Three Skid Marks

by April Ryder

  I hadn't even thought of STIs. Facepalm. Facepalm. Facepalm.

  "I might have missed one or…three."

  Adam's eyes widened. "I'm too young and pretty to be a godfather."

  "You can't be a godfather," I reminded him, "you're not the right religion."

  "There is nothing wrong with being a Zen Buddhist!" he yelled in a very un-Zen Buddhist way.

  "Calm down," I said, taking his hand in mine. "You're not meant to be the one freaking out here."

  Adam hugged me. "I know. I can't help it. This is all so sudden. Are you sure?"

  I shrugged. "I guess I'll buy a pregnancy test on the way home and pee on a stick."

  He shoved his fingers in his ears and sang the same Taylor Swift song I had when having lunch with my mother, except he sang it out loud. What's a girl to do when her bestie has issues with anything related to the female anatomy and its functions?

  "Come on," I said and yanked his fingers out of his ears. "Let's go."

  "Are you sure you want to go to practice?"

  "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Well what about your condition?"

  "Yeah, I'm freaking out a little on the inside but the odds of me being preggers are small."

  He didn't look convinced and I wondered if he had ever paid attention during sexual health class in school.

  I cleared my throat and began my lecture, leaving out as many icky girl bits as I could for his benefit. I also blushed furiously. "The sperm has to travel a gazillion microscopic miles in the hopes of finding an egg to fertilise, and even if it does manage to find one, most fertilised eggs don't make it past the first six weeks."

  Adam had only squinted one eye, so I took that as a sign I had succeeded in imparting valuable sexual educational—and unnecessary for him to know—information, without breaking him.

  "So you're saying what? That you have Schrodinger's baby?"

  I nodded slowly. "Both pregnant and not pregnant until I pee on a stick."

  "At being so bad!" Adam sang out as he ran into the centre without looking back.

  "What's up with him?" Kilty asked as I followed him inside.

  "Huge TSwift fan," I told her. "Wants to marry her and have her babies huge."

  "Really?" Kilty said and I saw the glint in her eye to indicate her prankster brain had kicked into overdrive. Adam would never see—whatever it was she came up with—coming. Right now he deserved it. He was being a big baby and I still hadn't murdered him over something else. What that something else was I've forgotten, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve whatever Kilty dished out to him.

  Our much-loved leader Pretty Vicious called us over. We each took a knee on the rink and looked up at the petite curly-haired angel, awaiting her words of wisdom and inspiration. I think I'm getting even better at sarcasm.

  "Okay you worthless pieces of dogshit"—that was a new one—"we have a semifinal. This is no time to slack off. We've got to work harder, push further, and work on tripping those filthy slappers while the refs aren't looking!"

  "Yeah!" we cried in unison, ready to drink the blood of our enemies.

  "We have a long history with these vile pieces of maggot snot"—more commonly known as the North Shore Marauders—"and while they have beaten us every derby and left us to lick each other's wounds and gone on to the finals—where they inevitably lose—we will not stand for it this time! This time we will murderise the marauders. We'll rip their arms off and shove them up their—"

  Kilty was the only one who had the guts to cut the captain off in mid-rant, and she did this by slapping a hand over the pretty, little, evil-spouting woman's mouth.

  "Okay, I think we get the point," she said. "As usual, a rousing and inspiring speech from our fearless captain. Now get up and give me twenty laps!"

  I've said it before and I'll say it again, she's aptly named. She's pretty yet vicious. And while Pretty's speeches had become more violent the closer we got to the semifinal, not that they had been all that mild to begin with, they did light a fire under us. Not because we feared her wrath—we totally do—but because we get caught up in her enthusiasm. On derby night it gets mixed up with adrenaline and the raw power is amplified by the pack as we fight and claw our way to high scores while physically blocking the other team. It was a feeling so primal, so addictive that we all craved the chance to be out on the rink amongst it.

  "Skid Marks, Ms Skellington, and Chirpy, you'll be on the bench this derby," Pretty yelled, stopping me in my tracks.

  Two girls barrelled into me and all of us tumbled to the ground.

