by Lori L. Otto
“She’s talking about getting married, isn’t she?”
“She had talked about it before, so what?”
“What?” she laughs. “When?”
“A month ago, I don’t know. I told her I wasn’t ready.”
“She brought it up, though?”
“Yes.”
“And how did this conception happen?”
“What?”
“How did it come about that you were completely irresponsible and got her pregnant? Especially knowing that she’s hearing wedding bells in the distance.” Well, Emi, I was pissed at you for defending that Neanderthal you’re sleeping with, and I had to get that frustration out somehow. The aggressive way I approached Sam that night was fueled by those feelings. Of course I can’t tell her this.
“I’m not– I don’t–”
“Who was the irresponsible one?”
“No one. No one is at fault. We both were.” I think back to that night, remembering how Samantha had turned the tables on me and had taken charge. It was such a turn on. There wasn’t an ounce of rational thinking happening in my mind once that happened– not that there was a whole lot to start with, anyway.
“Did she know at the time the risk she was taking? I guess she’s not on the pill?”
“No.”
“No to which question?”
“No, she’s not on the pill.”
“And you knew that?”
“Yes.”
“And she knew you weren’t wearing a condom?”
“Of course she knew.”
“Well why didn’t you take action? And pull out?”
My face gets hot, having never really discussed such things with her. “I don’t want to talk about the mechanics of my sex life with you.”
“Grow the fuck up, Nate.”
“Alright, I wasn’t in any position to pull out.”
Emi groans loudly. “She fucking planned this,” she says.
“No–”
“Don’t be naïve... I never did trust that girl. She looked at you and never saw past your money.”
“She’s in love with me.”
“Sure she is. Nate, she doesn’t even know you.”
“Of course she does. How could she not?”
“You’ve only been seeing her for two months! That’s not enough time to tell whether or not you want to spend a lifetime with a person.”
“That’s hilarious, coming from you, Miss I-kissed-a-guy-once-and-felt-sunshine-and-ponies-and-nothing-else-will-ever-live-up-to-that.”
“Fuck you. Don’t throw that back at me.”
“Move past it, then.”
“Don’t make this about me. You came here for a reason. What do you want me to do?”
“Well, I’m not sure now, because I certainly can’t get relationship advice from you.”
She raises her eyebrows, clearly angry. “Yeah, and what does that mean?” She sets her glass down forcefully. I’m amazed it didn’t break as the wine sloshes over the side and onto the dresser I was leaning against. I move before the liquid reaches me. “What do you think I’m doing with Colin?”
“I have no earthly idea why you’re with that asshole. You’re clearly not in a relationship... you’re in a high school drama class, playing the part of someone you’re not. You think Sam doesn’t know me? Well Colin doesn’t know the first thing about you.”
“You don’t know him or anything about us.”
“You’re right, but I know his type... and I sure as hell don’t know who this woman in front of me is anymore. You’re dating a walking advertisement for steroids, dressing up for him like some teen-aged preppy whore–”
“Excuse me?” she yells, standing in front of me, frozen.
“Yeah. that’s not you. Your over-done makeup and your breasts spilling out of your shirts and your tight jeans and those fucking ribbons in your hair...” My aggression propels me forward, toward her, causes her to move backwards, away from me. She stops when she reaches the wall.
“So what if I want to dress differently? It’s how he likes me to look, who gives a shit?”
“You should, Emi, you’re acting like someone I don’t even know!”
“How so?” she asks.
“For starters, the Emi I know doesn’t fuck in the backseat of cars!”
“What?!” She seems surprised that I know, her eyes confirming the truth I didn’t want to admit. “For your information, I don’t fuck anywhere.”
“Yes, because it’s all about making love with him, right?” I ridicule her.
She looks away to respond. “Like you’d know anything about that–”
“Tell me, Emi,” I continue, pulling her forcefully to me and turning her around, taking her hair in my hands. “Does he hold on to these pigtails when he takes you from behind?” I nudge into her, immediately feeling myself begin to get harder. Fuck. One of my hands lets go of her hair and sweeps down her arm, settling on her hip.
She swings around and slaps me with all the force her small body can throw at me. I take her arms in my hands, restraining her from hitting me again and pulling her toward me, her lips so close to mine. She breathes heavily, her eyes shifting back and forth from mine.
Time stands still in that moment. I react without thinking.
I press my lips hard against hers, holding her head to mine. She freezes for a couple of seconds, then pushes me away, but only a few inches. She looks at me with a furrowed brow, her eyes curious and confused. She swallows and leans back into me, initiating another kiss.
Is this my chance?
I kiss her passionately, letting my feelings for her pour out into our embrace. Her hands form fists, clenching tightly to my t-shirt and holding me close to her. My lips move quickly to her chin, then to her neck. She closes her eyes and leans her head back into my awaiting hands. She sighs as I feel her fingers fall to the waistline of my jeans, lingering.
What the hell are we doing?
A million thoughts race through my head, but are immediately interrupted when she breaks away abruptly, pushing hard against my chest and shaking her head. She blinks away tears from her eyes as she stumbles back a few steps.
