Judging June (Downtown)

by West, T J

  After a couple days of getting over my excruciating hangover, I decided to clean up my attitude. I went out shopping and got myself a couple of pregnancy books; What to Expect when you’re expecting, and The Expectant Father. I was willing to learn everything I could (over the next months) to help June out and to prepare before the baby gets here. Flipping through the books I hadn’t realized how much a woman’s body goes through during 9—almost 10 months of pregnancy. It’s pretty fascinating, but holy shit there was a lot to learn!

  Thursday evening, after work I go straight over to June’s apartment. I swipe my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. I’m really nervous to see her. She has no idea I’m even here, I hope she’ll let me talk and apologize. I ring the door buzzer and exhale another breath. I feel relief when I hear the door being unlocked. I hold the pregnancy books in my hands and look down at them. I really hope she accepts these from me—I hope she accepts what I have to say.

  June slowly opens the door and stands there with a question look on her face. Her complexion is pale, eyes are tired, and her hair is pulled back in a small ponytail; she’s wearing a tiny white tank top and black shorts. My eyes immediately go toward her navel. Attached to it is a hook with a diamond at the end; I remember licking that cold metal as I was going down between her legs. Was it because I was drunk I found it fucking hot? No . . . in fact I still think it’s pretty hot—fuck, where did that come from? I Clear my throat. “Can I come in?”

  She motions me inside her place. I hadn’t noticed her decorating style the last time I was here. I was too far gone in my head to see we have similar tastes in color and furniture; black, modern art, modern furnishings. I like it.

  I can feel her angry eyes on me as I walk toward her livingroom. I turn around and find her arms folded and a scowl on her face. “If you came here to try to change my mind about aborting—“

  “No,” shaking my head. “No, I wasn’t. What I said to you the other night . . . it was a dick move, June, and I’m sorry.”

  “You’re right, it was. In fact it was the cowards way out.”

  “I agree.”

  I don’t think she heard me because she went on a rant, not letting me get a word in. “Do you not want to be a part of this baby’s life? Is our baby that much of a burden? I mean,” she scoffs, “it’s not like you can’t afford having one, Phillip. Or is it me you don’t want to have a baby with?” She points to herself.

  I slam the books I was holding, onto the coffee table. I startle June, making her flinch. “June, stop! Let me talk!” I shout. “Of course I want to be a part of the baby’s life. And for God’s sake, it has nothing to do with you! I was in shock, alright? I wasn’t thinking straight. I should never have told you to get an abortion.” I lower my voice, taking small steps toward her. “It was wrong. I’m here to make things right and to help you through this pregnancy.”

  She gasps, and releases her crossed arms. “Really?” she whispers.

  “Yes, really. I’ll take you to all your doctors appointments, make sure you have a healthy diet, things like that. I’m not going to go anywhere or leave you alone.”

  “You won’t leave me alone?” Her voice hitches, “You mean I won’t have to do this all by myself?”

  I tilt my head, shaking it. “No. Of course not.”

  I can tell she still doesn’t believe me. She re-straightens her back, crosses her arms and builds another invisible barrier between us. I love how stubborn she is, but I have to convince her I won’t bail out on her again. “Why now? What changed? Tell me why I should believe you, that you won’t freak out and take off again?” She asks all in one breath.

  I release a breath and put my hands on my hips, ready to explain my reasons. “I never told you, but I was adopted when I was seven. My birth mom gave me away when I was three and I remember thinking that no one was going to want me, or love me. I thought I was going to live my life in the public system. Foster home after foster home I felt pretty hopeless. . . . until the Caffrey’s brought me into their home and embraced me as their son.” June’s eyes are compassionately looking at me, so I continue, “I thought long and hard about our situation. My parents gave me a home, they didn’t give up on me or throw me away. They taught me how to love, how to accept difficult challenges. What I learned about myself was through them. Giving up a child is not something I can or would ever do, but by terminating your pregnancy I thought. . . . I thought it would help me by not turning into my birth mom. I was afraid of screwing up.” I look away as June walks closer to me. “I know now I won’t screw it up because my mother is not who I am. She’s not the one who raised me. Margo and William are my true parents; they would be so devastated if they learned about what I asked you to do.” I turn my eyes back over to June and add, “I’m sorry I put you through such agony. I was an extreme jerk,” I end on an exhale. There. . . . I told her, now what? She’s not saying anything, or doing anything, her silence is weighing heavily on me.

