“YOU DON’T EVEN have a farm. You live in a condo and your parents live on a golf course in Scottsdale. You grew up in Issaquah and belonged to a tennis club. Do you even know how to grow your own vegetables?”
My mind skipped right over the other pertinent information in her sentence until it sorted through the whole farm comment.
“Pregnant?” My falsetto could’ve earned me a place in a boys’ choir or singing soprano in an opera.
“How? When? What? Wow.” I stood up too quickly and the room spun. Somehow I made it to the windows where I leaned against the glass. “We’ve always been safe. How? When? Whoa. I’m not questioning if it’s mine, I’m just . . . wow. Are you sure?”
“I’m late. I was scrolling through my calendar and realized I never got my period in December.”
“How late?”
“A week. With the holidays and chaos, I lost track.”
“But you haven’t taken a test or peed on a stick to confirm it?”
She glared at me. “I’m never late.”
“Stop with the dirty looks. We’re on the same team. I’m trying to get up to speed here.” We were both in shock and not dealing with it well. Speaking for myself, definitely in shock. I think she had moved on to anger. Or denial.
“I’m sorry.” Her chin trembled and fresh tears fell. “I’m a mess.”
“Let’s not put the cart full of unhatched eggs before the horse, okay?”
“What does that mean?” She sniffled and rubbed her face on her sleeve.
“It’s an expression my grandfather used to say. I think he combined ‘don’t count your chickens before they hatch’ and ‘don’t put the cart before the horse’ into a new idiom. It’s always made sense to me.”
“What am I going to do with a baby?”
“First, have your brother buy it an overpriced rocking lamb as payback. Second, you’ll love it. We’ll love it, I mean her. Or him. Or them.”
Her eyes widened in terror. “I can’t have a baby. I have a demanding career.”
“Have a less demanding career. Maybe this is a sign.” I could hear the ice begin to crack beneath my feet as I realized nothing I said was anywhere near being right for this moment. Still, I plowed on. “You’re not getting any younger.”
The loud sound you heard was me falling through the ice.
“Gee, thanks.” She stopped crying. “Speak for yourself.”
“This is a happy moment.” Kneeling in front of her, I held her hands. “I never thought I’d have the chance to be with you again. Didn’t think I’d ever be a father. Now we might be having a baby.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her tear-filled eyes.
“I love you and that’s not going to change.” My focus drifted to her belly at eye-level. I pressed a kiss against her sweater. “Life is nothing if not unexpected.”
“I’m having the biggest crisis of my life and you’re going all philosophical?” She sat heavily on the couch.
“It’s what I do. I don’t have access to a kayak right now to think things through until the world makes sense again. There’s zero point in freaking out over something we don’t even have confirmation for. Maybe you’re just late?” I expected my words to make her feel better. After all, she was upset about an unexpected pregnancy and balancing her career. Not being pregnant was the ideal situation, right?
Wrong.
So wrong.
I looked above me at the light streaming through the ice where it covered my head.
“Don’t you want a baby with me? What if we can’t get pregnant? I’m thirty-five! Did you know that’s considered advance maternal age? I’m a geriatric.”
Fresh tears flowed as she fell against the brocade pillows.
“I believe the word you’re looking for is legend.”
Not even a hint of a smile broke her frown.
We’d entered a confusing and scary place. I didn’t know what to do. I’d tried holding her. Words no longer seemed like a wise idea. No more talking. I stood again and paced around the sofa, trying to think of a solution. I could find a pharmacy. I’m sure I could ask our concierge for directions. I glanced outside to see the dark sky. Would it matter if I waited until morning?
If we were pregnant, nothing would change between now and then.
If we weren’t, I could delay the inevitable feeling of disappointment.
I needed a short term solution to get us through the evening. “How about I start the bath and order room service? We can stay in for the evening.”
“But it’s our last night in Venice.”
“So? The city will be here if we want to come back. Unless the seas rise and it sinks.”
Fresh tears crested her lower lids. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
Words were not my friends tonight. I nodded and walked into the bath. After turning on the water and checking the temperature, I stepped back into the living room. “I started you a bath. It might help you relax. Then we’ll have a romantic dinner here in the room. Sound good?”
She blinked at me from the couch like a semi-feral cat. I didn’t know if she’d try to scratch me with her claws or snuggle into my chest. After a short staring contest, she rose and walked toward me. I let my fingers brush her arm as she passed me. My heart hurt to see her upset.
Once I heard the splash of water as she slid into the tub on the other side of the closed door, I grabbed my jacket and left.
The concierge directed me to a farmacia a few blocks away, but warned it would close in a few minutes. I jogged down the narrow alleys and arrived to find the door shuttered. I cursed the unpredictable hours of businesses in Venice. An older woman dressed all in black tutted at me from her doorway across the street.
I fumbled through my limited Italy in an attempt to find another source for pregnancy tests for my upset girlfriend. From what I could understand, she kept telling me to go to the hospital. Or the train station. Giving up, I thanked her, “Tante grazie.”
She nodded and made the sign of the cross.
