Wet

by Ruth Clampett

  I reach over and rest my hand on her cool forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

  “No, I feel fine. Just tired I guess.” She spies the book in my hand. “Hey, were you reading my smut again?”

  I hold up the book. “Yeah, the ex-con one. I think I found your favorite chapter. I didn’t know you were into ex-cons.”

  “I’m not usually. This one just had special qualities.” She gives me a wink. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat!”

  We’re loaded in the car when she turns to me. “Hey, how into the barbeque thing are you?”

  “I’m not married to the idea, why? Would you rather go somewhere else?”

  “I’m craving a Double-Double something fierce.”

  “In-N-Out?” I ask, scrunching my face. I immediately think of how unromantic those white Formica booths are and realize that this night isn’t going the way I’d hoped. But I look over and her face is lit up. How can I turn her down?

  “Could we?” she asks with those big doe eyes. Her hair is still crazy and I reach over to smooth it down.

  “Okay, sure,” I say.

  She claps her hands like a kid and I grin as I pull onto the street.

  I’ve never seen Elle eat like this. She’s suddenly a truck driver in a petite package. She polishes off the Double-Double, a chocolate shake, her fries, and half of mine. I finally pull the fries away. “Slow down. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  She snags another fry and waves it toward me. “Yeah, and can you believe I was throwing up this morning! Fast recovery, right?”

  “What do you mean you were throwing up? Did you eat something bad?”

  “I guess so. I’ve been off all week. Maybe I’m fighting a little virus or something. I just want to sleep and eat all the time.”

  As I watch her drain her milkshake my mind starts to wander with disturbing thoughts. I’ve been around women enough to pick up on the myriad of weird body stuff they suffer through due to their crazy, ever-changing hormones. What she’s just described sounds like a particular combination of symptoms. Oh Jesus. Could she be pregnant? As soon as I think of it I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. Is fate this big of a bitch . . . is this the worst timing in my life? The night I was finally ready to ask her for more, could be the night where her life turns another direction without me in it. My fingers tighten along the edges of the tabletop.

  “What’s wrong? You look freaked out.” Her smile fades the longer I don’t answer her question.

  What do I say? I pull my straw halfway out of my soda and then slide it back in several times while my head spins. At this point telling the truth is the only road worth taking.

  “Could you be pregnant?”

  She drops her fry. “Pregnant? No, of course not.”

  “Are you sure? Birth control isn’t infallible you know.”

  She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m sure. I’d know if I were pregnant.”

  She glares at me like I’ve told her she was stupid or something. I wish I felt better hearing how confident her answer was.

  “Okay. Sorry I said anything. Shall we?” I ask as I gather up our ravaged remains to throw away.

  She nods, a faraway look in her eyes.

  We’re half way out the door of In-N-Out when she turns to me. “Hey can we swing by Krispy Kreme on the way home?”

  Good Lord, this woman.

  Far be it from me to get in the way of her eating frenzy. “Sure thing.”

  We do the drive-thru but then I decide to pull over so I can watch her devour another round of food. It’s entertaining. She keeps smacking her sugar-coated lips and she moans with each bite.

  She’s halfway done with her maple bar when her mood suddenly shifts. Her eyebrows knit together like she’s trying to figure out a complicated problem. She turns to me. “Wait a minute. What’s the date again?”

  “It’s the fifth, why?”

  After frantically dropping the doughnut back in the bag, she rummages through her purse until she pulls out her cell phone. She swipes the screen, her fingers a blur. She looks up at me with an expression of horror and then back down to the screen.

  “What?” I ask. She’s freaking me out.

  “I’m a week late,” she whispers.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nods, tears already forming in her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been in such a fog this week that it hadn’t occurred to me. Oh my God, Paul. What if you were right? What if I’m pregnant?” Her expression is twisted with fear like she’s suddenly trapped inside a horror film.

  My heart is pounding. This isn’t how I thought this evening would go at all. She looks like she’s slipping down a slippery slope and needs something to hold onto.

  I rest my hand on her shoulder and squeeze it before I start up the car. “Let’s make sure first.”

  “Where are we going?” Her hands are pressed against her face.

  “The drugstore.”

  The whole drive she is rocking in her seat chanting, “Oh my God, oh my God,” over and over.

  It reminds me of when I did this for my sister her first year of college when she was dating that asshole football player. Luckily her test came out negative. Maybe Elle’s will, too.

  When we get to Rite-Aid she’s rocking so hard I’m afraid she’ll hit her head on the dashboard.

  “Oh my God, oh my God . . .”

  I realize that she’s in no shape to go inside. “Elle, I’ll be right back. Okay?”

  She doesn’t respond, just keeps rocking.

  I dart out the door and into the store like a man on a mission. I rush down several aisles before I find the potentially preggers section. With the sanitary napkins just to my right, it only takes a few seconds to be reminded that this is no place for a man. I scan the options: Early Detection, First Response, Clear Blue . . . blah, blah, blah. I grab three different choices and head to the front of the store hoping Elle hasn’t passed out in the car yet.

