Good On Paper

by Jennifer Millikin

  “She's pregnant.” His voice is empty, yet his message drills right into the center of me.

  My hand reaches out, looking for the couch, but I'm too far away. My legs are weak, incapable of holding me up any longer. I collapse, right onto the hardwood floor. Pulling my knees into my chest, I tuck my chin and try to make myself as small as possible.

  This cannot be happening.

  Maybe if I keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut, this problem will disappear. I hear the rustle of Aidan’s jeans, feel the movement of air displacing as he sits down beside me. His arms wrap around me, tugging me onto his lap. Pressing my face to the front of the shirt, I cry into the soft flannel.

  “I can't believe it either.” Aidan's voice drifts around me.

  After a few minutes, I sit back and look at him. He doesn't look so frightened, now that he has told me. I swipe my cheeks, but the tears I’ve just wiped away are immediately replaced by more.

  “How did she tell you?” My words come out garbled because of Aidan's hands on my face. He pulls them away, settling on my upper arms instead.

  “She was waiting for me when I walked out of school this afternoon. She texted me a couple times yesterday, but I ignored them.”

  We were together all day yesterday. He didn’t mention the messages, but then again, why would he?

  “She wanted to know if we were definitely over. From the very beginning I told her what to expect, but” —Aidan shrugs slightly— “I guess I hurt her feelings anyhow. Then she told me about… about…”

  “The baby,” I say for him.

  He nods slowly.

  A thought pops into my head, and I cling to it as though it is a life preserver and I'm being tossed around in the stormy ocean. “Are you sure the baby is yours?"

  “I asked her. She was so insulted. There was a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and I thought she was going to throw it in my face.” Aidan looks down to the front of his shirt, like he is double checking to make sure it really didn't happen. He looks back to me, his eyes wary. “Allison and I had a conversation right after we met. She had just gotten out of a bad relationship and wasn't looking for anything. Obviously, that suited me. She asked me not to sleep with other people if I was sleeping with her.” A small smile twists one side of his lips. “She said it was icky.”

  Despite the awfulness of this whole situation, a small bubble of laughter escapes my throat. I don't know Allison at all, but for some reason, I can picture her using the word icky.

  The momentary break from the heaviness of the situation is gone, and now everything sits right here again, wedged into the space between our chests.

  “Do you think… Is there any way that you… Where do we go from here?” Aidan flinches when he’s done speaking, as if he knows the answer but had to ask the question anyhow.

  “You already know, Aidan.”

  His eyes drift off to the side and he nods.

  I just went through a divorce, but this hurts more. Henry hurt me a little bit every day. Aidan has just ripped my heart from my chest. And he didn’t even mean to.

  I know what will happen now. He will fall in love with the baby. Maybe he will fall in love with Allison.

  Isn't that the way it should go? I don't know Allison, but I cannot deny her a chance at a family. If I kept Aidan as mine, if I didn’t allow him the opportunity to participate in this experience fully, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

  Aidan's gaze locks on mine, and my eyes fill up with tears. In all our years of friendship I've never seen Aidan cry, but right now there are tears rolling down his face.

  He slips his hands through my hair and pulls my face to his. He kisses me softly, his lips dancing over mine. He pulls back an inch, and I feel the heat of his breath on my skin.

  “You'll always be my Best.” His words tumble over me, his double meaning shooting straight into my ripped up heart.

  I can't respond. If I dare to open my mouth, the only sound that will come from me will be sobs.

  We sit on the floor and hold each other as the city comes to life around us. People are off work, meeting friends for happy hour, going to dinner with their partners. They have no idea that up here in this apartment, a decade of friendship is being tested by life. We made it through my marriage. But this? A baby is bigger than us. Bigger than the day I promised to love Henry forever.

  In a tapestry, can pulling on a single loose thread unravel the whole thing?

  Sydney calls at eleven o’clock that night after I’ve cried myself to sleep.

  “What?” I ask, still half asleep.

