the cob. Allie had set the table with as many wedding presents as she could—embroidered napkins, fine china, white tapered candles in crystal candlesticks—answering Dana’s “Who’s coming to dinner?” with, “We may as well use them, all the boxes were out.” Afterwards, they lingered in the flickering candlelight, comfortably full, comfortably quiet.

  Finally, Dana pushed back his chair. “Should we clean all this up and watch TV?”

  Allie cleared her throat. She had been waiting all night for the perfect moment, the perfect opening in their conversation to tell Dana her news. But there had been no ideal segue, no one-liner to give her a jumping off point. She was just going to have to dive in without it. “Dana.”

  He leaned forward, covering the gap between his pushed back chair and the table with his torso, and looked at her expectantly.

  Allie smiled. “I’m pregnant.” She paused. “We’re going to have a baby.” She held her breath.

  His eyes widened in the soft, shadowy light, and the happiness illuminated there said it all.

  ————

  The next day in Manhattan, Zoe, who had not shopped for an ethereal white dress in which to pee on a stick, was digesting her own news.

  “Holy shit,” she said out loud to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her sharp blue eyes glared back; what the mirror didn’t show was the panic underneath the anger. A thin white stick with two distinct pink lines quivered on the counter next to her. She leaned over the sink as the room somersaulted around her.

  It was Bob’s baby, she knew from the timing. But as she had waited for her period, with her mood lurching from denial to stomach-churning angst—one week, two weeks of agonizing before she had finally bought the home pregnancy test—she had given birth to a plan that she thought might just work, and might just give this pregnancy a silver lining. If that was even possible.

  She and Bob had now been dating for over a year. He was entertaining, although sometimes too loud and obnoxious, but she liked him well enough, and especially liked his social and drug connections. She didn’t have to love him; she had Gavin to provide the passion in her life. She still believed that one day Gavin would tire of bouncing back and forth between her and Tess and come to his senses about where he belonged. She and Gavin had been together for seven years for Chrissake; although yes, in Tess-limbo for four. But he clearly couldn’t live without her, and when they were together, she never saw him sweat an ounce of remorse about Tess.

  When Zoe was alone, it was easy to believe that Gavin loved her, that Tess was the interloper. She never let herself dwell on the few times that she had made up her mind to confront him, had marched in to meet him full of bravado, fists balled tight, prepared to give him an ultimatum—fish or cut bait Goddamnit!—and Gavin would flash a smile that lit him up, literally, like she had flipped a switch by just walking in. It always loosened her fists, and melted her heart, her resolve, and the demand that she had been about the pound on the bar.

  No, she didn’t want to think about those times. Right now she preferred to think that maybe he just needed a little nudge, an excuse to dump Tess and marry her. A baby could be the shove she’d been looking for.

  She wasn’t exactly excited at the idea, even a baby with Gavin was a baby she wasn’t thrilled about having, and they might decide—together—not to have it. But even that decision would cement them to each other, create a lifelong bond. She threw the little white stick with the big news in the garbage, and went into her tiny kitchen to fix herself another vodka tonic and plot the conversation with Gavin.

  ————

  He was waiting at the bar, everything she wanted in a dark gray double-breasted suit and red tie. His smile embraced her as she approached. Her heart soared and she couldn’t help but grin, as hard as she tried to clamp it down. She realized how much she’d missed him; even though they’d talked on the phone once or twice, it had been three weeks since they’d been together.

  He was tanned from his Labor Day weekend—probably some Hamptons getaway with Tess. The sharp teeth of jealousy bit her so fiercely that she moaned, and her hand instinctively rushed to her mouth, a physical barrier against any further sound effects. But muzzle or not, her confidence was punctured, and the gush of potential disaster turned her legs to jelly. She slowed and willed herself to forget the plan for right now; she couldn’t have the conversation here anyway and didn’t want her nerves to ruin their reunion. She concentrated on being jaunty and slid onto the barstool next to him.

  “Hi.” She grinned again. As always, she had to straightjacket herself from hugging, kissing, touching him somehow al
ong with the verbal salutation. They were in public, and she knew that when they met in a crowd, PDA was strictly off limits.

  He leaned over and kissed her on the lips and then laughed at her surprise. “I scoped the place out. It’s clean.”

  “If that’s the case, get naked.”

  He got off the barstool and reached for his belt buckle.