I reach out to steady her and pull her back toward me. I want to kiss her again– fuck, what am I thinking? I lean into her once more, but this time, she looks to the side, avoiding me. “Get away, Nate.” She turns her back to me and stares out the window. “Don’t you ever do that again to me. Ever!”
“God, Emi, tell me what you want from me,” I plead with her, frustrated.
“Not this,” she’s barely able to choke out. Not this. I recall her stating that exact sentiment that night in college. I don’t want this. It’s happening all over again.
“You didn’t feel it, did you?” I ask her harshly, easily reading her thoughts as if they were written on her face. She doesn’t have to answer. I move closer, observing tears streaming down her cheeks. “Because it wasn’t real, Emi,” I tell her, leaning closer, trying to reason with her, referring to the ever-elusive mystical kiss that she has never been able to recreate.
“It was!” she argues loudly as I take a step back. “I know what I felt!”
“When are you going to figure out that love is more than a physical reaction to one fucking kiss!? It’s been nine years!”
Again, she doesn’t answer me.
“Just give up the search,” I press on, but she remains quiet. I kneel down, meeting her eye-to-eye. She tries to move away from me, but I hold her close, my hands on her shoulders.
“Leave me alone!” she eventually screams, clearly confused and afraid, pushing against me but unable to get away. Her cheeks grow red.
“Emi, what is going on with you? Why are you so pissed at me?”
“Because everything is changing,” she cries. “You’ve changed. We can’t even have a normal conversation with one another anymore without one of us offending the other. It’s exhausting. I’m tired.” She puts her hands over her teary eyes, weeping soft
ly.
“I’m sorry–”
“Why did you kiss me, Nate?” she whispers.
Honestly, I can’t explain why I did it. I didn’t have words to express my feelings in that moment, and I certainly don’t now. I wanted her to feel something for me, but she didn’t. She doesn’t. “I don’t know.” I finally drop my hands and let her go.
She walks back over to her bed and sits down. She speaks, but doesn’t look at me directly. “You’ve got a pregnant girlfriend who’s probably trying on white dresses right now. And I don’t like her, Nate, I really don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Emi.” I walk toward her door, knowing it’s past time for me to leave.
“Where do I fit in?” she asks, stopping me. I stare at my feet, afraid to look into her eyes. I can’t stand to see her cry anymore.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.
“I don’t, either.” All I do know is that this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. I start to walk back toward her, wanting to figure things out, but she stops me. “Get out, Nate,” she says quietly. “Please go home.”
“Alright.” I know I don’t have a say in this. I shut the door behind me and stand outside, unable to move.
“I hate you, Nate,” I hear her mumble aloud. I open the door and walk back in to her apartment.
“Emi–”
“Get the fuck out, Nate!” She throws a pillow at me and buries her head in another one.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her again.
“It’s not good enough.”
“I know.” She stands up and marches toward me, pushing me out into the hallway and slamming the door in my face. The locks fasten quickly.
In a daze, I walk to the stairwell at the end of the hall and open the door. The lone lightbulb flickers above me, barely lighting my way down the steps. I sit down on the second landing, taking in the silence and solitude. I tug at my hair in frustration.
What the fuck just happened? Did I kiss her? Did I just tell her I fathered a child with another woman and kiss her, all in the same five-minute period? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why wouldn’t she hate me?
And why did I kiss her? And why did it have to feel so fucking right? I was already unsure of what to do before, but now I’m completely confused. Why did I allow myself to act on those feelings? I’ve refrained for years, and now, when I have no choice but to be committed to a woman I don’t think I fully love, now is when I decide to kiss her?
Do I tell Sam?
Didn’t I, by my own definition, just cheat on her?
No, no, it wasn’t like that. It was an act of passion, but I did it out of anger, not love. It’s not the same thing. It’s not. I keep telling myself this. It’s not. The gravity of the situation seeps in.
I’m going to be a father.
I’m not ready, not now. And not with Samantha as the mother. When I pictured what my future family would look like, it did not include my current girlfriend. Instead, they were small children with porcelain skin, strawberry blonde hair, and deep dimples in their cheeks... their mother, the woman I have just left in tears a few floors above.
CHAPTER 8
I can’t believe I just spent one-hundred-and-seventy-five dollars on baby shoes. One lone pair of faux-suede baby shoes.
“Would you like them gift-wrapped, sir?” the saleswoman asks.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Sam says. She links her arm with mine and takes the shopping bag, careful not to mess up her newly-manicured nails. “Don’t you think those would be okay for a boy or a girl?” she asks as we exit back into the mall.
“Well, they’re pink, so...”
“No, they’re lavender. Boys can wear lavender.”
“Okay,” I laugh. “Whatever you say, dear.”
“Okay, dear.” We’d been acting out this happy couple thing all day. All week, really. Samantha was so excited about this baby, it was all she talked about. She was already signing up for registries, picking out all the things we would need. She had taken measurements of the guest room, her ideas for redecorating now revolving around the state-of-the-art nursery we would have. I told her I wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet, and even though that caused a bit of a fight, she refrained from calling Anna and sharing our news prematurely.