  "Ow! Oh fuck ow!" one of them screamed.

  I pulled myself up into a sitting position and stared at the girl's arm. It hung at an unnatural angle and I couldn't help but feel guilty as she burst into tears. If only I'd been paying attention.

  "Another reminder to look where you're going," Kilty told us as she came to a stop beside the girl. "Come on, Toasty. It's okay. I'll drive you to the hospital."

  After they had departed, Pretty came up to me and glared. The hair on the back of my neck lifted—a warning that something demonic was about to be unleashed. It was my fault Toasty had broken her arm and now I was going to get a tongue-lashing from the queen of death herself.

  Instead, she patted my arm and quietly said, "I think I've misjudged you, Skid Marks."

  "Uh?"

  "Anyone who goes to the lengths you just did to get off the bench, is bloodthirsty enough to help me destroy the Marauders. You're in for the derby."

  "I am?"

  She nodded. "You impressed me. Keep it up."

  "Okay," I said and forced a smile until her attention was diverted by a cat fight between two of the jammers.

  I was still sitting on the rink wondering if it was a good thing that I had impressed the crazy violent woman when Jake skated over.

  "Water?" he said and offered me a bottle.

  "Thanks," I said and unabashedly guzzled back half of it.

  He silently watched me and I was so paranoid that I had something on my face or dribbled water down my front that I didn't realise I had drunk almost all of the water.

  "Go on a date with me?" he asked.

  I didn't spit water on him. I've lived long enough to know that these things happen to me, so I was half-prepared for a spit-take. No, I had to choke on it. Water ended up coming out of my nose. Way more ladylike.

  Jake thumped a hand on my back, which did nothing to help but once I had caught my breath, I thanked him for helping.

  "So?" he prompted. "Dinner? After Wednesday's practice?"

  YES YESSSSSS OH MY FUCKIN' God YES!!!!1!

  "Okay," I said, acting all cool. Like hot guys asked me out on dates every day. Nothing to see here, business as usual.

  He smiled his perfect smile, revealing his perfect teeth, and my knickers flooded. Thank God I'd packed an extra pair in my bag just in case something like this happened or Rick tried to steal them again. That dick. Both men were a danger to hot-blooded women everywhere.

  "I'll give you my cell number after practice," he hurriedly told me. I looked up to find Pretty heading this way, no doubt to remind the male invader that there were no dicks allowed on her rink.

  "No dicks on the rink!" she yelled, but Jake was already back amongst his own kind.

  Pretty offered me her hand and with a surprising display of strength hauled me up onto my feet.

  "Thanks," I said, ashamed at having been caught fraternising with a man. Again.

  "I like you Skid Marks, so I'll only tell you this once. Be careful with him. He's a dick."

  It wasn't until Pretty skated away to help Chripy back onto her feet that I remembered the rumour that Jake had stolen Pretty's girlfriend. I had met Janelle, who had been so upset that Jake might have cheated on her with me—due to a recording of me getting jiggy with the detachable showerhead in the disabled stall that I had nicknamed Jake—that she had pooped on not only my welcome mat, but Jake's car. He was a hot guy; of course a girl would be parano
id that he'd be stolen, but c'mon, look at me. I'm…wait, Janelle and I had similar body types. And Jake had asked me out and even possibly fought over me with the Dick. Did that mean Jake liked big girls? That I was a hot guy's type? I might need to sit back down on the rink or maybe pinch myself.

  Holy shit, I was going on a date with a hot guy who likes big girls. And I might also be pregnant from another hot guy. Dammit. I gotta pee on a stick, stat!

  Adam gave the pregnancy testing sticks a wide berth. Even though they had their caps on them, he didn't think it was safe to even look at them. I didn't feel a need to tell him I'd peed over the whole stick, my fingers, and the toilet seat. Not unless he really pissed me off.

  "Maybe they're defective," he offered.

  I glared at the three offending pieces of plastic. The results read: pregnant, not pregnant, pregnant.

  "Or I'm two-thirds pregnant," I said sarcastically. I didn't have any more pee in me to pee on the fourth and final test. Adam had insisted we buy a couple of packs, because that's what they did in the movies. He really was trying my patience.

