by Kira Graham
The problem is, that’s the way it feels, and the longer I have to deal with it, the more unhappy I become. We have sex a lot when he is here, but when he isn’t, what we are is just two people who are sleeping together and having phone sex. That sucks, because when your mother hunts you down at work, storms in, finds out that you’re a sex therapist, and then bursts into tears, it would really be great if your boyfriend were there to hold you through three hours of crying. It would also be great if you didn’t have to be alone after you get the “This flu baby crisis is one thing, Alexandria, but I will not have my flu babies being illegitimate” speech on top of everything else.
When I called Chilli and told him that, our conversation didn’t go all that well. In fact, I got the impression that my crying and laughter were annoying him, for reasons I cannot fathom. So what if my parents aren’t all that happy about our not getting married? I’m just fine with it! The tears are hormonal. Really. They are.
“It’s fine,” I grumble at Rosetta, unzipping the dress with a groan that I feel all the way down to my marrow when my boob pops out, no longer tortured by the bodice’s “supportive” neckline.
God, who in the world would ever imagine that my main gripe about pregnancy would be getting bigger tits? And yet that is the biggest problem—and when I say “biggest,” I mean it. If I tried, I could probably balance a glass of soda on them, and then drink it! And I wouldn’t have to try all that hard, either.
“It isn’t fine. It isn’t okay, and it isn’t good, Alex. What the heck are the two of you doing, dragging your feet on this? Those babies look like they’re growing faster than fast, and time is a-ticking here, lady. Do you plan to have your wedding ceremony in your hospital room, two minutes before you shove the babies outta your ripping snatch?” she demands, her eyes going round when my sniffling turns into an all-out wail of misery.
See? Hormones. I can’t control the stupid things, and they make me cry for no good reason! No reason, I tell you.
“You’re crying because you’re scared and hurt, and the fact that Chilli’s leaving you alone to deal with all this change isn’t helping,” Rosetta says gently, even as her eyes go homicidal.
Thank God that the murder isn’t directed my way, and no, I don’t feel charitable enough to worry about Chilli’s health right now. I feel disgusting, I look disgusting, and Cleo keeps calling me to tell me that she’s got a bad feeling. In our family, that usually means that you need to watch your back, and trust me, it’s true. When Cleo gets feelings, you can bet your ass that something bad is going to happen. To top it all off, Nate broke things off with Mindy after some hard consideration, and she didn’t look happy about that at all.
I feel guilty for that, and also for the relief that came when I realized that I would no longer have to see her six times a week. God, I really am not a good person, and it makes it even worse that I don’t seem to care!
“I’m fine, Rosetta. Honestly. I’m not alone—I have Nate, and Chilli is really good about calling to check up on me,” I tell her defensively, hating that it’s a lie because what he’s doing is not enough.
Yesterday, I watched a birth video that the Lamaze instructor seemed to think was smart to show eight pregnant women. It was gruesome! Even Nate couldn’t handle it, and that’s saying something, because he once told me a story about a buddy of his who got blown to bits by an IED. I could really have used Chilli right then, especially when I ended up having to coach Nate through a puking session and calm him down when he freaked out about my going into labor.
“But he’s not good about the talking stuff, is he? And before you start lying to me, you should know that I tapped your phone, so I basically listen to all your phone calls already,” she warns me, not batting an eye even when I gape at her in disbelief.
“You tapped my phone? How the hell did you tap my phone?” I screech, thinking back to last night and the things that Chilli and I said and did.
“Eh, I have friends in high and low places, Alex. You all know that. But enough about what isn’t important—I want to hear about why you think that it’s okay to be okay with being his girlfriend, when the two of you are about to become parents. And don’t give me any bullshit answers, either, Al. I’m about done with you pretending to be okay,” she tells me, shaking her head when the store assistant peeks in to show us a pink dress.