  She giggled. “Okay, we all know you’ve got balls. We don’t need to see them.”

  He got back on his stool. “Oh all right. Maybe later.”

  “Only if you’re good.” Zoe smiled.

  The bartender appeared with an Absolut and tonic; Gavin must have ordered it for her as he saw her come in.

  She picked up her drink and tipped it in a silent toast. “Just what the doctor ordered.” She took a long, deliberate drink. Although the doctor’s probably not an OB-GYN.

  “So how are you? You look amazing as usual,” Gavin said.

  “I’m good and thank you.” She was wearing a short black skirt and a light blue silk shirt, the exact color of her eyes. Her long tan legs were bare and punctuated by a pair of high black heels. “How about you? You look like you’ve been away.” She regretted that; she didn’t really want to hear about his weekend.

  “I took an extra day last week and made it a four-day weekend. Went out to Amagansett and hung at the beach. How about you, did you get away?”

  He never mentioned Tess directly, in fact he even omitted the “we” in his sentences. Zoe had always believed it was because Tess was immaterial, but right now, on this barstool, she wasn’t so sure.

  She, on the other hand, had no qualms mentioning Bob, and in fact relished dropping his name to remind Gavin that she wasn’t sitting around pining for him. “Bob had tickets to the Open on Saturday—center court—and so we spent the day there. Then on Sunday we headed out to my stepfather’s at the beach for the rest of the weekend.”

  Gavin sighed. “I love that house.” He rattled the ice in his glass, then took a big sip. “Was Bob impressed?”

  “Bob’s never impressed.”

  Gavin snorted. “How’s work?”

  “Great, busy.” She twirled the diamond in her ear. “You remember Charlie, right?”

  “The one with the triplets?”

  Zoe nodded. “He just announced he’s quitting, apparently moving to be closer to his wife’s family. Everyone at work is abuzz about who’s going to step up the ladder.”

  “Are you a contender?”

  Zoe shrugged.

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Ohio.” Zoe crinkled her nose. “Can you imagine? Leaving Manhattan and moving to Ohio?” She shook her head. “I don’t get it. He was so adamant that the babies weren’t going to change his life at all. Now he’s mumbling about his hours and balance… ” She took a slug of her drink. “Just hire some help!”

  “Man, triplets. My sister has one and he’s a little homewrecker.” Gavin smiled. “Cute though.”

  “Charlie’s wife must have him on a tight leash.” Zoe’s nostrils flared, she pressed her lips together.

  Gavin chuckled. “It’s called compromise, Zo.”

  “Never heard of it.” She grinned. “And I’m taking a shot in the dark here, that neither have you.”

  Gavin laughed. “Not my strong suit.” He paused. “Although I am slowly getting a tutorial.”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “Tess is getting a backbone?”

  Gavin cocked his head and opened his mouth, then closed it. He shrugged. “You could say that.” He finished his drink in one smooth gulp. “Another?” He aimed his smile at her.

  Zoe nodded, hoping that the noise in the bar had drowned out the bitter tinge she’d tasted in her voice. Get a grip. Her heart was galloping crazily, The Conversation in the saddle, kicking her with spurs and stomping out her earlier supreme confidence. She gulped her drink, praying the burn of the vodka would help her relax. She had a fleeting thought that she shouldn’t drink this much, but the baby wasn’t real to her yet, not until she and Gavin had decided its fate together. And besides, she needed the vodka right now.

  “Absolutely.” She put her empty glass on the bar. “So, how’s work for you?”

  The edges of their conversation grew warm and fuzzy as the bartender refilled them several times; the tingling, not-so-accidental brushes of skin became bolder—shoulders leaned into each other for exclamation, hands grabbed thighs to emphasize a talking point. Just under the ecstasy of flirtation however, the pregnancy remained an irritating alarm, screeching whenever Zoe swam in Gavin’s eyes, so that by the time they stumbled into the back of a dirty yellow taxi, the siren in Zoe’s head was so loud she couldn’t focus on Gavin’s crushing kisses. She clung and clawed in response to his vehemence, but it was panic and fear that drove her lips, her hands, the press of her body.