  "Oh my God," Adam suddenly exclaimed. He covered his mouth and looked at me. "Triplets! No wait, twins!"

  Sometimes I wonder about Adam. Usually he's a supportive, intelligent guy with a great sense of humour. But whenever he's drunk and/or overexcited, the dumb leaks out.

  Beyond annoyed I decided to unleash my evil side. "I peed on my hand," I said and shoved said hand into his face. It had the desired effect. Adam ran out of my apartment, screaming.

  "What's up with him?" Paul asked from the door.

  If only Paul were as easy to get rid of as Adam. He had begged me to let him stay a few more days until he could find somewhere else to rent, and I had felt sorry for him. Yeah, I know. Stupid me. On the bright side he was paying for takeout deliveries so I didn't have to worry about cooking when I got home from work. And we hadn't had any more issues with sleeping arrangements or walking in on me in the bathroom.

  I brushed the used pregnancy tests aside before he could get close enough to see what they were and shrugged.

  "Okay," he said, getting the hint that we wouldn't be having a long conversation. Something he seemed to desperately want to have with me since his return. "Curry for dinner?"

  "Yes!" I agreed as I threw my hands up in the air like I had scored a goal in American football. Curry was my absolute favourite. "Chicken korma, mild. Spring rolls, garlic naan, and Bombay aloo!"

  The man definitely knew how to make me happy. Wait, what? Paul could actually make me happy? What the hell was going on here?

  "Coke?" he asked all innocent-like.

  "Sure," I agreed, suddenly wary but still wanting curry. It's really good curry and I'm hungry, dammit.

  "All done. It'll be here soon," Paul announced after placing the order online. The restaurant was only down the road. We were both just lazy. "So…"

  "So?" I ask, still on edge.

  "Your mother stopped by today."

  Oh my God. What is wrong with that woman? I'm seventy-eight percent sure she loves me, but I'd love her a whole lot more if she would just back off and let me live my life.

  "She also called in the weekend while you were at work."

  So that was how she knew where to find me and that Paul was back in Auckland!

  I know I'm going to regret it but I have to ask, "What did she say?"

  "A lot of nice things about you actually."

  "Wait, what?"

  "Yeah. She wanted to remind me what I would be missing if I didn't try to get you back. She also told me off for leaving you. I'm meant to apologise but I don't really know how."

  I think I might need to get my ears syringed. Did he just say my mother said nice things about me? We were talking about the same woman, right? Of course we were; Paul knew what my mother looked like. Maybe I had stepped into an alternate reality since the weekend.

  Paul looked like he needed help so I prompted him, "Sorry would be a good start."

  "Sorry," he said and took my hands in his. "I really am sorry for what I did, Hayley. I don't know what I was thinking."

  "You were thinking about yourself," I supplied.

  His eyes moved from side to side as he stared at me, like they do in soap operas when the camera does a close-up on someone gazing into the aggrieved's eyes. You know why they do that, right? It's because you cannot stare into both eyes at the same time when you're close, so your eyes focus on one eye at a time.

  "I was. But your mother is right…"

  Oh God what had she said?

  "You are kind, caring, supportive, and loving. I shouldn't have thrown it all away for a job in Wellington."

  "And a stick insect."

  "Enough about insects. Nothing happened with her. I swear to you, Hayley. You're the only woman I've been with since I met you and the only one I want to be with for the rest of my life."

  Why was he getting down on his knee?

  "Hayley," he said and pulled a small jewellery box out from somewhere.

  Oh my God.

  "Will you—"

  The doorbell buzzed, shattering the moment Paul had been trying to create. Props to him though for getting an actual engagement ring. That was something we hadn't been able to afford when he had originally popped the question—at the laundromat. It had gone something like this: You want to get married? Sure!

  "Curry!" I announced gleefully. Never before had I been so glad for the arrival of the food delivery guy. Considering how much I—platonically—loved the food delivery guy for bringing me noms, I was fucken ecstatic!

  I threw the door open and accepted the bag of Indian food. "Coke?" I asked after checking everything was there.

