Good On Paper

by Jennifer Millikin

  “We’ll be okay,” I say automatically because I don't know what else to say. Any other ending, any other possibility, is something I cannot fathom.

  Doubt swims in Savannah's eyes. “Do you really believe that, Natalie?”

  “I have to,” I whisper. The truth is, I'll take Aidan any way I can have him. Even if it means he belongs to someone else. He did that for me, and I can do that for him.

  My phone rings. Savannah digs it out of my purse and looks at it.

  “It's your sister.” She holds the phone out to me with raised eyebrows.

  “I’ll call her back.”

  Savannah replaces the phone into the side pocket of my purse. There is a light knock on the door, and then it pushes open. A tall man with a bright, shiny smile steps in. Looking at him is like being at the beach. He has hair the color of sand and eyes the color of the ocean. Nothing like the unhappy nurse.

  “Ms. Shay, hello. I’m Dr. Decker.” He leans a hip against the small countertop and glances at my hands. “Knife fight?”

  I laugh. “You should see the other guy.”

  He pushes off the counter. It only takes him three steps to cross the small exam room. “Let’s take a look,” he says. He uses his foot to pull over a stool and sinks down on to it. I peel back the blood spotted napkin and offer him my right hand. He forms a cup with his hands and slips it under my right hand, holding it up and peering closer.

  “Ouch,” he says, his lips receding to make a face that reminds me of the teeth-baring emoji. “It's good you came in. That's going to need stitches.”

  I make a face, and he chuckles. “It won't be so bad. I'll give you a little whiskey and some piggin’ string to bite on.”

  “Piggin’ string?” I say at the same time that Savannah says, “Are you from Texas? How do you know what piggin’ string is?” Her accent gets a little heavier now, just because she has referenced her home state.

  “Can somebody please tell me what piggin’ string is?” I ask, and they both smile at the joke I'm clearly not in on.

  “It's used for calf roping,” Dr. Decker explains. “And obviously I'm kidding. I'll use a local anesthetic. You might feel a tugging sensation, but you won't feel pain. Sound good?"

  "Sounds a lot better than piggin’ string.”

  Dr. Decker chuckles. “Give me a few minutes to get everything set up, and we'll get started.” He turns to Savannah. “Based upon your accent, I guess you are Texas born and bred.”

  “You bet I am.” Pride colors her voice. “And based on your accent, I'd say you are not.”

  “Nope. I grew up here in the city. I went to UT Austin for my undergrad.” His eyes grow soft, nostalgic. A smile lifts one side of his mouth. “I'd like to go back someday. Austin left a mark on me.” Gathering my file from the counter, he looks back at me. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Try not to bleed out.”

  “I’ll try,” I echo as the door closes softly shut behind him.

  “Holy hell, hot doctor alert.” Savannah hisses, getting up from her chair and crossing the two feet of space between us. She's so close that I can smell the vodka from the martinis on her breath. I wonder if Dr. Decker smelled that on me too.

  “Yeah, he's cute. Too bad you're in a relationship.”

  “You're not,” she points out.

  “Don't even try it,” I warn. “I want no part of that. It's been less than two weeks since Aidan told me about Allison.”

  “Is there a statute of limitations on breakups?”

  “That doesn't make any sense.”

  “I know, but it sounded good.”

  My phone rings again, and Savannah pulls it out from my purse. “Sydney again.” She holds it out to me. I take it with my left hand and answer the call.

  “Hey, Syd, it's not a super great time to talk right now.”

  “I’m coming for New Year’s!”

  Her announcement distracts me from the pain in my right hand. “That's amazing. You can stay with us.” I look to Savannah, and she shrugs and nods. Angling the phone away from my lips, I mouth the words, “one night.”

  Sydney starts talking about her finals at the same time that Dr. Decker walks back into the room. He slides a tray with various instruments on it onto the counter. “Sydney,” I interrupt her mid-sentence. “I have to run. No big deal, but I'm at urgent care. I cut my hand and I'm getting stitches.”