She had been begging me all week to take her shopping, and I finally relented today. She was the happiest I had ever seen her.
“Oh, look at these, Nate,” she says, peering in the window of a jewelry store. I glance at the sign. Cartier. Sure. She points to an intricate pair of earrings. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“They are,” I agree.
“Can we go in?”
“Sure.” I smile and open the door for her. And how much is this shopping trip going to cost me? How much will my guilt make me spend on this situation?
Sam strides across the store to the sales person. “We’d like to...” She stops mid-sentence and looks down at the locked case in front of her. “Wow.” I walk closer to see what she’s found.
Engagement rings.
Of course.
How the hell do I get out of this one?
She looks up at me, her eyes hopeful. “Look at that, Nate. It’s perfect.”
“Which one?” I ask, playing along to save face.
“The brilliant-cut diamond with baguettes on either side. That’s in the Déclaration d’Amour collection, isn’t it?” she asks the sales man.
He is more than obliging to open the case and pull out the ring she was talking about. “This one?” He flashes the diamond under the lights. I feel light-headed. I don’t want to marry her. I know I got myself into this situation, but I don’t have to marry her. We can stay together for now, raise the baby together, that’s fine. Maybe I’ll grow to love her more. Maybe someday we will get married. But today, I don’t want to marry her.
“It’s so pretty.”
“Would you like to see it on?”
“No, I couldn’t,” she answers.
“It’s very pretty, though, Sam,” I tell her, taking her hand and attempting to pull her away from the case full of large diamonds, each and every one symbolizing forever for some couple or another. Not us. Not now, anyway.
“I guess it won’t hurt to see what it looks like on, though, right, Nate?”
I smile wearily at the salesman as I lean in to whisper in Sam’s ear. “I think we’re jumping the gun a bit, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. Are we?” she asks, pulling me back to the case. “Let’s just see what it looks like.” She drops my hand and lets the salesman slip the ring on her finger. I swallow hard, feeling like someone’s cut off the flow of oxygen to my lungs. “Nate, come look.”
I walk slowly to her, giving the salesman an evil eye on the way. He’s too busy complimenting her on the ring to notice. “It’s very pretty.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe a princess cut diamond would be better. Like that one. What do you think?”
“You know what I think,” I tell her, moderately frustrated, feeling beads of sweat forming on my forehead in the heavily lit shop. “I’m going to go get some air.”
“Are you coming back?”
“I’ll be right outside. Take your time.”
“Okay,” she smiles. “Can you take these with you?” She hands me the three shopping bags she had been carrying, so now I have eight. We were already buying maternity clothes and toys and pillows and a bunch of other things that I felt were unnecessary so soon. An engagement ring would be icing on that cake. I don’t even want to know how much I’ve spent. I’ve never had to worry about a budget, because there’s always been more than enough money in the bank for my meager needs... but this could get bad really fast.
Maybe Emi was right about Sam after all. I feel like she would have been just as happy if I had sent her away with only my wallet. Happier, even.
I sit down on a bench next to a play area, putting the bags on the ground by my feet. I watch the kids play on th
e miniature furniture, and wish my life could be that simple again. And instead, soon I’m going to have one of my own to raise. I put my head in my hands and sigh.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks after about ten minutes of shopping.
“Yeah.” I stand up and gather the bags. “Are you ready?”
“I think so,” she says, taking a few totes away from me. “Just so you know, the pear-shaped one is definitely the one,” she adds as we walk toward the exit.
“Good to know,” I tell her with a forced smile.
All the way home, all I can think about is how much I don’t want this to be happening. I pull into a Duane Reade parking lot quickly.
“What are we doing?” she asks.
“I just need to pick something up,” I tell her. “Did you need anything while we’re here?”
“A soda?” she asks.
“I don’t think that’s good for the baby,” I tell her. “How about some water, or juice?”
“It can be caffeine-free,” she says. “But I’d really like a soda.”
“Alright,” I concede. “I’ll be right back.”
When we get home, I wait until she’s removed all of the items we’d purchased at the mall from their bags before handing her the one from the drug store. “I want to take a test, together,” I tell her. She peeks inside and pulls out two pregnancy tests.
“You don’t believe me?” she asks.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, baby, I just can’t believe this is happening. I just need some solid proof, that’s all. I need something to make this real. At this point, I just can’t believe it’s happening.” I stop myself from nervously ranting on. I feel like I’m on the verge of a breakdown.
“Okay, sweetie, okay,” she says. “I get it.” Her voice is sweet and assuring as she places her hand on mine. “I’ll go take it right now.”
“Thank you,” I exhale, feeling a little relief for the first time today. “I got two different kinds, in case we can’t figure one out or something.”
“It’s not rocket science,” she says. “But okay.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll just be a minute.” She walks to my bathroom and shuts the door behind her. I grab some water from the fridge and pace around the kitchen. Five minutes go by.