  Why there’s a line at Rite-Aid at nine at night, I have no friggin’ idea. Yet it’s my lucky day when my Tinder trainer and pal, Gabe, gets in line behind me with a twelve pack.

  “Hey, dude. How’s it going?” he asks, and looks down at what I’m holding before I have a chance to tip it away from his view.

  Fuck.

  I glance over to the check out stations and curse the old man in the jogging suit that’s demanding a price check.

  “Hey, Gabe. I’m good, and you?”

  He leans forward. “Well, well, look at that. You gearing up for daddyhood man?”

  Damn it all!

  “No, man, this is for a friend. I swear.”

  “Sure, sure,” he says and gives me a grin.

  The jogging suit guy finally finishes up. “Hey Gabe, please don’t say anything to Dad. I swear this isn’t my kid.”

  He nods and pats me on my back right before I step forward.

  “No worries, dude. This is just between us.”

  Back in the car, Elle has added trembling to the rocking and chanting. I place the bag on her lap to buckle my seatbelt and she shoves it off onto the floor. Yeah, this isn’t at all how I thought tonight would go.

  “I’m not peeing on a stick, Paul.”

  “You’re going to have to, Elle. You need to know for sure.”

  “I’m going to wait a few days. Maybe my cycle is off because of traveling.”

  I nod. “Maybe. And you said you were really careful about birth control, right?”

  “So careful. And Stephan was meticulous about it.”

  “Okay, so this test is just for peace of mind. If your birth control was meticulous, then you should have nothing to worry about.”

  “Right, right. We went through two boxes of condoms.”

  “I really didn’t need to hear that,” I grumble.

  “We even used one on the beach.”

  “Awesome.” I can’t hide the sarcasm in my voice.

  She takes a sharp breath. “The beach!” she wails.<
br />
  I swerve to the right before gaining control of the car again. “What? What?”

  “The sand, the pounding! The condom was messed up when it was over.”

  I want to ask more specifics but I’m sure I can’t stomach it. I don’t need to reply though because we’ve just pulled up to her house. I rush around, open her door, and extend my hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  She paces the living room while I tear open the first package and read the instructions. “Let’s get this done,” I say, pointing towards the guest bath. When she opens the door I hand her the stick. “Pee on this part for five seconds.”

  I look her in the eyes and all I see is terror. I can’t blame her. In a few minutes her whole life could change. When the door closes I fold my arms and lean back on the wall across from the door. A nervous minute passes and all I hear is silence.

  I step up to the door. “You okay?”

  “I can’t pee,” she cries out.

  “You’ve got to. Mind over matter, Elle. Think of waterfalls or something.”

  “What?”

  “Just pee, damn it!”

  “Asshole,” I hear her mumble.

  A minute later the door opens and she hands me the wand. After slipping the cap back on it, I lay it flat on the counter. “Okay let’s walk away for five minutes.”

  She nods and heads to the kitchen. With the stiffness of a zombie she takes a bottle of beer out of the fridge, opens it, and hands it to me. It’s not hard to miss that she hasn’t taken one for herself.

  “So, busy day tomorrow?” she asks.

  I blink at her. She wants to talk about our schedules? Okay, I’ll play that game.

  Besides, her vacant expression tells me that she doesn’t give a shit about what my day is like tomorrow but she needs to be distracted.

  “Yeah, pretty busy. You?”

  “Yes, I have a presentation to a new client I really want to work with.”

  “Well, good luck with that.”

  She chews on her thumbnail and nods toward the bathroom. “How much more time?”

  “A minute and a half.” Her color is shifting to a grayish hue.

  “Oh no . . . I think I’m going to be sick.”

  She rushes toward the bathroom with me right at her heels. When she curls over the toilet, I sweep her hair off her face and hold it back as she hurls.

  So much for that In-N-Out dinner and maple bar. At least she’s quick about it.

  “You okay?” I ask as she wipes her face and flushes the toilet.

  She goes to the sink and rinses out her mouth. “How much more time now?”

  I glance at my watch, reach out and carefully pick up the wand, and hold it toward the light. It reveals two distinct stripes. That second little stripe indicating positive, feels like a needle jabbed in my heart. I turn away from her so she can’t see my expression. I have no fucking gameface at this point.

  “What?” she whispers.

  I hold up the stick. “Positive.” I feel like I can’t breath and it’s not even my kid. She wasn’t looking for this. I can’t even imagine how she’s feeling.

  “Positive?” she asks in a distraught voice. I hear her choke back tears.

  I nod and try to swallow down the lump in my throat. Luckily, I look over at her before she sways and then starts to crumble. I catch her just in time and pull her tightly into my arms. It breaks my heart when she presses her face into my chest and lets out a sorrowful cry. I sweep my arm under her knees and lift her up.

  She’s full on sobbing by the time I carry her to the living room and sink down onto the couch, still holding her tightly against me. I slowly run my hand across her head and down her back over and over, imagining what this experience would be like if it were my kid. Would she feel differently than as distraught as she seems to be right now? Would she want our baby as much as I would? I ache because I wish it were mine and that’s messed up to even be thinking about when she’s so defeated by the news.

