by Cara McKenna
He seemed to go pale at that.
“It’s really common. Something like half of pregnancies end in miscarriage. Usually before a woman even knows about it.”
“Oh.”
“It’s nothing either of us did wrong, or anything wrong with our bodies, or anything we could have prevented. This one just decided not to sign the lease.”
He smiled grimly, seeming a touch relieved by her levity.
“You’re allowed to be sad,” she said, and leaned forward to squeeze his arm. The motion triggered a fresh cramp and it took everything she had not to let it show. “Or to feel relieved, or any other thing. This was your experience too, brief as it was.”
“I’m here to be whatever you need.”
“Same.”
He scooted over to sit beside her, curled a palm around the back of her head, scrunched her hair and coaxed her face to his neck. He held her for a long time, rubbing her aching back with a hot, broad palm as she felt the tick of his jugular vein against her lips.
“It really hurts, huh?” he asked softly.
“So much. Like the worst period ever.”
“How long does it take to… Fuck, I don’t know—”
“About ten days. I called my doctor’s office. The bleeding tapers off in time. And there’s the cramps and backaches, but those get easier too.”
“What can I do for you?”
She shrugged. “Back rubs? Patience? Let me hole up and watch crap TV and be weepy and not take it personally if I need to be alone…?”
He nodded. “I’ll try. And how do you feel?” he asked again, tone making it plain he wasn’t talking about her body.
“I feel a lot of things. Sad, and powerless…but also a little relieved, maybe.”
His hand made slow circles across her back.
“I wasn’t ready to make that decision, no matter which way I landed on it,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Doesn’t matter how I feel. Only matters that I be whatever it is you’re needing.”
“It absolutely does matter what you feel. You can tell me.” Was he relieved too, and didn’t want to make her feel unsupported? Or was he actually heartbroken, but didn’t want her to think she’d let him down?
Shit, did she want to know how he felt about it?
“I don’t know what I feel yet,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Was it because… Did I make this happen?” he asked in a rush of breath.
Her eyes widened and she turned to him. “The miscarriage?”
“The other night, when things got rough…”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. It doesn’t work like that. I promise.”
He nodded but she could read on his face he wasn’t ready to believe her yet.
“Seriously, Flynn, that wasn’t anything to do with it. It was just something about the embryo. It wasn’t meant to be, so it… I dunno. It just blinked out.”
“How big was it?”
“Like a sesame seed, I think.”
“So you didn’t have to see it, or…” He trailed off.
She shook her head. “Nothing like that.”
“Okay. And are you comfortable, sittin’ on the floor like this?”
“No, not particularly.”
He was on his feet the next moment, offering a hand to help her up.
Laurel stood, her butt cold and achy from sitting on the tile for so long, head swimmy and eyes itchy from the crying. She let him lead her to her bedroom. She crept across the comforter, each movement of her legs twinging something deep inside her. The pad between her legs felt like a diaper. Like a punishment.
Flynn sat across from her, making her bed seem tiny. He’d never spent the night, and they’d only screwed around in her room maybe three times—Laurel was a combination of courteous and shy when it came to having sex within roommates’ earshot, and to be fair, a muted Flynn was a complete waste. It just made a million times more sense, fucking at his place.
“You want some tea or something?” he asked. “A drink? You can have booze again, at least.”
“No, no drink.” It sounded nice, but it felt wrong. Felt too familiar and natural a choice. Too easy. “Thank you.”
They were quiet for a long time.
“What are you thinking about?” she finally asked.
“I’m thinking, ‘How can this have come to seem so real in next to no time?’”
That stung, but she didn’t fault him for it. She’d had the same thought.
“I dunno. But you’re right, it did. Even ambivalent as I was, when I realized what was happening, I was so panicky, so frightened for…for it. I felt so helpless, like some tiny creature was in crisis and I couldn’t do anything to rescue it.” And knowing that made her wonder how on earth she’d have felt if she’d chosen to get an abortion, or if she’d have been able to.
“It should’ve been me there with you, not Heather.” His voice didn’t break but it sounded odd. Thin, or brittle. Unlike she’d ever heard it.
“You couldn’t have known. You were working.”
He held his tongue.
“Would you get me some water?” she asked, more to give him a task than anything else.
“Sure. Want any cake?”
“Not just now, thanks.”
He came back with the glass and they sat on her bed for a long time, trading quiet words of no particular import. The backaches came and went and he massaged the spot while she hugged the hot water bottle to her crampy middle. In time they wound up spooning, his warm body plastered to her aching muscles, the strength of his arms a small comfort.
“It’s weird,” she mumbled, breaking long minutes’ silence, “but you know what I think upsets me most about this whole thing?”
“What?”
“The way it ended… I’ll never know what I would have decided, now.”
He sat up, studying her face. “No?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. I don’t know what I would have decided, and I don’t know what that decision would have done to us. To you.”
“I do,” he said.
“Oh?”
“I’d have stayed with you, either way.”
“Yeah?”
