Her hands go from her hips into a tight night over her chest.
“I mean never. I’m never sleeping with you. Never ever, ever, ever again.”
“Deal,” I say, turning on my heel and heading toward the car. “Now let’s get back before they come looking for us.”
It takes a minute, but she finally walks back to the car and opens the passenger side door. Neither of us says anything else for the short drive back, which is good, because the gravity of what’s happening hits me like a tanker truck.
Something I’d wanted to have happen, has just happened, but way too soon. I always knew I wanted to have kids, but I never expected that any of them would come like this, without warning. I thought I’d have a wedding, a wife I knew, a mortgage first.
And I thought that when it finally happened, I would actually get to be a father.
***
“Hope you don’t mind if we cut out early,” I apologize to Hale and Oscar. They are waiting on the front steps when we pull back up. I don’t know what else to say to them.
“Is she okay?” Hale asks, her eyebrows still puckered in a soft point at the middle of her forehead.
“She’s fine,” I say as I glance back at the car, half expecting to see Sher sneaking away.
Instead, she’s hunched down in the passenger seat like a wet cat. The truth is, she looks anything but fine, and it just goes to show how my track record is getting a little embarrassing. I just came off of a quickie relationship with Amy-the-Psychopath, and now I’ve landed the Giggler, who might actually end up going Jack the Ripper on me.
“Call if you two need anything, alright buddy?” Oscar gives me a wink. Oscar and I both know we’re about to stand out here all night, Hale worrying and Sher fuming, if we don’t get me out of here quick.
“Will do,” I say and head back to the car.
“Tell her to call me!” Hale shouts over Oscar’s shoulder as he leads her back inside. I just wave to her as I slide into the driver’s seat.
“Home we go,” I say and she scowls at me. Since I’m already on the losing end, I ask, “Where’s your house? We’ll stop by and you can get your stuff.”
She looks out the window. “Stuff? Like what?
“Oh, I don’t know...clothes?”
“I’ve got clothes on. That’s good enough for tonight.” She looks out her window. “I’ll be gone tomorrow.”
I pull out of the Maree’s drive, turning toward my house.
“Where are you going to go tomorrow?” I ask.
“You mean, after it’s done?” she says. I grimace at the thought. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”
“That’s not a very solid plan. You’re planning on going back to Hale and Oscar’s, aren’t you?”
“No,” she snaps. “I’m not their problem. I’ll get a hotel room or something.”
“No you won’t,” I say. “You’ll stay with me.”
“Look, I’m not your problem either. I’ll take care of myself, thanks.”
“Do you know what you’re up against? Do you even realize what an abortion is? You’re not just going to hop in and drop off some luggage. It’s real surgery.”
She turns her face away, so I can’t see her, but it only takes a moment before she can’t hide the sniffling. I’m relieved that maybe I got through to her.
“You’re going to feel like crap afterward,” I begin. She whips her tear-streaked face back toward me.
“Oh really?” she shouts. “And how many times have you gone through an abortion?”
“Once,” I tell her. “With my sister, Harmony. She was only sixteen and she was positive she’d found her Mr. Right, in her high school Economics class.”
Sher looks out at the road from over the dash. Since she’s doesn’t say anything, I keep on talking.
“He wasn’t what she thought. He was just another punk idiot and he flipped out when she told him she was pregnant. He stopped talking to her. Then, he spread rumors that the baby wasn’t even his. It was so bad, my sister took a shot at killing herself. Thank God, she failed.” I clear my throat, remembering how awful our house had been during those days. My mother was a wreck, working multiple jobs and trying to keep an eye on Harmony at the same time. My other sisters were a mix of sympathy and criticism. Whenever we spoke to one another, Harmony’s ‘situation’ would come up—it always did—and the same discussion would start all over again. How we would do it, how we could help, if we could help, what Harmony would have to do to make it with a baby. An abortion had never been part of the discussion.
“She made an appointment on her own, with a doctor she could afford from her babysitting money,” I turn the steering wheel with one hand. The other I use to itch away the tear that collects in the corner of my eye. Harmony came home from it on a bus. She collapsed as soon as she walked in the front door. When we got her to the hospital, we found out she had a perforated uterus and was hemorrhaging. We almost lost her again. I was terrified.
But what I tell Sher is, “There were a lot of complications. Harmony can’t have any more kids.”
“That’s rare,” Sher points out. “Complications don’t happen to everyone.”
“But it could happen to anyone. And it’s only rare when it doesn’t happen to anyone you know.”
“I’m not having a baby, Landon. All I know about you is that you looked like thunder in a tux at my best friend’s wedding. It’s not enough. And I don’t have what it takes to raise a kid. I only have a high school diploma, no money, and I’ve never even had a real job, besides watching all my brothers and sisters.”
“That’s as real a job as they come. You’re qualified.”
“I’m not having a baby and struggling for the rest of my life. I’ve already seen how that works. I’ve lived it. I’m not repeating my mom’s mistakes, so stop talking about it.”
“We could do it together. It wouldn’t be such a struggle that way.”