  My shirt is soaked and my arm numb by the time the tears quiet. She tilts her face up to look at me.

  “What am I going to do, Paul?”

  “I would think you’d want to take a little time to figure out what your heart wants you to do.”

  She lets out a long sigh and nods.

  I can’t help but be tender with her. My heart is broken—not just for what we could have been, but for the tough decisions she has ahead of her. I brush her hair off her damp forehead.

  “I must say, Elle, I think you’d make an incredible mom.”

  I watch two streams of tears slowly make their way down her cheeks. “I’m not so sure I would,” she says quietly. “How could I properly take care of a baby with my irregular work schedule and travel? There are some events where I have no idea when I’ll get home.”

  “But what about Stephan? He would be helping.”

  At the mention of his name she squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces. “Stephan,” she sighs.

  “What? This baby is his responsibility, too.”

  “Yes, but can you imagine? He’d seal the baby in a germ-free bubble. Besides, he’s the least fatherly man I know.”

  “I’ll take your word on that. You’d have a super clean baby for sure.” I try to give her a warm smile. “He’d probably wear surgical gloves to change a diaper.”

  “Oh I can promise you that he’d never change a dirty diaper.”

  “He might surprise you. Fatherhood changes people. I have a friend from college that could be such an ass, but when his son was born he changed completely . . . at least around his kid. He’s a total mush head now.”

  She lets out an awkward laugh.

  “What?”

  “I just remembered my junior high health teacher telling us to never sleep with someone unless you think they’d make a good parent. She was only trying to scare us out of sex, but now I see the wisdom in her words. I should’ve listened.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know better than anyone that the need for sex can make us do things we wouldn’t necessarily do.”

  She nods and leans into my chest again.

  “You just need to tell him so you can figure the rest out. Hopefully, together,” I say.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  Her eyes glaze over and I wonder what she’s thinking deep in her heart. Elle is a worldly woman. I don’t need to tell her that there are several choices she can make regarding the baby. It’s not my baby, nor my body, so I intend to support her with whatever she chooses.

  She makes an effort to sit up and I help her until she’s upright with her legs hanging off the couch. “I think I need to go to bed,” she says.

  “Yes, get some sleep. You can call Stephan tomorrow.”

  When we get to her front door I turn to face her, placing both of my hands on her shoulders. “Will you let me know how the talk with him goes?”

  She bites her lip but nods. “Yes.”

  I run my hands down her arms. “I want you to know that I’m here for you, whatever decision you make. Just promise me you won’t sell yourself short. I meant what I said. You’ll be an incredible mom.”

  She brushes new tears away and steps up close so I can wrap my arms around her. “Paul, what would I do without you? Your kindness means so much to me. You’re such a good friend.”

  And I’ll never be more than that now . . .

  My chest hurts as that raw truth hits me.

  “Good men make good friends,” I say with a hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I hold it together as I take several steps down her walkway and turn to wave good- bye. But I clench my fists all the way to the car and my jaw is locked as I pull my door shut. In the silence of my car I finally let out my frustration.

  “Damn it all,” I yell as I slam my forehead against the steering wheel. “Why? Why?”

  I want to punch my fist through the windshield and then track down the Viking and beat the crap out of him for having a timeshare in Maui when he ha
tes sand. It’s all his fault that I no longer have a chance with Elle.

  I feel a stinging in my eyes and I flip down my visor mirror. What the hell? Are those tears glazing my eyes? I never cry. I point at my reflection. “Don’t you dare cry, asshole. Don’t you dare!” I slam the visor back up.

  As I fire up my engine my mind goes dark places. How tragically ironic that the night we learn that Elle has a new life growing inside of her is the same night my hope, for the life I finally realized I want, has died.

  Chapter Nine

  THE HERO

  The next two days at work are living hell. I’m worried about Elle, and not sure what I can do to help her. She texts me to let me know she’s meeting with the Viking after work on Tuesday. She promises to text me whether he took the news better than she’d hoped, or worse.

  Stephan isn’t the only thing I’m concerned about in regards to Elle. I’m worried she isn’t taking good care of herself and my internet research has shown that her health habits in this first trimester are key. At lunch I go to the pharmacy in the building across from our office and get a recommendation from the pharmacist for pre-natal vitamins. As I pay for the purchase it occurs to me that she may have trouble keeping them down. I hope she does better with them than she did with her Double-Double.

  By early evening Tuesday I find myself lingering behind at work and doodling at my drafting table while I try to imagine how I would take the news if it were my baby, and not the Viking’s. I know I’d be a better dad than him. As soon as the kid was old enough I’d start taking him to the park so we could play in the sand box barefoot together. Hell, I’d buy a sandbox for our house, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be caught dead in those pussy water shoes.

  Our kid would know sand, and messy hand paintings and food all over their little face. We’d pitch tents in the living room, and there’d be Lego pieces under every piece of furniture or tucked into every cushion crevice. I’d smile at every sticky fingerprint because I’d know that they were like footprints in the road proving I was on the right path with my life.

  I pick up my phone and check it again. Nothing. By 7:30 I can’t take it any longer and I text her.

  You okay?

  She responds almost immediately.