“No question. And if we didn’t have a kid this time, I’d hope we’d have one in two years, or five, or ten, or maybe not at all, if that seemed like the right thing.”
“That’s really sweet.” And actually quite profound. No man had ever told Laurel he wanted her to be the mother of his child before. Not even close. Not even close to close. “You’re a refreshingly simple man.”
He laughed, a tiny little closed-lip mm of a sound.
“What?”
“I’m not that simple.”
“I beg to differ.”
Flynn shook his head. “If any man ever did to you for real the shit I pretend to, I would literally murder him. You think I know what to even make of that?”
“But you know it’s different. Different in every way.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t doubt it now and then. Doubt who the fuck I even am, wonder exactly how thin a scrap of conscience separates me and the sickest fuckers walkin’ this earth.”
Now Laurel shook her head, smiling. “Don’t doubt yourself for a second. I don’t.”
“God knows what I did to deserve you.”
“Plenty.”
He opened his mouth. Shut it. He regarded her for a long moment, then got to his feet with a grunt. “Hang on a minute. Need somethin’ from my car.”
“Okay.”
That lie about having a headache was absolutely true now, Laurel noted, her brain feeling pickled. She headed to the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth and changed her pad, feeling tender more in her heart than her sex. Back in her bedroom, she propped the reheated hot water bottle against a pillow and sat with her lower back pressed to it, hugging her knees.
Flynn returned with his jacket slung over his arm. “You lied to me earlier, having Heather
tell me you had a migraine.”
“I know. I’m—”
“I lied to you too.” He sat at the edge of her bed, his hip touching her toes.
“You did?”
He looked down at his jacket, now folded in his lap. “Don’t think I’ve ever lied to you before. Can’t think why I would have.”
Indeed. A man as blunt and unapologetic as Flynn had no reason to. Her curiosity was thoroughly piqued, stomach just a little queasy. “What was the lie?”
“I didn’t work today. There was no overtime shift.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I had an errand to run.” He unfolded his jacket and slipped his hand inside a pocket. When he slid it out, he was holding a small, polished wood box, opening it before Laurel’s imagination got a chance to jump to wild conclusions. Even if it had, it could never have predicted the ring she was suddenly staring at.
“I know I bought this after I found out you were pregnant—”
“Oh my God.”
“—but what’s happened doesn’t change how I feel, or what I want. Thinkin’ we were gonna go through whatever we were together, raising a kid, or goin’ through whatever the fuck sort of head-trip an abortion must be… It just felt obvious. It just felt right, like, this woman’s got the power to change my life in massive, mind-blowing ways, and I knew no matter what you decided, I only wanted to be next to you. So I’m hopin’ you’ll say you wanna be next to me, for whatever’s gonna come next.”
“Jesus, Flynn.” Her head was swimming. What she really wanted was to touch the ring, to see it up close, but she didn’t dare. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel wrong, either, just… Not yet. Just not now.
When she didn’t reach for it, he turned the little box around and regarded it a moment. “Do you think it’s pretty?”
“I think it’s gorgeous.”
“Anne told me you would.”
She had to laugh, floored to think there’d been such a conspiracy afoot. “You lied about your whereabouts so you could sneak off with another woman behind my back? While I slaved away, icing cookies for your niece’s—”
“You want to try it on?”
“I— No. Not yet.”
A pause. “Is that a no, no?”
“It’s not a no. It’s a… I’m not sure. It’s a… It’s an ask-me-again, when I’m not hurting so bad. Ask me when I can wrap my head around it.”
“Ten days, you said?”
She smiled. “In a month, or six months. I know you’re not doing this out of pity, or to try to cheer me up or distract me, but… Shit, I feel like I’m messing this up. But ask me again later.” Her heart was too banged up right now to muster the giddy flutterings such a moment deserved.
“Did I completely wreck this?” he asked.
“No. Not at all. You’re amazing. Pretend I’m as blunt and transparent as you, Flynn, and just take me at my word on this one. Ask me again when things have gotten back to normal and it feels like the right time to you.”
He snapped the box shut and tucked it in his jacket with a little smirk. “When my mind’s made up, it’s made up, so it can only feel right.”
She smirked back. “Very smooth. I wish I had an answer now, trust me. But what happened today… I spend a lot of time trying not to feel things. To hide or to get numb or ignore my issues. But this… I think I need to feel this, what I’m going through now. All of it. This isn’t the sort of pain I want to pack up and stuff down and ignore and have to deal with later. I just want to feel the ugly fuck out of it until I’m okay again. Get it all over with.”
He nodded.
“When I’m done doing that, your question deserves my full attention. My full, sober, rational attention.”
“I hear you.”
She sighed, tired but calm, finally. “I’m not going to be much fun for the next couple weeks.”
“I’m not with you because it’s easy, honey.”
She looked up, struck twice by that remark—first by its sweetness, but then by a tiny backhand, the implication that she was difficult. But she closed her mouth on a protest, because it was true and she knew it, and furthermore she knew it wasn’t a criticism. Merely a fact.