I’m choosing the seventh dress that I’ve had to buy for the Cleo weddings that never happen. At this rate, I’ll have a dress of every size in creation before that woman gets married. And that’s another thing! She’s got a ring on her finger, a groom who is more than ready to say “I do,” and yet she keeps screwing it all up. If I had that rock on my finger, I’d have the man at the courthouse so fast that he’d have to hold on to his balls in order to keep them.
Huh, I think, blinking blankly when I realize what just went through my head. I guess that I may possibly want to get married! Goddammit. That isn’t the way that I’ve been training my brain to work. Sure, okay, so it would be nice to fulfill my promises to the Lord and not have bastard babies, as Mindy kept telling me before she got kicked off the island for being a bigot, but I told myself not to think that way, and darn it, I expect my brain to comply.
“I am okay, though. I mean, I know Chilli, you know? I knew from the get-go that he’s not the marrying type, Rose. And I also accepted weeks ago that we are not going to walk down any aisle. It’s not a big deal.”
“Bullshit! I’ve seen the inside of your safe, Alexandria. You have three wedding albums in there, and seven dress choices. That makes me think that marriage isn’t something that you’re going to be okay with forgoing. We won’t even talk about the fact that your mother is having fits about your lack of marital name, and let’s not talk about Jack, either,” she mutters, making me wince.
My Uncle Jack has been calling me daily, mostly leaving voice messages because I’ve stopped answering his calls. He veers between hysterical sob sessions, and death threats that would make Chilli leave the country if he ever heard them. To put it bluntly, people are not happy, and to put it even more bluntly, I don’t know what to do about that, because if I tell Chilli that I want to get married, then he’ll feel obligated to ask. I don’t want that. And then there’s the possibility, out of all the shitty possibilities out there, that even then, he might not ask. I don’t know what’s worse: thinking that he’d marry me because he has to, or thinking that he wouldn’t.
Christ, I am losing my mind.
Flushing now, because that safe is private, and Rosetta has no business looking in there, I shake my head and grab the yellow dress that the assistant hands me, before scuttling out and away from Rosetta’s baleful glares.
“One decent dress that won’t make you look like an overgrown fucking fruit. Is that too much to ask?” she screams towards the curtain, turning back to grumble at me when I try the dress on and gape at my reflection.
I look like a lemon that got injected with growth hormone, exploded, and then regrew to double its original size. Oh, God.
“Leave her alone. It’s not her fault that I’m a freaking barn,” I groan, falling to the couch while praying that my boobs don’t rip this dress.
Don’t laugh; it’s happened. We shall not speak about it, though. I still have some pride left.
“You are not a barn, and you’d know that if Chilli were here to tell you how beautiful you look. I should just kill him! If he’s not marrying you, then I don’t see what purpose he serves,” Rosetta mutters, in a voice that is more serious than I am comfortable with.
“Rosetta—”
“Don’t you ‘Rosetta’ me. This is bullshit. You love him, he loves you, and you’re having babies together. You should be married by now.”
“Goddammit! Would you shut the hell up about this already? This is why I ran away the first time, Rosetta, and it’s why I didn’t want everyone to know. I knew that you would all butt in and start demanding things, and, goddammit, I knew that Chilli wasn’t goi
ng to propose to me!” I scream, my chest heaving as I pant and completely lose it on her. “This is no one else’s damn business, and even if I thought that it was, what the hell do you people want me to fucking do? I am pregnant, and I feel disgusting, and why, why do you or anyone else think that Chilli would propose to me now, when I look like hell, if he didn’t do it back when I actually looked human? This is just fucking classic, I tell you. Classic. I finally meet a man that I want to screw for the rest of my life, and he leaves me, and then comes back when I’m pregnant, and is now gone again. And you know what? Part of me is relieved, because I knew all along that we weren’t going to end up together, Rosetta, and you know what else? That’s probably for the best, because—because I don’t want to be in love with a man who doesn’t love me back! And you know what else, on top of all that? He doesn’t! I lied to you when I told you that he said it. Sure, he loves me, but he doesn’t love me as in he’s in love with me!” I scream, my words dying down from rant proportions as Rosetta gapes at me, for once so speechless that I finally run out of steam.
