“Me first,” she said. She moved her fingers to my hair; I felt her nails on my scalp. Normally it was one of my favorite things to have her play with my hair, but all it did at the moment was make me stir in my seat. The beer and oysters were fighting in my stomach, rattling around, ignoring the Pepto-Bismol. My armpits were moistening by the second.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying like hell to sound chipper, realizing that my relationship with Sara was hanging in the balance. A small belch escaped me, and I felt a warm, burning portion of bile behind it. I wiped a few drops of sweat from my forehead.
“Are you okay? You look pale,” Sara said.
“I’m okay,” I said, even though I didn’t feel okay at all. What I was feeling was that something might come out of me unexpectedly, and I didn’t know which end to prepare for. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked again, concerned. She put her hand on my belly and rubbed gently up and down, like a mother would do for a child.
Or a sister might do for her big brother, I thought, horrified. My stomach clenched at another sucker punch, momentarily overtaking the mollusk-versus-hops rumble.
“Yep, I’m good,” I lied.
“Adam, I haven’t said anything about this to you yet, but I noticed it about three weeks ago,” she started. She looked at me worriedly, and I knew what she was going to say next. My insides felt loose and increasingly unsettled; I had to stand up or else I was afraid I would crap in my pants.
“I know, Sara,” I said, walking to the thermostat on the wall by the front door. It was set on 65, and I pushed it down to 60.
I know that you know that I look just like your father. I know that you and I may well be blood relatives. I know that you are now about to sever your ties with the biggest Fluke in your life. I thought this with a kind of sadness that I had never experienced before; the kind of sadness that I figured could come only with loss. It was loss like death; it was final.
“You know?” she asked, surprised.
“I’m pretty sure I do, Sara,” I said, holding my stomach, realizing that I was losing focus on her. I felt lightheaded and started wondering how Sara would react if I fell over dead right there. I leaned back against the wall, hoping it would provide some support. My stomach was worsening by the second, and I felt a slight contraction. I swallowed hard, hoping to hold back any vomit that might have been considering making an appearance. The sweat in my armpits was nearly a steady flow now, drops rolling down my ribcage, soaking into my shirt.
Boy, I must look like shit, I thought for no reason.
“How could you know I’m late?” she asked, still surprised.
I managed to lift my head from the wall and stare at her, confused. I squinted my eyes at her and said, “Late?” I didn’t know what she was talking about. "What?"
“I haven’t had a period in a long time, Mister Fluke,” she said, and I couldn’t hold back anymore.
The word late kept repeating itself in my head as I threw my hand over my mouth and made a mad, wobbly dash for the bathroom.
Late? Period? I repeated her words in my head; they sounded like a foreign language to me at that moment.
I flipped up the toilet lid and dropped to my knees in one fluid motion, averting a giant mess by a millisecond. The oysters and beer came out of me in a flood, my sides hitching, my breath halting, my eyes watering.
Did she say she was late? I wondered. Late for what? I tried reasoning her declaration in my head as another helping of hot, sour-tasting vomit surged out of my mouth.
I held my head up after the third wave ended, feeling a sticky rope of vomit and saliva dangling from my chin and tears rolling down my cheeks as my lungs fought to suck in air. The sickly sweet smell of beer, oysters, and Pepto was everywhere. I reached for the toilet paper to wipe my mouth and chin off, and I heard her footsteps in the bathroom. It sounded as if she were a hundred yards away, asking me if I was okay. A moment of clarity hit me, as though the evacuation of the stew in my stomach had once again allowed room for a thought. I sat on my bottom next to the messy, stinking toilet and finally recognized the context in which Sara had spoken to me a few moments before.
Jesus Christ, she’s late?
Then Sara was next to me, helping me, making the immediate situation of my having regurgitated my lunch okay. I followed weakly when she took my hand and led me to our bed, where she helped me take off my sandals and lay down. I watched her back as she left and went to clean up my mess. I sat up to object, intent on telling her that I would clean it up, but no sound came from my still-burning throat. I thought briefly about how much I hated cleaning up my own puke, and I wondered if I’d have the stomach to clean up anyone else’s, even Sara’s.
