Chapter Nineteen
Juliet
I sleep deeply, though I have strange dreams.
I'm playing on a jungle gym with a little girl who is struggling to climb up the railings. I look back at Marcel and then it hits me that the little girl has a miniature replica of his face, but sweet and cherubic.
“We need to make sure there's plenty of padding underneath the rubber mats so if little ones fall, they bounce.” I called down to Marcel who is taking voice notes on his phone.
“Right,” he answers. “I was thinking the same thing.” He scoops the little girl off the bars and plops her on the top where I stabilize her legs with my hands and can catch her if she rolls off. The worried expression on her little face bursts into a bright big beautiful smile.
“I swear to God,” Marcel says, “she's looking more and more like you every day.” He gives me a loving grin.
“Don’t start,” I cut him off. “You know she's your mini-me and always will be.
“Well, she and her mother have thoroughly stolen my heart.” Marcel looks positively goofy.
—and then my eyes bolt open and I sit up in bed.
At first I am disoriented and don't know whose house I've awakened in. My heart races and I start to panic. I look around the room and take a deep breath and suddenly it all floods back to me. I'm in Marcel's guest room.
My entire day was a monumental effort to not throw up. At this particular moment, however, I realize I've lost the war. Dashing into his ensuite, I barely make it to the toilet before I puke my brains up.
This is not lactose intolerance. I'm legitimately vomiting. I don't recall ever being this sick. On my second round of barfing none other than Grinch Charming walks in. I'm mid-hurl and he grabs my hair, which I am grateful for because my arm is getting tired of holding it back off of my face.
“Whatever you ate totally messed up your stomach.” He rubs my back and kisses the top of my head.
As shitty as I feel, him taking care of me is really sweet. I just want to melt into his arms and let Marcel make everything feel better.
“I'm sorry,” I say, feeling terrible for ruining his day and barfing all over his guest bathroom.
“Nothing to be sorry for, ma chérie.” He’s being so nice. “Listen, I know it's a little bit early, and this is just a precaution, but I've had a couple of run-ins and I just want to make sure that we are on a level playing field here.”
“Huh?” I feel drained and like I swallowed razor blades and they are eating up my stomach. “What field are we talking about?”
“It’s not a real field.” Marcel looks a little more serious. “I just need you to pee in a cup.”
He bends down and opens up the cabinet under the sink and pulls out a medical grade clear plastic cup with a blank sticker on the front and hands it to me.
“You don't sell body parts for a living do you? Has this Christmas romcom become a Halloween slasher?” I’m trying to be funny but I also have a dry mouth and wobbly legs.
“No, the Grinch is just being cautious,” he says as he stares at me.
“Are you going to watch me pee in a cup?” I’m now feeling very uncomfortable and Marcel’s sweet demeanor has almost completely disappeared.
He turns around and I guess he’s staying with me but not watching.
I flush, wash my hands and face, use the toothbrush and toothpaste he’s provided and then I stare at the cup.
“Why am I doing this?”
“Just a precaution,” he tells me over his shoulder and then it hits me because I’m a complete idiot. I never even thought it possible.
“You want me to take a pregnancy test! What the fuck, Marcel?” I am so pissed I can hardly think.
“No.” I set the cup down on the counter.
“Have your lawyer draw up something and I’ll sign it.
If I’m pregnant, you are free from responsibility.
” I shove past him, walk into the guest room, and start gathering my things while I fire up the Uber app on my phone.
“What the hell are you doing?” Marcel asks in a panic.
“I’m going home. No need to call a car. I’ll take an Uber to the airport and catch the next flight.”
“Stop, Juliet. Just stop.” He takes me by the shoulders and I punch him in the face.
He holds his cheek and I’m about to rush out, with tears dripping in a steady stream.
“You might be pregnant,” he laughs as he holds me back. “I want to do this together.”
“Why? So you can force me to have an abortion? No. If I’m pregnant with your child, I’ll sign a waver and I’ll raise the baby on my own. You won’t need to be any part of this. I will walk away and you can pretend I didn’t happen.” I’m now sobbing.
“I don’t want to pretend you didn’t happen, Juliet.
You have completely changed my life, you are happening.
You suddenly throw up and I’ve seen this pregnancy symptom before.
I’m panicking, okay. Give me a fucking break, please.
I’m not an evil villain in a children’s book.
I’m a man, a man who has not known one fucking day with the kind of love you give and receive on a regular basis in it, so please indulge me. ”
“And if I’m pregnant? What happens?”
“If we’re pregnant we discuss the options together,” he wipes his thumb across my cheek, stopping the parade of tears on that side. “because if you are pregnant, this is our baby, not yours, not mine, but ours.”
“But if I’m not, you go back to your fabulous life destroying others and I go back to school and move on with my life and eventual career.
If I am, I stay with Gran, finish my last year of school a little later and start my career as a single mom.
Either way, Marcel, I end up moving on without you,” I tell him softly.
“One step at a time,” he says and is much more loving and kinder than I expect him to be.
I perch on the edge of the marble counter, hands locked together so tightly my knuckles ache. The bathroom feels too bright and too sterile. It’s like a spotlight is shining on everything we can’t take back.
Marcel moves with clipped efficiency, opening the cabinet, finding the box, and fishing out a pregnancy test. His jaw is set, his movements precise, and I can feel the tension vibrating off of him.
My stomach is still queasy and raw and his strange actions aren’t making me feel better, but he’s trying. I do recognize that.
I take the cup, he turns his back and I do the deed. I leave the little plastic cup on the counter for him. It’s absurdly intimate and mildly humiliating, but I can’t bring myself to look as he dips the stick.
The stick is on the counter now and the longest three minutes of my life stretch between us. I wrap my arms around myself, pressing down the tears threatening to rise.
My voice comes out small and shaky. “I’m keeping it. No matter what. It’s probably just the cow milk,” I say, feeling overwhelmed and nervous. “We’ll have a laugh about how lactose intolerance landed us in this situation.”
“Juliet ... no matter what happens, you’ve meant more to me than any woman ever has. Even Clara.”
The words sting because I don’t quite believe them. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it because I have to.” He looks at me then, really looks at me. “Clara always had an ulterior motive. You’ve only ever been ... you. And I’ve loved this time with you. Something in my chest cracks.
The timer on Marcel’s watch buzzes and my heart nearly explodes. Marcel reaches for the stick first. He inhales sharply, then lets out a short breath. There’s a sigh and strangely, the ghost of a chuckle.
“Well,” I whisper without looking, “at least you got the result you were hoping for.” I hop off the counter, both relieved and a little sad. I kind of wanted that sweet little girl on the jungle gym. I loved that she looked so much like her father with his chiseled jaw and ice blue eyes.
He slides the test toward me. “You should probably see this.”
“See what?” My words choke in my throat and I force my eyes to it. The digital screen is merciless. Pregnant. The room tilts. My lips form words before my brain can catch up. “Okay. Okay. I can do this.”
I just need to get out. I need air.
I try to muscle past Marcel.
Fuck, fuck. I’ll be okay if I just get air.
“I’ll get an Uber and book the next flight home at the airport. I have some money in savings. It’s Friday, so ... I’ll see you at work on Monday.” I’m rambling. I know I am and yet, I can't because my mind has gone haywire.
Marcel pulls me against him. He kisses me, soft, firm, aching. “No.” His voice is rough with something I can’t name. “I’m taking you home.”