  "Uh…here," the guy said, handing it over.

  He kept staring behind me, so I turned to see at what and found Paul still knelt with box offered to where I had been standing. Frozen in mid-proposal.

  "Ah, sorry for interrupting," he said, embarrassed. "Congratulations though."

  "Oh, I've not accepted," I told him before shutting the door.

  It took Paul until I had finished eating the spring rolls to get back to his feet and cautiously approach. "I guess I deserve that."

  I nodded. He really did.

  "I'm not going to give up though," he said as he placed the still-closed box on the table before me. "Your mother was right. I've got to prove myself to you. So I'm going to do that."

  "How are you going to do that?" I wondered out loud.

  "I'll apologise to you every day. I'll get a job in Auckland. I'll take you out to dinner. I'll…do whatever it takes. Whatever you want. I'll do it, Hayley."

  I opened the container of chicken korma and spooned it out onto the bed of rice on my plate. "What if I don't want you to? What will you do then?"

  "I'll…keep trying until you do. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Hayley."

  I sighed. "I've got too much on my plate right now."

  "Is this the skating thing?" he asked.

  "It's not the skating thing, Paul. It's roller derby. It's a sport."

  "It's dangerous. I don't know how you can like it. It's not like you at all."

  In a quiet, yet calm voice I pointed out, "Maybe you just don't know me that well."

  Unsurprisingly he doesn't know how to respond to that. Awkward silence—and the noise of me eating curry—filled the apartment. I think they marinate the chicken before they cook it. It has a yummy smoky flavour. And the garlic naan, it just melts in your mouth it's so good. So much butter and garlic. Mmm…Homer Simpson drool.

  Paul cleared his throat and I looked up, expectantly.

  "I'm going to go out and look at a place to stay. You think about us while I'm gone," he said and tapped a finger on the box he'd left on the table. "I really mean it, Hayley. I'm going to make this right."

  And with that he left.

  I broke off a piece of naan, swiped up some korma and rice with it, and shoved it in my mouth. The box stared a
t me while I chewed. Daring me to open it. I'd told Paul I didn't need a ring when we got engaged. It was an unnecessary expense and I wasn't big on jewellery anyway. But it would have been nice if he'd not agreed with me quite so quickly.

  I scowled at the box. No piece of bling was going to sway my mind. Paul had dumped me. It had been so sudden. He had just sworn that he hadn't left me for another woman. Instead, he'd left me for a job in Wellington, one that hadn't panned out. So here he was, slinking back with his tail between his legs and apologising for making a huge mistake.

  Still, I was curious. What kind of ring had he bought? Was it something cheap with a fleck of cubic zirconia, or something more substantial and pricey? Wouldn't the kind of ring tell me what he really thought of me? Did he really know me at all?

  I wiped my garlic-buttery fingers on a serviette and picked up the box. A sudden fear gripped me as I remembered the pregnancy tests I had hidden from Paul earlier. What if I was pregnant? What if it wasn't the Dick's but Paul's?

  "Screw this," I muttered and lifted the lid on the box…

  "Holy shit."

  There, sitting neatly in the plush box cushion was my grandmother's sapphire ring. The same ring that Grandma had said Paul couldn't have to give to me. She really didn't like Paul, but he didn't like her either so I guess they were even.

  I stared at the impractical ring, the gem cut in a way that required the setting to be high above the thick golden band. It would catch on everything and piss me off. But I had always adored it. I had to hand it to him, the man did pay attention once in a while.

  "Holy shit."

  * * *

  Paul hadn't pressed the proposal after he returned from looking at a place to stay. In fact he didn't mention it. I guess he was waiting for me to bring it up. Maybe he thought that if I tried the ring on I'd be likely to say yes, which was exactly why I had resisted slipping it on my ring finger. But the past two days had been awkward. Yes, more awkward than the few days before, after his initial return.

  I did my best to ignore him, but I couldn't ignore all of the cleaning he had done around the apartment. He was even doing my laundry. I guess since he wasn't ready yet to face his friends and he had nothing else to do while he was at work, he had thought doing chores would endear himself to me. Dammit if it wasn't working!