“Cheese and rice, Alexandria, are you okay?” she breathes, her expression so horrified that I realize I’ve been sobbing.
“I told you that I am fine. And I am. You all just won’t leave me be. What’s the harm in my just being as I am right now, and not pushing the issue with Achilles, huh?” I ask, using the skirt of my yellow dress to dry my eyes and wipe at my nose.
And then, in a move that shocks me, Rosetta does something that she never does. Her eyes go soft, and she loses that commanding air that normally just seems to emanate from her, her whole aura taking on a tenderness that startles me as she slides over and takes my hands.
“No harm, Alex, unless what you’re feeling is the opposite of what’s happening. Tell me honestly, baby, are you really okay with having these babies, and with you and Chilli not being married? Because if that’s the case, then I will back off, and I will also personally go take my whip to the other family members. But if—and I need honesty here, Alex—if you aren’t truly okay with it, then you need to tell me why you’re staying with Chilli. I have to be open with you, even if my opinion isn’t wanted or needed, but I really do think that you’re holding off on your own needs because it’s easier to be with him like this, rather than rocking the boat and ending up alone,” she whispers, her eyes going softer when I sigh and slump.
“I love Chilli, you know. Have loved him ever since I looked at him, and he tripped over his own feet. He’s damn clumsy, and when I say that not a single one of my things has gone unscathed when it comes to him, I mean not a thing. I’ve replaced my crockery four times in two months, but I don’t even care. That right there should tell you just how I feel,” I say ruefully, loving the way that Rosetta giggles and shakes her head.
I have a thing about things. My stuff may not all match or be designer plates and glasses, but I like things to stay the same. The fact that Chilli can drop things without my having a meltdown is a testament to just how much I feel for him.
“Don’t joke about things, Alex. This is serious.”
“I know that. I’m just giving you some context, is all. Even if my thoughts are a little out of whack. I love him, like really love him, and you know that it’s true because I haven’t been with another guy since. He’s, like, the wedding-safe guy for me, the guy I’d choose to carry a corpse, if you get me, but also the unattainable guy in the sense that he’s just not going to be catchable. And that’s okay. I love that he’s weird and silly and freaking crazy with his issues and his baggage. It makes me feel more secure to know that all of that beauty is flawed, if that makes sense.”
“Totally,” Rosetta sighs, her smirk a little rueful because she once told me the same thing about Zeus.
It’s a sick fact, but we all like that our guys aren’t perfect, because it makes it easier for us to be less perfect ourselves.
“But, and this is a big but, when I first started being friends with him, I told myself that love and practicality are not two halves of a whole, and I know that that’s true. It’s not practical to fall for a man who isn’t ever going to…it’s not that he doesn’t love me, Rosetta, because I really do believe that he does; it’s just that he doesn’t want to love me forever,” I admit, giving voice to a notion that I finally caught on to when I snooped in his bag and found an engagement ring.
That was both sweetness and sorrow for me right there. Sweet, because that ring is awesomely fucking pretty, and it is totally something that I would want to wear for the rest of my life. I think that seeing it was the best thing that has happened to me since I decided that I love my babies and want them. It was, however, also a hurt unlike any that I have ever felt, because seeing it and knowing that it was there, while also knowing that he wasn’t giving it to me, sort of sealed things up for me. Where I’m at lately, which is possibly why I’ve gone so nuts that it’s hard for me to articulate myself properly, is this place where I have accepted the fact that I shouldn’t want more.
I either accept Chilli the way he is, and love him that way, or I give him up—and that, I don’t know how to do. We’re happy together, it’s true, and that should be enough. In my head, I know that. A lot of people are together for life, and they never get married, so what exactly is it about a ring and a marriage license that makes everything better?
The answer is—nothing.