“And when it doesn’t work out…then I’m a single mom, trying to make it on a crappy waitressing job. Like I said, I’ve lived that life already. I’m not opting in for a permanent position on somebody’s wait staff and signing a lease on Home Sweet Slum. What don’t you get?”
“You wouldn’t have to do any of that. I could take it.”
“Take it? The baby? Hello, dumbass. It’s not like you’re borrowing a pair of socks. The kid would still be mine too.” She sniffles and I get another glimpse of relief that she’s acknowledging that this is even a kid. I think I’m breaking through the ice and getting a gulp of air just as she wipes her nose and says, “I’m having an abortion, Landon. And I’m not going to keep arguing with you about it.”
It’s a kick in the gut, but I don’t let on. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel instead.
“Alright,” I say gently. “What time is your appointment tomorrow?”
“I have to be there at eight. They squeezed me in.”
“Okay,” I turn into my apartment parking lot with both hands on the wheel. “I’ll make sure to get you there.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MAKE SURE, MY ASS.
I keep her up until 5:30 in the morning, trying to fire her up and keep her arguing with me. I tell her I want to see her point of view. What I really want is to get her good and tired, so she’ll oversleep her appointment.
And, with the clock on the stove reading eleven a.m., I’d say I succeeded.
I’m sitting at the table, drinking cold coffee, because I don’t want to wake her with the smell or sound of the coffee maker, when she starts thumping and bumping around in my bedroom.
“Where the hell are my pants?” she shrieks as she throws the door open. I wait until she’s come around the corner, into the kitchen. She’s still wearing the pink panties that I saw last night, when I slid off her jeans, folded them up carefully, and hid them away in the cupboard under my kitchen sink.
“Good morning,” I say. Sher looks around wildly and catches the numbers on the stove clock.
“It’s eleven!” she shrieks. “My appointment was at eight! You let me sleep in!”
“I didn’t want to wake you up. I knew you were exhausted. You didn’t get to bed until 5:30.”
“Because you kept me up!”
“We had talking to do.”
She groans, laying one hand on her head and the other on her hip, above the dainty waistband of her low-rise panties. She’s not showing at all yet. Another month, and there might be a tiny speed bump.
There are tiny ribbon-bows on her waistband, just two, each sewn beneath her hip bones. I find myself caught in their tractor beam again, just like last night. I’m mesmerized by them, and the soft, flat flesh of her belly, until she growls, “I’m out of here. Where are my pants, Landon?”
I take a sip of my bone-cold coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. She fuming and she’s gorgeous doing it. The pink flush in her cheeks brings some ghost-freckles to the surface. I smile behind my mug, but wait until I’ve got a straight face again, so I can answer her as dishonestly as I can.
“No idea.”
She stares at me a moment and then she screams. And I mean she lets loose. It’s one of those long, hard, furious screams that will probably get the neighbors calling the police.
“Hey, keep it down.” I take another sip of my coffee, grinning again behind the lip.
“This is hard enough, without you screwing around!” she shouts. “Where did you put my pants?”
“What would I do with your pants? Are you sure you were even wearing pants when you got here? I don’t remember them.”
Sher spins around and stomps back into my room. Within seconds, my things—especially my breakable things, from the sound of it—are hitting the bedroom walls. Sher grunts and shrieks and curses at me as she rifles my entire room for her missing pants. I take my coffee cup and go stand in the doorframe, watching.
“You can’t keep me here!” she shouts at me. She’s destroyed my entire room. The sheets are off the bed; she’s yanked opened all my dresser drawers and thrown my clothes on the floor. She pulls one of my shoes out from under my bed and hurls it at me, followed by a bottle of my cologne from the top of my dresser.
“Whoa!” I say, dodging the cologne. It hits the wall and by the time it lands on the floor, the room is fumigated.
Sher starts coughing from the suffocating cloud of liquid bar bait. Then she does a good hard gag that even makes me a little squeamy.
She runs for the window and pulls it open, knocking out the screen and thrusting her head outside like a pro. She heaves, letting it all rip, down the bricked side of the building. But then her back just keeps spasming, trying to throw up even though there’s nothing left in her.
I put my mug down on my wrecked dresser and go to her. She’s still heaving. I rub circles on her back to calm her down. When she finally stops, she sits back on the ledge, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her eyes are red and stray strands of hair are sticking out, quivering over her forehead.
“I need my pants.” She sounds like a little girl as she gulps for air. “I can’t do this for nine months, Landon. I am so sorry, but I can’t give up my entire life just to make you happy. I can’t.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I sit down in the opposite corner of my screen-less window, our knees touching. It could be the barfing, but I like to think she’s extending a gesture of tolerance for me when she doesn’t run away or jump. I glance over the edge at my screen on the ground below us. I look back at her, gripping her stomach with one hand, miserable.
“You said last night,” I begin, “that you didn’t really want to get rid of the baby.”
“It was four in the morning, Landon. It doesn’t count. You wore me down.”
“You sure that’s it?”
“It’s got to be it.”
“It really doesn’t.”