I stared at the roof, and listened to the sounds of Sara as she went about business. Toilet flushing, twice, bristles from the toilet bowl brush scraping porcelain, the hiss of air freshener. Another flush. I closed my eyes.
I opened them again when I felt a small kiss on my forehead. Sara looked into my eyes and gave me a soft smile. "Here you go, sweetheart" she told me, placing a damp rag on my forehead, and using another, hotter, rag to wipe around the rest of my face. I closed my eyes again and was asleep.
****
“Ughhh,” I woke myself up moaning. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. One of the few things worse than vomit was the stale aftertaste of old vomit. "Man…" I said, as I opened my eyes and noticed Sara lying next to me. She was watching me, and smiled when I looked her way. My left arm was curled over my chest, and I felt something distinctly furry under it. I glanced down and saw Flukey, the bear from the carnival, held close to my chest. This brought a chuckle from me, and I put the bear against Sara’s body. His shiny black eyes stared back at me, expressionless as always, and Sara wrapped an arm around him.
"How you feeling?" she said. “Flukey and I were worried.”
"I’m okay," I told her. "Don't come close. I get the distinct impression that my breath won't be pleasant right now, to say the very least." I watched her and the hint of all I had been thinking about that day came to the front of my mind. It was very brief and I somehow managed to simply push it away. "Don’t mean to be rude, Sara,” glancing at the bear, “and Flukey, but I need to brush my teeth. Badly. Now. "
She laughed a little as I rolled off the bed and onto my feet. The world swam in front of me. It was similar to the movie scenes where one of the characters thinks back to the past.
"You gonna make it?" she asked me.
"Yeah," I told her, turning around. "I'll be back in a sec.” I smiled at her and then proceeded to the bathroom, on a beeline to the sink. I noticed that the toilet was spotless. There was the faint odor of some cleaning solution lingering in the air. It was pleasant, as if the atrocities that had occurred earlier had never happened. I glanced at my watch and saw that it had been almost two hours. I picked up my toothbrush, and began to scrub my teeth. I made a quick job of it, and then brushed them again, thorough enough this time to brush each tooth individually. I scrubbed my tongue as though I were trying to rub off the slimy white taste buds. When I was satisfied, I went ahead and lathered up my face with the Apricot Scrub that I found along the mirror. The rough granules it contained felt wonderful as I pushed them along my cheeks. I felt a lot better after my nap and actually wondered if I had been blowing everything out of proportion earlier. The way I had been thinking was a little far-fetched after all, probably a combination of the sun and the beer.
Late! I thought suddenly. My hand slipped and shoved the rough facial cleanser into my eye.
"Fuck!" I breathed, scurrying to turn the water on, and rescue my pained eye. It was so typical. I couldn't even wash my face without rubbing the cornea off of my damned eye. The damn Fluke Factor.
I finished up, and dabbed my face dry with the towel hanging over the porcelain god I had worshipped just a couple of short hours before. I found myself briefly amazed again at how clean it was.
I walked back into the bedroom, and dropped down onto the bed next to Sara. She was lying on her side with one arm beneath her face and the other in front of her. She was beautiful. I wonder if our baby would be that beautiful?
Or would it have two heads?
I shook my head and reached over and took Sara's hand. I had always wondered if I was a man. Not a man in the sense that I had male sex organs, but instead a man as defined by the way I lived and whether I lived in accordance with my beliefs. I never really knew whether I was succeeding even though I thought about it now and again. Try to be a man now, Adam. I told myself.
"I think I’m ready to talk now, Sara."
"Are you sure?" she eyed me with those green eyes, and I could see the intelligence in them, searching my own, measuring me up.
"Yeah," I said. I found myself with about a million different thoughts in my head at that moment, and I felt like running scared, running to another place and time. Some people were fighters. They had the strength and courage to push through nearly anything life could throw at them. I had always had tendencies to avoid the tough situations. I put that part of me aside and went on, "So…you're late?"