  “What!” she shrieks. I pull the phone away from my ear. “Don't say any more, you know blood disgusts me.” Her words trickle out into the small room.

  Dr. Decker smirks. “Me too.”

  “Sydney, I have to go. The doctor thinks he's funny.” I glare jokingly at him. “Bye.”

  Sydney is saying something else, but I hang up.

  Dr. Decker is back on his stool. I hand the phone to Savannah, then look back at him. “Ready.”

  He slips on gloves and tells me how this will go: disinfect, anesthetize, suture.

  All his joking aside, he is a very good doctor. He has steady hands and a good bedside manner. If I ever need stitches again, I'll call him. Assuming he's not back in Austin by then, anyway.

  When the procedure is finished, he pushes back from me and removes his gloves. He tosses them in the trash and washes his hands in the sink at the end of the counter. “You were a very good patient.”

  “Do I get a lollipop?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says, laughing. “I don't have any, but you're more than welcome to pick one up on your way home.”

  I point at Savannah. “Did you hear that? You're in charge of making sure I get a lollipop.”

  “Actually.” Dr. Decker clears his throat. He looks uncertain for the first time since he walked in this exam room tonight. “Do you think I could take you for a lollipop sometime?”

  I freeze. My ability to make witty banter has disappeared. “Oh. I, um…”

  “Yes,” Savannah says, coming to stand beside me. “And guess what Natalie likes even more than lollipops? Gin and tonic.” Savannah loops her arm through mine. “I believe you already have her number? She filled out eleventy billion forms when we got here. Correction: I filled them out for her. You have permission to look at them for her number.”

  Savannah’s sly complaint breaks through the awkwardness of the moment.

  Dr. Decker opens the door. “Okay then. I guess I'll call you sometime.” He flashes that brilliant smile that he first walked in with, and then he's gone from sight. I'm sure there are many other people in need of his attention.

  “Savannah,” I start, but she lifts her hand to quiet me.

  “I know, I know. Not now. But someday, you might want that doctor to call you. And I didn't want you to miss the opportunity.”

  It's precisely what I'm doing for Aidan. It might tear me up inside, but I want him to have this opportunity.

  Knowing this makes me feel the tiniest fraction better. But even the tiniest fraction is not nearly enough to soothe the ache in my chest. I want to call Aidan and tell him what happened tonight, but I'm afraid. What if he is with her?

  This is precisely why some people would've told us not to be together. If things were as they were before, and Allison was pregnant, Aidan would still be the person I tell my nothings to. Nothings are what truly bond us to someone else. Nothings are the unimportant moments in a day, the ones you would never think to share with most people. The cashier at Duane Reade gave me a dirty look. The mean girl from high school sent me a friend request.

  That night in a hotel room, and the two weeks that followed, altered us irrevocably.

  I love Savannah, and I love Sydney, but I miss my best friend.

  Who will hear my nothings now?

  20

  Aidan

  Rob wants to play a pickup game of basketball.

  I want to continue to lie in bed and mope. My chest feels like a monster with gnarled fingers reached into me and tore out my heart. He took my love and my best friend.

  Technically, Natalie is still here. Those we
re almost her exact words. I’m still here. But she’s not. My Natalie is gone. In her place is someone who is keeping a careful distance from me. I don’t blame her. Who wouldn’t? We’d barely begun to discover a new side to us when Allison came in and blew us away with her news. From the moment Allison told me, I knew exactly what Natalie would do. With every step I took away from that cafe, I was slowly saying goodbye to what Natalie and I had started.

  This feeling in my chest is precisely why I've avoided love. Even in my short time with Natalie, I’ve learned how high the highs can be. And now I know just how deep the lows can go. It's fucking awful.

  “Are you coming?” Rob opens my door for a second time this morning and walks in. He's dressed in basketball shorts with compression pants underneath and a sweatshirt.