  “Nothing,” Sydney chirps. “Just calling to chat.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “It's not late. I just got done studying.”

  Sydney's words run on top of one another and it's hard for me to understand her. Either that or I really am still sleeping.

  “I was sleeping, Sydney.”

  “Well, wake up.”

  I don't have the patience for this. “I’m going back to bed. Goodbye.”

  “C’mon, don't hang up. I haven't talked to you since Thanksgiving. Don't you want to talk about Mom? How was she? Was she drunk? Ha ha, stupid question. Of course she was. You haven't even asked me how my Thanksgiving was. It was lovely, in case you're wondering. Wait, didn't you go to Aidan's parents fancy Pound Ridge House? How was that?”

  Sydney finally takes a breath, and my head is reeling from trying to keep up with all her questions.

  “Everything was great. Let's talk tomorrow.” There's no way I'm telling her about everything right now. Even though she said she just finished studying, I think she might be drunk.

  “Natalie,” she whines my name.

  “Bye, Sydney." I hang up and switch my phone to do not disturb.

  I lie there in the dark, trying my best to fall asleep, but it's elusive. I cannot stop my mind from running in circles, or alleviate the pain in the center of my chest. I get up, open my laptop, and pull up a new braiding tutorial. Once I have all my rubber bands and a brush, I hit play and get to work.

  “I’m loving all these new hairstyles,” Savannah says, lifting a fishtail braid off my shoulder. She examines the complicated plait, then drops it. It lands against my back with a soft thud.

  “Thanks. I've been watching some YouTube tutorials.” Some is an understatement. I've been watching a lot of YouTube tutorials. It has been ten days since the pregnancy bomb was dropped. Aidan and I talked on the phone the day after he told me, trying hard to communicate the way we did before we took our relationship to the next level, but it was forced and painful. After Allison’s appointment, I sent him a text message asking how it went. He confirmed that there is indeed a baby, and it looks a bit like a peanut. I haven't talked to him since that day. I cannot bring myself to pretend everything is fine when fine is the last thing I am.

  In hindsight, I wish we told everybody we were involved. Because nobody knew about our relationship, it's hard to tell anybody about our demise. My sister is the only person I've told. I called her back the day after her late-night phone call, and she confirmed that after she finished studying, she took two shots of tequila to help her relax. We laughed about it until my laughter was replaced with tears. I told Sydney everything, and never before have I wished so badly that we were in the same city. A hug from her might make me feel a little better. And even a little better is better than how I feel right now.

  “Do you mind if I poke through your closet?” We've been sitting on the couch for the last hour watching House Hunters and waiting for Savannah’s boyfriend to go to work. On Friday nights he tends bar at a swanky uptown place, which means we drink for free. “I’m not feeling my wardrobe tonight.”

  I wave a hand toward my bedroom. “Have at it.”

  She claps her hands twice and gets up, going to my room. I follow her in and sit on the bed, watching her inspect my clothes. She pulls out the dress I wore to the wedding and holds it up to herself. Turning right and
left, she says, “This is a sexy little number. Where did you wear this?”

  “Malachi and Karis’ wedding.” Even though I’m saying their names, I’m not picturing them at all. Instead I see Aidan in the greenhouse with confused emotions tumbling through him, scooping up my shoes and leading me to the hotel, rocking above me in the bed. My eyes tighten and burn at the memories. I turn away and fiddle with something on my nightstand so Savannah won’t see how upset I feel.

  “Who?” she asks. Hangers scrape against the metal rod, and I surreptitiously grab a tissue and blot at my wet eyes.

  “Friends from college.”

  “Gotcha. Oh, this one!”

  Savannah holds out a red top. Her raised eyebrows seek my approval.

  “Perfect,” I tell her.

  “I’ll go get dressed. You better get changed too. Drew’s shift starts” —she looks down at her watch— “in ten minutes.”