“A little,” she said. I knew in my head that this should be an uncomfortable situation, but I felt relaxed, and Sara stared right at me coolly. The upturned corners of her mouth gave the appearance of a small smile, and her green eyes were sharp and focused, as always.
"How late is that?" I asked her. How many times have I seen this situation in movies or in sitcoms? What does the guy always do? I couldn't remember that part.
"That’s about three weeks late," she said.
"Three weeks? Oh," I replied. "Well, that isn't all that late." Typical male, Fluke. That's the answer she didn't want.
"No, for some women it isn't. For some women irregular is regular. But…" she paused and looked at me. I couldn't tell what she was thinking at that moment, but she continued. “But I’ve been… well, doing this for twelve years, and I'm always right on time. ” She smiled—a small smile—and shrugged her shoulders. "Didn't mean to make you sick with the news.”
"Ohhh, no, that isn't it. I mean, I didn't get sick because…because you're, um, late,” I watched her. She continued to lay on her arm, her hair spread all around her. She was beautiful. And probably pregnant. I still couldn't remember what the guys in this situation, in all the movies, did.
"I love you, Adam," she said to me, lifting her head up, and staring intently at me.
"I love you too, Sara." I pushed away all the thoughts and decided just to love this woman. This woman, better than any other, who loved me. Push them away.
I moved closer to Sara and hugged her. I hugged her and told myself that everything was good. Everything was okay. This was real life, not a fairy tale. There was nothing disgusting going on here, and the Wicked Witch of the East wasn't going to pay us a visit any time soon.
I pulled her as close to me as she would get and hugged even tighter. Maybe too tight, but I just didn't care.
"Thank you, Adam," she whispered in my ear. Our faces brushed together, and I realized that she was crying. I was physically unable to say anything, a problem I hadn’t had since the first weeks we knew each other. I thought back to that first night we were together, and how I was unable to speak to her outside of her place. Our place, now.
"Oh, Adam. We might be having a baby. And I know that maybe you aren't ready for that. I don't know if I am. There’s so much that I’m feeling inside..." She spoke first, just like that first night, saving me when I was witless. Will I always find myself thankful, and satisfied for her ability to carry my weight in addition to her own with us during uncomfortable moments? She sniffled, and I felt fresh tears touch my cheek.
"Shhhh, Sara, don't talk right now." I told her, trying to be strong for once in my life, "We'll talk about it soon." I pulled her close to me again. "Right now, let's just lay here. I love you."
"I love you, Adam."
I lay awake holding her as she drifted off to sleep. I held her, yet, my mind still itched with feelings that I didn't want there. I sniffed lightly at her hair, cautious not to wake her. I tried imagining how she felt and thought that maybe we were both feeling many of the same feelings about a lot of things. Her eyelids began to flutter in her sleep; I had never watched that happen with anyone before. I really hadn't been this close to anyone.
Maybe closer than I really wanted to know.
10.
I woke up early…one of those uncharacteristic 6 a.m. mornings that I see only a few times a year. I looked again at the clock, and at Sara. She was sound asleep, and I sat listening to her breathing for some time before I quietly removed myself from the bed and made my way to the shower. I hadn't showered after yesterday's events. While the toxic explosion from my innards had left me visibly unscathed, I felt filthy from it all.
I climbed into our tub and jammed the water as hot as it would go without tearing the flesh off of me. I felt pretty relaxed, all things considered. There’s gonna be a new Fluke in your life, Fluke. Maybe this one will come out 9lbs, and 6oz, nine months from now.
"Nine months minus three weeks," I answered myself aloud. I could hardly take care of myself, I was constantly riding an emotional roller coaster, and now I was possibly going to father a child in the midst of this strange brew.