  “No.” I palm my cheek, running my hand down over my chin. My five o'clock shadow is long gone. At this point, I’m almost ready for a camping trip. My face would be well protected by the near-beard on my face.

  “What the fuck is eating you?”

  “Nothing,” I grumble.

  “You can lie to your students when you tell them there won’t be a pop quiz on Monday,” Rob points back at himself, “but you can't lie to me. What gives?”

  Obviously Rob doesn't know about Natalie, but he also doesn't know about Allison yet. A small part of me was hoping that if I didn't talk about what was going on, maybe it would just go away. Lying here in my bed with my aching chest, I still don't want to talk about it. I throw back the covers and sit up.

  “Get out of here so I can change.”

  “Are you coming?”

  Nodding, I stand up and grab some clothes. Rob backs out and shuts the door.

  Allison called while I was playing basketball and wants to go crib shopping. I think it seems a little early for that, but what the hell do I know?

  Crib shopping it is. I meet Allison outside of a boutique on the Upper East Side. The storefront is fancier than my parents’ apartment, which tells me what to expect on the price tags of their items.

  “Hi,” she says, smiling and kissing my cheek.

  Before the ultrasound, Allison was short with me. I walked into the waiting room at the doctor’s office and looked around for her. I looked at belly after belly in various stages of growth, and then I spotted Allison’s still slim figure. When my eyes met hers, she gave me an icy glare and looked away. The seats on either side of her were taken, so I found a spot a few feet away. When her name was called, she marched ahead of me and didn’t acknowledge me until the medical assistant left the exam room.

  “Where's Natalie? Did she let you off your leash?” she’d asked me, her arms crossed in front of herself.

  I ignored her comment and instead told her that Natalie had chosen to end things with me given the current circumstances. The second the words left my mouth, Allison’s mood changed. She has been smiling and warm ever since.

  “Are you excited to look at cribs?” She steps back and waits for my answer.

  “Yeah, of course.” It's what I'm supposed to say.

  Allison leads the way into the boutique. For the next hour, I follow her around, looking at everything from cribs to changing tables to onesies that are so small they look like they could fit my foot.

  By the time we make it to the register, I'm sweating bullets. Allison has picked up more furniture than what’s inside my small room. You’re going to have to open up your trust fund to take care of this baby. Might as well start while it's still in utero.

  One salesgirl rings up what Allison has chosen. A second walks up and stands beside her. She smiles at both of us and asks Allison when she is due.

  “August eighth,” Allison responds, giddy.

  “You must be a planner,” salesgirl number one says, glancing up from her computer.

  Allison nods. “Yep. Plus, my job keeps me so busy that when I have a free day, I have to take advantage of it.”

  Salesgirl number one recites the total, and Allison reaches for her wallet. She hands over a credit card without even looking at me. Allison signs the receipt and schedules the furniture delivery for six weeks out.

  “You two make such a cute couple. You're going to be great parents.” Her smile is wide enough to reveal most of her teeth. Her statement annoys me. How the hell does she know we’re going to make great parents? Maybe I’m repulsed by kids. Maybe Allison won’t have a motherly bone in her body. Ugh. Thank god she can’t read my mind.

  She hands Allison a white bag containing the smaller items Allison has purchased.

  Allison glances up at me, her eyes wary. Despite this, there is a smile on her lips. “Thanks,” she says, looking back at the salesgirls.

  I have no idea what my face looks like right now. If my face reflects how I'm feeling, then it should be bloodied and bruised, like it's been hit with a hammer. Because that's how I feel on the inside.

  We step out onto the sidewalk, and Allison looks up at me, waiting for me to say something. I'm starving, and I'm sure Allison is too, so I ask her if she wants to get something to eat.

  “I’m always hungry.” She laughs and gently pats her mid-section. “Especially for Italian.”

  I know of a good place a few blocks away. On our walk there, she curls her arm around mine, her hand gripping my forearm.

  She doesn't say anything. Not a damn word. But I can feel something radiating from her. Is it contentment? Happiness?