  Savannah leaves, and I grab the first dress I see in my closet. As I’m pulling the dress over my head, my phone chirps with a text. I grab it and see Aidan’s name.

  I miss you.

  I stare at those three little words. I miss him too. Terribly. But how can you miss something you only had for such a short time? And how can you miss something that’s technically still there? Another text comes through.

  I’m a straw.

  Immediately I understand what he means. He’s empty on the inside.

  I write back. I’m a straw too.

  I wait for those three response dots to appear, but none do. After a minute, I set down the phone and finish getting ready. When Savannah and I are walking to the elevator, my phone chirps again. It’s Aidan.

  Best?

  I’m still here, I write back.

  He doesn’t say anything else. Perhaps that’s all he needed to know.

  19

  Natalie

  Charity and Mari have met us at the bar. I've never seen either of them so done up, but they are both single and this is a bar, so I guess the math makes sense. Drew approaches our table with a third round. In his hands are two martini glasses, Savannah is behind him with the other two.

  “Thank you,” she coos after the drinks are set on the table. She pulls him in for a kiss, and I look away as the kiss turns deeper. Charity sticks her fingers between her lips and whistles loudly. Savannah laughs and sits down while Drew retreats to his place behind the bar.

  Mari lifts her glass into the air. “To Natalie. I hope you get the hell out of the funk you’ve been in.”

  “What are you talking about? I haven't been in a funk.” I clink my glass against the others and take a sip.

  Savannah nods as she swallows. “Yes, you have. I would know.” She gives me a pointed look. “I live with you.”

  There are three sets of eyes staring at me now, and I don't know if it's that or the martinis, but I open my mouth and tell them everything. I need more people to confide in than my sister. She may only be four hours away, but sometimes it feels like so much more.

  “The hot guy from the street… Wow. How was it?” Charity leans forward, ready to hear the juicy details. Under the table, Savannah finds my hand and gives it a squeeze. She understands that this goes much, much deeper than sex.

  Everything inside me has been so heavy for so long, as though my blood has been replaced by lead. Instead of talking about my broken heart, I tell them something fun and light. I tell them about Aidan's jealousy over the best man, how I found Aidan in the greenhouse and then we decided to get a room. All three of them make different gleeful sounds of surprise when I tell them we ran into Beckett in the hallway.

  Charity drinks the last of her martini. “You've left out the part about the steamy sex, but I'll let you slide this time. I wish your story had a happier ending.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Me too.” Apparently happy endings really are just for romance novels and those who get extremely lucky. In my twenty-eight years, I've been very unlucky.

  “Why don't you fight for him?” Mari asks.

  Of course I’ve thought about it. It sounds so tragic and romantic, but this isn't a book. We exist in the real world, where choices have consequences. I might win Aidan, but what will I be taking from others?

  “I won’t do that to Allison.”

  “But you don't know her. I don't mean to sound unkind, but…”

  “Put yourself in Allison's shoes,” Savannah says. “You wind up pregnant by a guy you’re having casual sex with. If you had feelings for him,” Savannah glances at me, then back to Mari, “Wouldn't you want the chance to see where things could go?”

  “I can't even imagine being pregnant,” Charity says, shuddering. “No thank you.”

  I'm growing tired of this conversation. We either need to move on to a new topic, or it's time for me to leave. I pick up my martini glass, drink the last of it, and move to set it down. I misjudge the table and end up placing the martini glass on the edge. It teeters for a moment, then falls to the ground and shatters.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “Bartender,” Charity cups her hands around her mouth and pretends to yell at Drew, “Do not serve this lady any more alcohol.”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” I say, looking down. For the most part, the mess is between my and Savannah's chairs, but there are a few large pieces in the walkway. Steadying myself with one hand on Savannah's chair, I bend at the waist and try to move the glass before it hurts somebody.

  Only, it hurts me instead.

  “Ow.” I sit up in my chair and cradle my right hand in my left. The pain sears my palm. As much as I don't want to look at the cut, I force myself to. Blood oozes from the wound, making it hard to determine how deep it is. All I know is that it really fucking hurts.