It was only then that I noticed I’d been asking a nun for help in front of a convent.
I rested my head against the metal shutter covering the door of the farmacia. If that wasn’t a sign from above, sending a nun to witness this moment, I didn’t know what else would be.
I trudged back to the hotel. The concierge apologized and said he could send someone to the all night farmacia farther away if it was an emergency. Declining his offer, I asked him to place our order for room service, requesting extra chocolate gelato for Roslyn.
He reminded me our water taxi would pick us up in the morning to transport us back to the mainland where our car service to the airport would be waiting.
I thanked him again. Feeling defeated, I slumped against the wall in the elevator.
Inside the suite, I found Roslyn curled up on the bed, wrapped in a robe and staring at the door.
“Hi,” I whispered, climbing behind and wrapping my arms around her.
“You left. I didn’t know where you went. I called for you and you didn’t answer, so I came out of the bath to find you. Only all I found was an empty suite. No note. No jacket. No you.” Her chest heaved with her struggle to take a calming breath. “You were gone.”
“I went to find a pregnancy test.” I pulled her tighter against me. “But instead I found a nun.”
“Did she help?”
“I think she gave me a lot of life advice, but I didn’t understand a word of it.” I kissed Roslyn’s temple.
“Did you buy a test?”
“The pharmacy was closed. We’ll have to wait until we get home.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounded small and afraid.
“No matter what, I’m yours. Whether we become a family of three, or we stay a twosome, you belong to me. You’re my love, my heart.”
“All in?” She twisted in my arms to face me.
“Every part of me. You?”
“All of me.” Her eyes closed for a seco
nd or two. When she reopened them, she seemed less sad. “Even the crazy parts. I’m sorry I’m not handling this well.”
“Would extra chocolate gelato help? ’Cause that’s what we’re having for dinner.” I kissed the crease between her eyes. “And your crazy parts are some of my favorite, right after your brain, eyes, mouth, breasts, hips, and the tattoo on your ankle.”
Total and complete false alarm.
Like a tsunami warning after an earthquake on the other side of the ocean. No big wave crashed over us and swept us out to sea.
Roslyn’s period started on the flight to Frankfurt. Luckily, the airport had tampons. I know because I bought them for her.
We spent the long flight from Germany to Seattle sharing my pod. Uncertain if I should be relieved or sad, all I could think to do was make sure Roslyn was okay.
She wasn’t the only one who had to wipe away tears.
Sometimes losing something is the best way to realize how much you wanted it.
Even if it didn’t really exist to begin with.
Neruda was right. Love that can be eternal, can be fleeting.
THERE WERE A few moments in my life I never wanted to relive.
My last night in Venice with Roslyn.
Getting caught in the wine cellar at Tom’s wedding neared the top of the list, too.
Tonight topped both of those moments.
A week after arriving home and I’d settled back into my hermit routine. Roslyn had to fly to LA a few days ago and tonight she went straight from the airport to a charity event in Bellevue. We hadn’t talked about the non-pregnancy. I knew we were both sad, but didn’t know if it was for the same reason.
Olaf had called to confirm our Monday chess night and I agreed, wanting the company and distraction.
He arrived at his usual time and proceeded to kick my ass in record time. Not gloating, he seemed kind of subdued and I assumed his mood mirrored mine.
I’d gone to the kitchen for more ice for his scotch and a few snacks when I heard a soft crash of chess pieces hitting the wood floor.
“O? You mad I’m about to go for checkmate?” I called from the kitchen, laughing. When he didn’t tell me to shut up, I stepped into the hall and listened. “Olaf?”
I was already running toward the library when I heard a low moan.
He lay on the ground next to the chess table, a few pieces scattered around him. I set down the glasses and knelt over him.
“Olaf? Can you hear me? What’s going on?”
He clenched his left arm. “God dammit, I think I’m having a heart attack.”
“Shit.” I raced back to the kitchen to find my phone, calling 911 as I made my way into my bathroom for aspirin.
Water, I need water. I grabbed a bottle from the fridge, tucking my phone against my shoulder as I struggled to open the damn thing and not drop the pill bottle.
I told the operator my address and the basic details about Olaf as I ran through the house.
His eyes were closed when I reached him.
“Fuck.” Why didn’t I stay with him?
Squatting next to him, I watched his chest.
His chest rose and fell with his breathing, telling me he was still alive.
“O?” I set the water down and opened the aspirin. I had no idea how many to give him.
He opened his eyes. “Give me the pill. I gotta chew the damn thing.”
With my help, he rolled on his back and I lifted his head for him to take the pill. “You’re going to be okay. Ambulance is on its way. The gate’s propped open and I left the front door unlocked. Hang on, old man.”
He needed to fight right now and I knew calling him an old man would rile him up.
While we waited, I drank the bottle of water and rested my hand on his forearm, letting him know I was here and he wasn’t alone.
Flashbacks of my grandfather’s unexpected death played through my head. Sal had a stroke at sixty-eight and died in his recliner watching a Red Sox game. I knew how suddenly death could find us.