  When our food has been delivered, and my mouth is full of chicken parmesan, Allison tells me she wants to introduce me to her parents.

  “Why?” It’s a stupid question, but it was the first thing I thought. Other than Natalie, I’ve never been in a meet-the-parents scenario.

  She gives me a look. “Because we are going to raise their grandchild.”

  “Right. Of course.” I sip my water.

  “Have you told your parents yet?”

  I shake my head. I've been avoiding my mom’s phone calls. I not only have to tell her that Natalie and I are not a thing when I know she was assuming we were, but I have to tell her I'm having a baby with Allison.

  “I'd like it if you would tell them sooner rather than later. So they can be involved.” She looks down at her hands. “I’m assuming they want to be, anyway.”

  I sit back in my seat and sip from my drink. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about it.”

  Tears fill her eyes. “Are you still in shock? It’s been two weeks since I’ve told you. I thought you’d be… I don’t know, in action by now. But you’re not. You’re stagnant. You don’t seem excited.”

  Sighing, I run a hand over my face. How do I explain to her that I’m not excited because I’m fucking heartbroken? I can’t say that, because that would break her heart, and breaking a pregnant woman’s heart is incredibly far down on the list of things I want to do.

  “There are just a lot of thoughts swirling around in my head,” I tell her. Truth. “Remember, I wasn’t exactly expecting this.” Truth. “But I’m coming around, I promise.” Lie.

  I’d never imagined what it would be like to see my baby on an ultrasound screen, but if I ever had, what I felt that day wouldn’t have been it. The expectant father should feel happy, right? I didn’t. But for Allison’s sake, I faked it. I smiled at her. She reached for my hand, squeezing it as the technician measured the tiny dot on the screen, and I squeezed her back. She needed me in that moment, and I couldn’t deny her that. It’s not as if she planned for this either.

  A single tear slips down Allison’s cheek, but despite this, she attempts a smile. “Coming around is something I can work with.” And then she reaches across the table and covers my hand with her own.

  I don’t know what to say, or what to do, but I do know that right now I should not move my hand. It’s like that day at the doctor’s office. Allison needs me to be her knight in shining armor. She needs me to step up and be the person she imagined having a baby with.

  For the first time in my life, I have a broken heart. />
  For the millionth time in my life, I’m going to have to lie about love.

  21

  Natalie

  The wheels on Sydney’s small suitcase roll to a stop in the middle of our apartment. She came in on the four o’clock train, and after a stop for a black and white cookie at her favorite place, we made it back to my place. She turns in a circle, her arms outstretched. “This place is amazing. Way better than that shithole you shared with Henry.”

  My old apartment wasn’t a shithole. The opposite, actually. Unless she’s using the apartment as a metaphor for our marriage, but even then she’d be wrong. We failed because we were wrong for each other, plain and simple.

  “Sydney, this is Savannah.” I indicate my hand toward the kitchen where Savannah stands. She’s just cut an apple, and waves with the hand holding the knife. “Sorry,” she laughs, setting it down and waving a second time, this time knife-free.

  It’s New Year’s Eve, a day that holds no excitement for me. I’d rather stay in and watch a movie until my eyes close, preferably by ten p.m. With Sydney in town, I know that won’t be happening.

  “Hi,” Sydney says, walking to the kitchen and leaning on the counter. “Are you ready to ring in the New Year?”

  Savannah starts talking about our plans for the night, and I take Sydney’s bag into my room and push it against the wall. When I come back out, Savannah is still talking.

  “We’ve been together for forever, but neither of us feel the need to make the next big step. Society has determined we should be married with two kids by now, but” —she shakes her head, her long blonde hair swishing— “no thank you. We’re doing things our way.”

  Sydney claps. Her inner feminist is doing backflips. “Bravo. Good for you.”

  Savannah bows and nearly hits her forehead on the sink. She straightens, cringing at the nearness.

  “No more accidents,” I tell her. “One trip to urgent care in the past week was enough.” As if she needs the reminder.