  Snatching a napkin off the table, I press it to the wound.

  Savannah is deep in conversation with Charity and Mari. Something about how choosing to not to have children does not make her less of a woman. Charity gasps when her eyes flicker across the table and spots the red soaking through the napkin.

  “I’m all right,” I say automatically. Truthfully, I'm not sure I'm okay. I’ve cut myself before, but it didn't hurt this bad.

  Savannah goes to the bar and returns with more napkins. When I pull away the used one, I catch a glimpse of the depth of the cut. It's pretty deep, and my stomach is starting to feel uneasy. Pressing a fresh napkin to my palm, I ask Savannah to put my purse across my body and help me into my jacket.

  “Are you going home?” she asks.

  “Urgent care,” I answer. “I think I might need stitches.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she says, standing up from the table.

  “We all will.”

  A loud song has come on, and I'm not sure if it was Mari or Charity who said that, so I shake my head at both of them. “Don't let me ruin your night. I mean it.” When I see the looks of disbelief on their faces, I remind them that they did not get dolled up just to go sit in urgent care.

  “And I did?” Savannah smiles as she says it, grabbing my jacket and holding it for me while I slip my left arm in. I ball up my right hand, even though it hurts like hell, so that the napkin stays in place, then push my hand through the arm of my jacket.

  “Let me go tell Drew what's going on. I'll be back in two seconds.” Savannah walks away, weaving her way through the crowd to the bar.

  Turning back to Charity and Mari, I apologize for ruining their night.

  Mari shakes her head. “The only person whose night is ruined is yours. And you're the one who could probably use a fun night.”

  “Don't worry about me. I'll be okay.” Try telling that to my heart who won't let me go more than ten minutes without thinking of Aidan.

  “All set?” Savannah asks from behind me.

  We say goodbye and make our way through the front door. Savannah holds out her phone and squints at it. “There's an urgent care this way. Come on,” she says authoritatively, looping one arm through the crook of my left el
bow.

  We arrive at urgent care, and Savannah signs me in. The receptionist holds out forms for me to fill out, which clearly I cannot do. Savannah plucks them from her hand and chooses a seat at the far end of the room. According to the monitor in the corner underneath the ceiling, there is approximately a one hour wait time. The chairs are plastic and uncomfortable. A small bookshelf houses toys, puzzles, and books. I bet every one of those items is crawling with nasty germs. On the middle of one wall is a flat screen TV playing When Harry Met Sally. I'm not certain, but I think the orgasm scene has passed. Of all that is currently happening in my life, that is something I'm grateful for. I can't imagine sitting in a room full of sick or injured strangers and watching Meg Ryan simulate an orgasm.

  Savannah fills in my information as much as she can, asking me questions as she goes. For an hour I try to get comfortable (not possible), and I try not to think of Aidan (also not possible). Is he with her right now? What was the doctor’s appointment like? In my imagination, Aidan stands beside Allison as she lies on the exam table, her stomach exposed to the ultrasound technician. The rapid sound of the baby’s heartbeat fills the air, and then the tiny little dot of the human appears on the screen. This miracle does something to Aidan, and he looks at Allison with brand-new eyes.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to get ahold of my imagination. When it comes to writing, my imagination is a gift. In this moment, it's more of a curse.

  “Natalie?” My head snaps up. An overweight man in dark brown scrubs stares expectantly at me. His eyes are dull, and when I get closer to him, I see that their color matches his scrubs.

  Savannah comes with me. We’re led to an exam room where the nurse asks me questions about my injury and takes my temperature, then tells me the doctor will be in shortly. Savannah sits in a chair in the corner, and I'm up on the exam table with the paper that crunches every time I move.

  “Sorry,” I start to say, but she waves me off.

  “Don't be. I'm just sorry you're having to go through this.” She nods at my hand. “And about Aidan.”