I put my forehead to the wall and let the hot water rush over me. I thought again about the picture and the theory about everyone having a double, and this time it clicked right with me. The odds had to be strongly in favor of the man in that photo just bearing a resemblance to me as opposed to being my actual father, right? If I dropped a quarter into a newspaper machine in Florida, I wouldn't expect to come across that same piece of copper and silver in Texas. Especially not thirty years later. No way. I thought about it more and more, and I became convinced that it was virtually impossible for something of that nature to have happened. He probably was her mother's high school sweetheart. They probably never even left Texas.
I whistled quietly as I finished up my shower. Towel to the head, towel to the body, good to go. I kept whistling, as I made my way to the extra bedroom to weed through some clothes that still remained there. I tossed on some old jeans and a button-up.
No way, brother.
I tossed on my sandals, and stepped out onto the patio for a little morning sun, and a little morning smoke. Nothing like the morning sun. I watched it as it sat just barely above the horizon, a huge, burning orange-yellow ball of promise. Before I met Sara, I frequently watched the sun rising with a sense of dread, knowing that another day had started, and I would have to work through it, navigating the twists and turns that life dropped in front of me. My only goal in those days was to simply make it through, some days fighting my way to the finish line and other days stumbling across it. Since Sara, however, things had changed. I looked forward to each new day, making it another chance to become closer to the woman I loved, the woman who encouraged me to try and get life going forward.
You're gonna be a daddy, Fluke. I felt the butterflies as I thought this. I realized that Sara was going to need me in a big way. Bigger than I had ever been needed before. I began to ponder how our next conversation should go, what I should say. I glanced at the Civic, and decided that first we had to get some kind of answer to whether or not we were having a baby. Maybe, this really was the first time in 12 years that Sara was late. I decided to make a trip over to the neighborhood store and grab one of those home pregnancy tests. That would be a start.
And, after that issue was settled, then we could talk about the other.
I tiptoed through the house and picked up my keys and wallet. I took a peek at Sara only to see her still sound asleep. I made my way back out, locking up behind me, and jumped into my car.
****
I was in Gerland's grocery, aisle 7, eyeballing the pregnancy tests. I couldn't fight the feeling of embarrassment as I read the different boxes. It was the same feeling I got when
I bought condoms. Of course, if I had gone through the embarrassment of buying condoms, I probably wouldn’t have been standing there, paranoid that someone I knew would find me. Find out that ol’ Fluke might have knocked up someone, the dirty boy. I imagined Heather tapping me on the shoulder the same way she had at the carnival that night.
"So, Fluke, you were fucking her, is that it?" she might say.
"Ummm…well…" I’d stammer, with my standard inability to properly respond.
"Now, I understand what you were working on. Don't I?" she might continue, gaining momentum, getting louder.
"Well, yeah, I guess so," would be my lame, mumbled response.
I read through the description on the box that I had in my hands again. Plus sign, you're pregnant. Minus sign, you're not. It sounded easy enough.
I started to get the eerie feeling that Heather really would find me, and the thought of that confrontation made me very uncomfortable. I grabbed another of the tests just in case the first one I chose was commonly known to be a bad choice to everyone except me (elimination of Fluke Factor) and briskly walked towards the end of the aisle to the checkout lanes.
Only two registers were open; Gerland’s was pretty quiet at this hour of the morning. Why they opened so early, I had no idea, but it was handy for those moments that someone might need an egg or some kitty litter. Or, of course, pregnancy tests.
As I neared the first register, I noticed that there was a small floral department at the end of the store. Small bouquets of flowers lined green shelves, and there was a cooler with roses visible. After a moment's thought I walked over, and looked through what was there. My eyes focused on a small plant inside of a dark pink basket on top and I picked it up. It was a little cheesy, but I thought it would be nice. I wondered if Sara would somehow see a plant as a bad thing to give her. Should I be getting roses? I browsed through the cooler with roses again, then walked back to the little plant. I turned it around in my hands and decided that I liked it. It was different. Probably a fluke, just like me. Sara would understand and appreciate it. I walked to register one, plant in pink basket, and two home pregnancy tests in hand. Twenty-seven dollars and change had me on my way.
Fluke Page 11