  As if she read my mind, she suddenly comes barreling into my arms, almost throwing me off balance; I grasp onto her waist and hear a slight crack in her voice, “Oh, Phillip!”

  I touch the back of her head and squeeze her body against mine. “You’re not alone,” I remind her.

  She sniffs and responds, “I’m not alone.”

  While I hold her close she silently cries on my shoulder, trying to get her bearings. What I did to her hit me straight in the center of my heart. I really hurt her. I fucking hurt this strong woman who is wrapped inside my arms, crying. I’m the one who made her cry, who made her feel alone. That is on me, and me alone. It just makes me angry I let myself become so selfish. I was a fool to think I could walk away from my own kid—the woman who is carrying him. . . . or her.

  After a couple minutes I lead her over to the sofa and grab a tissue for her. I need to know if she’s been taking care of herself. I lean my elbows onto my knees and ask, “So, when is your first appointment?”

  “Uh, I,” she wipes her nose with the tissue. “ . . . I haven’t called yet.”

  I snap at her, “What? Why not? You need to get in there as soon as possible.”

  June snaps right back, “I’ve been scared, Phillip!”

  I need to calm down. I take a deep breath and control my temper. “Okay, first thing tomorrow you call. Second thing, we need to get you some prenatal vitamins. Third—“

  “There’s a third?”

  “Yes,” I reply firmly. “Third we need to go grocery shopping for some healthy foods.”

  June touches her stomach and shows me a sour look. “Food is not my friend right now, Phillip.”

  “You’re still sick?”

  “I was just in the bathroom before you got here.”

  Still sick? I wonder how long that will last? I continue asking her questions. “Hydration. Are you drinking water? That’s important.” June needs someone to look after her and that someone is me. So, I will do everything I can to help her stay healthy.

  She leans back against the sofa cushion and crumples up her tissue. “Hard to keep down, but I’m trying.”

  I make a mental note to get her plenty of things to help her stay hydrated. I get to my feet and sternly tell her, “You stay here and I’ll go to the store and get everything you need.”

  June’s eyes widen with surprise. “You’re serious?”

  “June, I just promised you I was going to take care of you, and I meant it. So, yes I’m serious.” With my hand on the front door handle I suggest, “Kick your feet up, relax. I’ll be back.” I wink and leave her with her mouth hanging open.

  My cart was filled, overflowing with all things possible for a healthy diet, I’ve never done this much shopping in my life. I wonder how it will be once the baby is born? I might be overdoing it, but I can’t help myself; almost two weeks of being an asshole to her I really want to be there for her, make things right.

  After getting back to the apartment, and putting away the groceries, June comes out of her
bedroom with wet hair and a small silky nightie on. Shit, that thing didn’t hide much; her breasts are fucking huge, and my God I want to take hold of one and suck on it. Calm the cock down, Caffrey, you cannot feel anything for her. She’s not your type. I clear my throat and take out a couple items. “Uh, crackers, tea—“

  “I don’t like tea. I like coffee,” June simply states.

  While I bring over the box of crackers, June takes a seat on the sofa; one leg underneath her ass and the other propped up on the coffee table. That nightie is slipping even further up her thighs—Holy shit. I try my damndest to keep my crotch down, adjusting myself as I sit next to her. I open the crackers and hand her one, keeping my tone in control. “Well, you certainly cannot have coffee.”

  “Decaf. I can have decaf.”

  “Okay,” nodding my head. “Next time I’ll get some decaf. Here, eat some of these, whenever you feel sick.” I hand June a few crackers.