Olaf’s breathing remained shallow and his coloring turned gray, but I kept my hand on his arm, telling him everything would be okay.
“Tell me a story,” he requested. “Something happy.”
The first thing the word happy conjured up? Roslyn.
Although I swore not to share the story of what happened during Tom’s wedding reception, I knew Olaf would enjoy it. I left out the details and exaggerated Mrs. Donnely’s reaction.
He chuckled and then winced, pressing his hand over his chest.
“You okay?”
“Laughing hurts, but damn that’s a good story. You save that one to tell your kids some day to horrify them when they’re teenagers. Keep them from misbehaving.”
The way he said kids sounded absolute.
The sharp slice of pain surprised me. “Not sure kids are in my future. I’m forty-three.”
“Don’t matter. You’ll be an old dad the kids will mistake for a grandpa. It’ll ruffle your feathers and make you feel old, but at the end of the day, you won’t care.”
“Seems you’re missing a key element.”
“Your girl doesn’t want kids?”
I didn’t know. She flipped out over giving up her career for an unexpected pregnancy, then wept for the imaginary loss. No way would I bring up Venice right now. Instead, I deflected. “It’s only been a couple of months.”
“What’s with the waiting? You’re not getting any younger. And neither is she.”
“Hello?” a strange voice yelled from the entry.
“We’re in here. Down the hall,” I shouted, relieved to be saved from any more of this conversation by the EMTs.
Once they stabilized Olaf and gave him oxygen, he was loaded into the ambulance and driven down to the ferry to be transported to the larger hospital in Everett. Not being related, I couldn’t ride with him. I grabbed my coat and keys and followed in my truck. The boat waited for the ambulance, but I had to take the next ferry. I called his family, letting them know he was stable and on his way to Providence Medical Center.
As I sat in the ferry line, I texted Roslyn to call me. I knew she was at the charity event and didn’t want to bother her, but I craved her voice.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with her name.
“Hi.” I exhaled with relief. “I needed to hear your voice right now.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Still at your event?”
“I’m hiding in the coat closet to call you. Everyone is filtering out with their goodie bags in hand. What’s up?”
I filled her in on Olaf and my unexpected trip to Everett.
“Want me to come meet you?” I could hear other voices in the background.
“You’d do that? You don’t even know Olaf.”
“I’ve heard enough stories about him, I feel like I do. Plus, I’d be coming to keep you company. Are you going to stay there all night?”
“I don’t want him to be alone. His family is on their way and I guess I plan to stay until they arrive. Or we get news. I doubt he’ll be released any time soon.”
“I’ll drive up. Which hospital?”
Car engines started around me as our boat began loading. I put the truck into gear and slowly made my way onboard.
“I’ll be fine. I just wanted to hear your voice and let you know what’s going on.”
“Don’t spend the night in the hospital. They won’t let you see him if you’re not family and he’s in the ICU. Come stay with me.”
“It might be late when I arrive.” I glanced at the truck’s clock, surprised to see the time was already after ten.
“Anytime. Makes no difference.”
The caffeine from watery, scorched coffee thrummed in my veins as I rode the elevator to Roslyn’s apartment at two in the morning. Ernest, the appropriately named doorman, waved me around to the garage opening when he spotted me outside the building. No judgment had clouded his genuine smile when he told me good nigh
t in the lobby. Maybe I appeared too weary and disheveled for a late night booty call. I appreciated his professionalism. I hoped Roslyn tipped him well at the holidays.
Exhaustion hit me as I knocked on her door. When she opened it and pulled me to her, I rested my head against her shoulder, letting tears spill and dampen her shirt.
Her fingers ran through my hair in a soothing pattern. “Is he okay?”
“He’s going to be fine,” I whispered. “He might need surgery or some stents, but it was a minor event according to the cardiologist on call.”
“He’s lucky to have you.” She walked us farther into her apartment. When I looked around I realized we stood in her bedroom. “Do you want to shower the hospital off?”
I nodded. “Join me?”
She followed me into the bathroom and turned on the shower, unintentionally reminding me of how I cared for her in Venice. After stripping off my clothes, I dropped them in a pile in the corner.
“We’ve switched roles.” Gently pushing me into the shower, she pulled her nightgown over her head.
“I thought the same thing.” I ducked my head under the hot water. With my eyes closed, I let the water wash away the earlier events of the evening. I felt her soapy hands on my chest, running over my small patch of chest hair and lower to the line of hair leading to my cock. My body responded to her touch despite my bone-tired, emotionally spent exhaustion.
“I never said thank you for taking care of me that night.”
“You don’t have to say thank you. We went through something difficult together. It’s what couples do.”
“Is that what we are?”
“Are you questioning us?” My heart turned to lead in my chest.
“I’m embarrassed for how I acted and the things I said.”
“Don’t be. I’m sure I’ll say or do something imbecilic sooner or later, probably sooner, and I’ll fully expect you to keep loving me.”
“Is that how this works?”
“We had a really shitty twenty-four hours, but we survived.” I swept my tongue past her lips, seeking comfort, wanting to remind her of my love.
Better Love Page 21