  They stumbled into Zoe’s apartment and onto the couch, shirts launched overhead, buttons fumbled breathlessly. Even though they were shuddering with anticipation, they stripped everything off, right down to Gavin’s dark socks. Wholly naked; this was the heart of their relationship, a place where they knew each other intimately—their smell, the smooth contours of their muscles, the tender spots that elicited primal groans. A place where they could allow themselves to be vulnerable where they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, emotionally. It was here that they truly savored each other; and despite the fact that they’d been entwined a thousand times, there was nothing rote in their actions. Every feather-light stroke, every almost-painful bite, every thrust of their tongue was, even after all these years, an exploration.

  Afterward, they lay lax-limbed on the overstuffed cushions of the couch; Zoe’s cheek nestled into Gavin’s blond-haired chest, his arm hung around her. These few hushed, satiated moments when their breathing slowed and the thump-thump of Gavin’s heart flowed into her veins were religious for her. Usually. Today however, the warm, skin-on-skin felt blasphemous. She knew the words on her tongue were serrated, no matter how smooth the delivery, how shiny the wish. She had a flash of the wet blood she was about to draw, as if she had turned her head and taken a jagged bite out of his chest.

  Horror clogged her throat. She levitated off his chest.

  “Gavin,” she choked out, forcing herself to concentrate on the plan. The Plan. She sat up and shoved her arms into his oxford shirt. Gavin’s body expanded into the place she had occupied, his muscular legs stretched out over her thighs. She felt trapped, and wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.

  “Gavin.”

  “Mmmm?” His eyes were closed; he was unconcerned. Just wait, she thought apologetically.

  “Gavin, I love you.” WHAT? Zoe’s eyes widened and she yanked the shirt tightly across her chest. Where the hell did that come from? Oh my God, I didn’t mean to say THAT.

  “What?” Gavin opened his eyes. He tried to sit up.

  “I’m pregnant,” she blurted out to cover-up her last statement.

  Gavin’s arms and legs were suddenly spastic; he struggled to get into a sitting position. “What?” He cast wildly around for his boxers. “What?”

  Gaining confidence by the fact that she had no choice but to keep going, she said in a steadier voice, “I’m pregnant.”

  He slipped into his broadcloth boxers in one movement and sat back down on the couch facing her. She felt strangely adrift without the weight of his legs over her.

  “Oh my God Zoe. Are you okay?” Concern wrinkled into his forehead, his green eyes searched hers.

  “I’m okay,” she said slowly. She liked the fact that he was worried about her. But it looked like he wasn’t going to grasp the whole situation by himself.

  Then it came over him, an understanding pulled over his head like a sweater. “Zoe.” She could actually see the color drain from his face, as if someone had sucked it out
of him with a straw. The momentary concern for her was gone.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, but… whose… I mean…” He massaged his forehead. “Is it mine?”

  Zoe was paralyzed by the pallor of his face, the dread in his eyes. He’s scared for the two of us, she tried to convince herself. But she knew he was afraid for himself, for his own situation. For Tess. The bottom of the room dropped away, and Zoe was suddenly falling, falling into a deep dark hole, like a cartoon character that falls spread-eagle into a black abyss. The only thing that held her to this spot was that Gavin held her heart in his hands. And it was stretching, stretching like a rubber band.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, it’s Bob’s.” A loud sob escaped her lips as her heart snapped out of her body and Gavin let go of it at the same time.

  ————

  The following few days Zoe burrowed into her dark abyss, curled up in bed, shades wearily shut. Her heart, her whole body, had a migraine; the thought of daylight, of motion was excruciating. Her boss called her on the first day, and she croaked so horribly into the phone that he backpedaled from irritable and told her not to come in until she was feeling better.

  She couldn’t remember when or how Gavin had left the apartment, what he had or hadn’t said, what she may have replied. At one point, she lifted the phone to call Allie, but as she held the cold receiver in her hand, she remembered that Allie was flying on the news of her own growing womb. Zoe carefully, noiselessly, put the receiver back into the cradle and lay back on her pillow.

  The knock on her door on the third day woke her from a restless nightmare. She yanked a pillow over her head and silently commanded the knocker to go away. A key scraped into the lock and the next thing she knew, Gavin towered over her war-torn bed. Dressed in jeans and armed with plastic bags and two cardboard cups of coffee, he prodded her out of bed and into the shower. She did as she was told, and when she emerged from the steamy bathroom in sweatpants and an old tee shirt, her hair soggy and unbrushed, a small feast had been laid out for her on the tiny kitchen table: fat deli sandwiches, crisp potato chips, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and a cup of hot coffee.