It isn’t better to be married, and I could probably have Chilli for life and be happy. The problematic stuff is knowing how that makes me feel. Not giving me a ring is like his saying that he still wants to keep his options open, I guess, and that part hurts me. Why wouldn’t he want me to be his one and only option? Why not choose me? I’m a great girlfriend, and I would make a great wife. I mean, nothing would really change if you look at it. Chilli is with me whenever he isn’t away working, and, even then, we talk all the time. Living together and being married won’t be all that different, the way I see it, so it should be an easy step to just make it official.
Knowing him, though, that’s the part that he can’t get past, and I—I don’t know how to get him past it.
“I don’t get it, Alex. I want to, trust me. I really freaking want to get it, and not plot ways to kill the man who saved my life. I just don’t get it, though. You’re so confused,” she says, shaking her head when I grimace. “It’s as if you’re making so many excuses that you can’t keep things straight anymore,” she points out gently, smiling when I groan and drop my face into my hands.
“I know. But I have to keep trying to work it out in my head. I don’t understand it myself, a lot of the time. Maybe because I do love him, and I can’t understand why this is such an issue for him. All I know is that it is, and forcing him to do something won’t change things.”
“Exactly! Nothing will change, Alex. So why not just confront it?”
Shit.
She really has a point.
Chapter Thirteen
Alex
The thing about points is that sometimes, they can cut you.
“You look beautiful, babe,” Chilli breathes, smiling at me from across the table, his eyes going hot when they land on my breasts that are even now peeking precariously over my neckline.
These things really are a hazard to lug around, but, judging by the dark lust shining back at me from Chilli’s eyes, the discomfort is worth it.
“Thanks. I feel huge, but if that’s what gets your blood up, I will not complain,” I muse, grinning when he snorts and licks his lips.
I’m feeling a whole lot better since Rosetta and I had that talk, and after getting myself together, I finally managed to explain to her, in some semblance of understandable emotional dialogue, that I am happy with the way things are, because Chilli and I are together, and we do care about each other. It seems that that’s all she needed to hear, and she must have believed it, too, because she got the rest of my family off my back—and no, I don’t care that she threatened them all with bodily harm, or with the mayor. And
, without people pressuring me, I’ve finally had enough space and time to really think, and you know what? So what if we don’t get married?
I love him, he loves me, and that’s all that matters.
That being said, I am very surprised that he came home today, made me dress up, and took me out on a date. This is going to sound strange, but it’s our first date. Ever. Ironic, I know, since my belly is big enough to touch the table’s edge from where I’m sitting. But it is nice, I think, looking around at the candlelit tables, where the other diners are all looking dapper in their formal wear.
“It definitely gets me going, baby—trust me. If my cock gets any harder, we’re going to have to forgo our food so that I can take you home,” he croons, reaching his hand across the table to take mine.
“I wouldn’t complain after not seeing you for almost a week,” I flirt back, feeling a lot more grounded now that he’s here.
I don’t want to be a disgusting, emotional heap of feelings here, because frankly, that sickens me, but having him here does make it all better. All my fears and doubts flew out the window the moment I opened the door and saw him this afternoon. And I know that that’s gross and weak, but it is what it is.
It’s so weak, in fact, that when he kissed me, bent down to say hello to the babies, and then kissed me again, I wanted to argue against going out. Which is stupid, because I have to admit that I was starting to think that he was hiding me away or something.
“And I told you, tonight is a special occasion,” he says softly, smiling again when I huff.
“What’s so special about it? I ordered enough food off the menu to make Cleo look like she nibbles,” I snort. “If that’s special, then I have got to tell ya, you need therapy.”
Chilli laughs, the sound a full boom of amusement before he loses the mirth and gets serious, looking at me with a tenderness that almost makes everything seem okay.
“We both needed therapy the moment we met, Al. But all jokes aside,” he says, nodding at someone behind me, “I wanted this to be a good memory, and it will be.”