  “Which seems to be all the time.” She takes the crackers and hesitates biting into one. “Three weeks of throwing up, I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

  I can feel her frustration. “Seeing a doctor would be a good idea,” I suggest. “Oh, and here,” I hand over the books I placed on the table, earlier. Guess she didn’t see them? “Thought you could use these.” I place the books on her lap.

  She takes a bite of a cracker and looks down at the books, slightly scowling; confused. “You bought me pregnancy books?”

  “It’s a good idea to read up on the stages. I’ve been reading them too.”

  She scoffs, “You have?”

  “Yes,” sounding somewhat irritated. “I want to know what you’re going through and how the baby is growing. It’s all pretty fascinating if you ask me.”

  “Wow,” she says, flipping through the books. “I would never have thought Phillip Caffrey would be fascinated by how a baby grows.”

  “It’s how I learned about the crackers.” I hand her the rest of package and earnestly scold, “Now eat them.”

  “And he’s bossy.”

  “Eat,” I repeat.

  “Yes, sir,” she sarcastically retorts, saluting me. “I guess you’re not a total asshole after all.”

  I want to take her across my knee and give her a good spanking. Instead I keep a straight face and hand at my side.

  For the remainder of the afternoon we go through the books together until June falls asleep. Her feet ended up on my lap; her luscious legs are smooth, shiny and fucking gorgeous. I want to slide my hand up inside her nightie and—fuck! I need to stop. I slowly lift her feet off my lap and place them back down on the sofa. I stand there, hovering over her like a shadow; her left arm is laying above her head and the other arm is laying across her stomach; she’s breathing, soft and heavy. Just from looking at her I can tell how exhausted she is. She doesn’t get enough sleep—I need to change that and make sure she takes care of herself. I wonder if I should ask her to move in with me? That way I can keep a better eye on her. I’m sure she’ll fight me on this, but it may be the only solution. She’s carrying my baby. Knowing there is someone growing inside her body, and I had a part in creating this baby fills me with something I have never felt before—protection. I want to . . . no . . . I need to protect the baby. I need to protect June.

  Before I leave I give June a kiss on her forehead. I wipe away the wisps of hair from her face and murmur goodbye.

  The next morning I hesitantly call Faith to meet me for coffee. I feel like I’m in some AA program, having to apologize for all my faults and mistakes. Faith still means a lot to me, I don’t want her hating me.

  I am really glad Faith allowed me back into the hotel and that I wasn’t banned forever. I took a lot of pride and endless hours transforming an old beat up hotel into a beautiful, classy one; it’s now timeless and inviting. I was proud of my work, to be a part of Faith’s team. Not ever being able to see it again would be horrible for me. I love my work, my job. Not many people can say they love their career, but I do. My dad is a retired architect. I used to watch him work, draw all the time; I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.

  Before I enter Montgomery Suites, I text June to see if she is doing okay this morning. She immediately responds back telling me she’s fine, but extremely tired. I wanted to tell her to not go into work, to let her staff take care of business, but I know she’d never listen to me. I also remind her to make an appointment with her doctor and to let me know when she had done so. I chuckle when she writes back, “Yes Boss.”

  I walk into the dining room and find Faith at one of the tables, looking at her phone. She seems distracted; I touch her on the shoulder to get her attention. She blinks up at me and puts her phone down. “Hi. Thanks for seeing me.”

  From the look in her eyes she’s still very much pissed off at me. “Sure. No problem.” She sits back and crosses her arms, keeping herself reserved.

  A waitress comes by and fills our cups with coffee. After I take my first sip, I clear my throat, and tap my finger on the table out of nerves. “First off, I want to say . . . I was jealous of you and Lucky. I wanted you to look at me the way you look at him. I wanted you to feel something for me.”

  Her shoulders slump then looks at me with pity. That’s the last thing I want from her. “Phillip, I cared for you.”