“I told you already, I don’t have any money to raise a kid. There’s a million super big reasons why I can’t do this…I can’t even tell you. It’s not just that I don’t have a job, or education, or a place to live. And even if you’re nice to look at, it can’t happen like this. Not like this. I want to have a baby with a man I’m in love with and that I’m married to. And I told you, I don’t want to marry somebody just because I got knocked up.”
I didn’t propose to her last night, but I had suggested marriage as one of our options. What a mistake. She’d taken it as a huge insult, shaking her head so hard, her face was a blur behind her hair.
“But you are knocked up. What’s done is done.” I say. “I’ve got some money set aside. You can live here and go to college at night, when I get home from work. We don’t have to get married. We can just live together until you graduate college and get a job. I’ll do whatever you need.”
“Oh, no guilt, right?” she says.
“Nope, no guilt. I’m just trying to have a baby here.”
She’s sniffling again. “Way to make me feel worse.”
“Why not just give it a shot?”
“Your fairy tale?”
“Sure.”
“Because it won’t work out and then I’ll be stuck.”
“What if it does work out and nobody’s stuck?”
“It won’t. Besides, you’d only be doing it because you think you’re stuck now.”
“I’m not stuck,” I say. I jab her belly lightly. “That’s my baby in there.”
She hops off the window sill and tosses her hands in the air.
“Nobody has to be stuck!” she shouts. “This conversation shouldn’t even be happening! I was going to get us all unstuck at eight o’clock this morning, if you would’ve gotten me up on time! You’re making this so hard!”
“I don’t think you really want to get rid of it,” I tell her and she sighs.
“Could you just give me my pants back, Landon?”
“No,” I smile at her, “I can’t. I burnt them.”
***
She’s furious. She repeats what I said twice, but yelling, before she starts flailing at me. She’s not really hurting me, but I get away from the window, in case she gets lucky and retreat to the hallway. She slams the bedroom door in my face.
I figured I’d give her pants back to her when she started making sense, but in the meantime, it would be best to keep her here with me, talking. Except that she’s not talking. She’s destroying my room again.
When she emerges, her hair’s even messier than before and she’s wearing a pair of my sweats, folded down at the waist and up on the legs. She looks around for her purse, but that’s gone too, hidden away in my fridge.
“You didn’t burn my purse,” she says, after checking under the couch. I shrug.
“You’re so suspicious. But I’m pretty sure I did,” I say.
She lunges at me, full-on. Even snarling, she’s gorgeous, but she’s also as vicious as a teased lion. I manage to get out of my chair and grab her before she pops out my eyeballs, but she’s tricky. She tries to knee me. Luckily, she misses. I back her up to the edge of the couch and drop her down on the cushions. I’m careful as I pin her beneath me, so she can’t move. She curses and screams and throws her head from side to side as she does it. She tries to bite me. It takes a few minutes for the fight to drain out of her.
“You calm now?” I ask. She snaps her teeth at me.
“GET OFF ME!”
“Stop trying to bite me!”
“NO!” she shouts and then she spits. She gets me a good one too. I feel the gob hit my cheek and my anger surges up against my will.
“This is my baby too!” I growl at her.
“It’s my body! My choice!”
“Well, then we’re going to stay like this until you can see my side,” I say. She starts struggling again, but I just hold her down. Honestly, I could do it with one hand. I twist my head and wipe her spit off on the shoulder of my own shirt.
“You can’t keep me here!” she shouts. I look down at our bodies, hers carefully
trapped beneath mine, and I chuckle. That pisses her off.
“Looks like I can,” I say. And then, just to tweak her some more, since she’s already spit on me and nearly took out my nuts with her kneecap, I add, “What are you going to do about it, Sher? Giggle?”
She doesn’t.
She spits on me again.
“That’s enough of that,” I say and I dive down on her, sealing my lips to her neck. I suck her skin into my mouth. She writhes beneath me, but I don’t let go. I keep on sucking, until the anger has drained out of me too. When I raise my head, there’s an enormous, angry hickey on her neck. I haven’t done that since junior high, but there it is.
“What the hell?” she screeches, as I let her up. She clutches her neck and runs into my bathroom. Without closing the door, she flips on the light and screams again. I sit back on the couch as she stalks out of the bathroom, shrieking, “You fucking fifth grader! Why the hell did you do that?”
“You spit in my face!”
“My mom’s never going to let me back in the house now! I can’t even go out like this!”
I smile at her.
“Good,” I say. “Then you’ll stay here. You’re all mine for now.”
“I’m not YOURS!” she shouts.
“That hickey on your neck says otherwise,” I laugh. She picks up my TV remote and fires it at my head.
***
Sher holes herself up in my bedroom and when I open the door to ask if she wants something to eat, she throws one of my own shoes at me. I leave her alone, figuring she’ll come around, until late in the afternoon. She’s been quiet for a few hours and I assume she’s exhausted herself into a nap. I rap lightly on the door, but when she doesn’t answer, I wedge the door open an inch and call her name.
“Sher? You awake?” No answer. I open the door a hair more. “Sher?”
A cool breeze hits me. She must’ve opened the window to puke again.
“Sher?” Still no answer. I open the door all the way, bracing to be hit with whichever belonging of mine that she decides to use as ammo.
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