“Why are you with me?” she asked, careful to sound curious and not defensive.
His answer came at once. “The way you make me feel.”
“How do I make you feel?”
“Lots of ways. You make me feel understood, I guess. And appreciated, and useful. And trusted. And out-of-my-mind horny beyond belief.”
She laughed. “Good answer.”
“I feel like you get me. Whatever it is I offer, it’s something you want, or need. And if it isn’t always easy to be with you, when you’re depressed or whatever, I know I’m not easy to be with all the time either. I know sometimes I’m kind of a dick, and I know being with me, sexually, takes you way outside your comfort zone.”
“That’s really not so much of a sacrifice,” she said, blushing faintly.
“But it’s intense, and it takes effort. I appreciate it.”
“It’s not a favor,” she added.
“Neither’s taking care of you when you’re having a hard time.”
Tears welled and slipped free, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. “Thanks. It’s nice to hear you put it that way.”
“And takin’ care of you right now, this ain’t easy, either. But it’s not a favor. It’s not even a duty. It’s just what we do for each other.”
She nodded. Still, she wished her higher-maintenance aspects involved filthy, kinky sex instead of mental health crises.
They fell silent, and Laurel seemed to leave her body for a minute, as though her mind took a step back, hovering just outside her skin. She saw the two of them eight months into a romance, struck by how this looked nothing like any theoretical locket portrait she might have been carrying around, depicting the future love of her life. Physically, this man was more than she’d ever have paired herself with; more aggressively, blatantly masculine than she’d realized she was into. But it went far beyond that.
“This isn’t how I imagined it would look, being in love,” she said slowly, teasing the idea free, like an archaeologist brushing the dust from a bone. “Like, in actual love, not just the kind you feel at the start.”
“How do you mean?”
“Just this, right now… When you see people in love in movies or wherever, it’s all good feelings. Grand gestures and proclamations and kissing in the rain. I never thought it could feel this intimate, something as painful as this. Something this visceral, and ugly, and sad. But I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this close to anyone.”
His smile was small, somehow fragile.
“I mean, I never imagined I’d let a guy have sex with me during my period. But this is like… I dunno. I guess what I’m saying is, it amazes me how unafraid of the female body you are.”
“Helpful when you’re a straight guy.”
“No, you have no idea how terrified guys are of women’s bodily functions. And how gross it makes us feel. But you really don’t give a shit. Are you sure you were raised Catholic?”
He laughed. “When you’re into what I am… It takes communication. Plus I attract pretty ballsy, outspoken women.”
Laurel nodded. She had a meek streak, but she had gone after him, at the start. That was Flynn’s m.o. He didn’t do the pursuing, at least not until a woman knew what she was in for. And Laurel supposed that, yes, it did take a certain shameless type of gal to chase a man as intimidating as Flynn. It gave her a funny little jolt of pride and surprise to realize she was one of them.
“If a woman’s too shy to acknowledge the existence of her period, she’s probably not up for negotiating a rape scene,” he said.
“I suppose not. And really, I’d happily trade mystique and discretion for honesty. And to be with a man who’ll go out in a snowstorm and get me tampons.”
“It wasn’t a storm.”
“And potato chips.”
>
He shrugged. “You keep tendin’ my wounds, I’ll keep you in snacks and lady-plugs.”
“It’s a deal.” She laughed, caught by a thought. “Could those be our vows?”
He looked up, gaze soft but loaded. In time, he smiled. “I think we can do better than that.”
“I don’t suppose I could look at the ring again?”
“Sure.”
Her breath caught as he dug through the folds of his jacket and produced the little box. She’d been so floored when he’d first whipped it out, she’d really only registered the barest details—diamond, sparkly, proposal.
He passed her the box and she opened it, its tiny hinge silent. The ring was seated in a bed of dove-gray velvet, almost as though the diamond were floating there. “Wow.” It was big. Not garish, but larger than she’d ever have set her heart on. “Not to be tacky, but is this real?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow,” she said again, and he chuckled. “I like the shape.” Not a circle—a softly rounded rectangle.
“It’s a cushion cut,” he announced with an overdone know-it-all air.
“The jeweler tell you that?”
“Yup.”
“It’s beautiful. Like, beautiful.” She slid it out. The band was simple and slender, nicely balanced with the size of the stone. She turned it this way and that, watching the lamplight dance in the facets, feeling woozy to imagine she could wear this. All she had to do was say the word.
Not yet. Not until there was enough room inside her for all the joy that moment deserved to inspire. She slipped the ring back into its little slot, sad to shut it away in the dark.
“How’d you know my size? Anne?”
He nodded. “She snuck in and stole one of your rings.”
“Which one?”
“Silver, with a blue stone in it.”
She smiled. “Clever little sneak.”
“I didn’t tell her about the pregnancy,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have imagined you would.”
“You gonna tell her?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I will. She knows me too well not to notice I’m having a hard time.”
“You call in sick to work, I hope?”