  I shake my head. “Wasn’t the same for me, but I’m moving on and doing my best to get over it. Having a kid is going to change my life.” As I say this, I realize I really do need to move on. Faith and I were never meant to be. I don’t know why I was so determined to keep her by my side, to make her fall in love with me. Her father put a lot of pressure on me to get Faith to commit, but things just didn’t work out. After I heard he had passed away from lung cancer I had to admit. . . . I felt relieved I didn’t have to play the cat and mouse game anymore. Still, it sucked knowing I would never be the one for her. I wasn’t used to being dumped; usually I’m the one doing the dumping, breaking the hearts. I’m 30 years old, you’d think I would have found the right woman by now.

  “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses,” she babbles back, then adds, “June is going to need you.”

  I agree with her. “Yes I know. I’’m going to be there for her and the baby, do everything I can to make sure they’re taken care of.”

  She lifts her chin and grins. “Good, because she’s really scared and needs your support.”

  I lick my lips and look directly into Faith’s eyes. She needs to know I’m serious about being there for June. “I won’t let her down. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” she says. We’re quiet, drinking our coffee when Faith adds, “June is a great person, Phillip. She’s smart, funny as hell and is super easy to get along with.” I don’t respond. “What happened between the both of you is none of my business. . . . .but having a baby is a big deal. Whether it was created out of love or a drunken state, you still created a life.” I want to tell her I agree, but she continues with her advice. “Listen, this may not be what you planned for yourself, but it did happen. Try to find some happiness knowing you’re going to be a dad. It’s a blessing in disguise if you ask me. Nevertheless, it may be the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” she ends on a shrug.

  I take everything she said, and let it sink in. Just like June, I am scared shitless about having a baby. I never imagined being parents with a woman whom I didn’t love. Yet it doesn’t mean I can’t care about the baby, or care about June. I agree with Faith, June is quite something. When I first met her I never thought of her as very smart; her tattoos, and piercings got in the way. How fucking wrong, and judgmental I was. She built a company from the ground up and is very passionate about her career. I love that in a woman; someone who is strong, and has goals in her life. I have always been attracted to women who are career driven. It’s another thing that attracted me to Faith.

  I change the subject and ask Faith about Lucky. It may not be what I want to discuss, but I do it anyhow. “How a
re you doing, with Lucky gone and all?” I look down at my coffee, uncomfortable with this subject.

  “Oh . . . uh,” she answers with a jolt. “Well, it’s only been four days, but it feels like a lifetime.”

  I notice the light rapidly vanishes from her deep blue eyes. She really does love Jones, and I was just the man who was filling that void. I never stood a chance.

  “You really love him, don’t you?”

  Without hesitation she states, “More than anyone.”

  And just like that, I was over her. We say our goodbyes, and I head to the office. Several times during the day I make sure June is okay, asking her if she needs anything. She informs me she’s been sick, but says she cannot let that get in the way of work. It’s very hard for me to not have my say in her decisions; we’re not married, what she does without me cannot affect me. I more than anything want to take control of our situation. If she were my wife I’d. . . . if she were my wife? Fuck me, where did that come from? Even if she were to be my wife, It’s not like I could control her anyways. She is who she is—stubborn and strong headed.

  NOW THAT PHILLIP HAS DECIDED he is in it for the long haul he has become overly cautious, concerned for me and the baby. . . . yes, a little controlling. I hate to admit it, but . . . I like it. Even though I’ve made it my goal to give him a hard time about certain things—such as my diet—I like being fussed over. I know it’s against everything I ever believed in; women should not be dependent on men. I went to college for a reason, to make something of myself, not be tied down to a man. I can’t help myself though. I’ve enjoyed Phillip’s constant texting, nagging, asking if I’m okay and asking if I’ve made an appointment with my doctor. It feels nice. I just won’t admit it to him. Ever.

  He calls me while I am swamped with files on my desk, but I take his call anyways. I like hearing his voice, how deep and under control it is. I’m walking a fine line with Phillip—I know I am. I know I should be avoiding any sexual desires with him and I know deep down I shouldn’t let my heart beat for him. He doesn’t feel anything for me, and never will. He’s made it loud and clear he’s not attracted to me, but I just keep hoping—maybe he’ll see who I am on the inside and forget about what’s on the outside? One can only dream. So, when he asks me to move in with him I almost pass out.