Elijah
Your family, they, um, they like it here?” I’m thinking about the little girl and the man who shares Abby’s home. It’s hard not to grimace.
“Yes, my daughter and I love it here.” The words come out subdued. I barely register the sentence, though, because Abby reaches out to put her hand over mine.
How does she do that? Shock me with the gesture yet make it seem so natural, so inevitable.
“Her name is Corazon, but everyone calls her Cora. It means heart in Spanish. I named her after a woman who helped raise me as if I was one of her daughters. Her birthday is December twenty-first and she’s six years old.”
Somehow, I know she’s not done talking. Her voice is shaky and vulnerable. I stay silent and look down at her hand which, without realizing, I have entangled in my firm grip.
“Do you remember what happened that night, Elijah? When we were together?”
I must not be hearing correctly. Is she actually bringing up that night?
I’m determined to keep this meeting as normal as possible.
Or at least appropriate. Reminding me of what happened when I brought her to my dorm room where she spread her legs and sucked my cock?
Talking about the night I fucked her like there was no tomorrow?
This conversation is the farthest thing from appropriate.
Flashes of her in the shower fill my head.
Abby whining with pleasure as I nipped her pert nipples.
Abby’s lips, parted and puffy, as she begged for more.
And the way I had taken her against the tiles, rough and merciless.
Why would she bring that up? Seven years after it happened is way too late to bring it up.
Wait. Seven—
“Did you say your daughter is…” My voice falters.
I pull my hand away and run it roughly through my hair.
A fleeting sense of dread descends, but I try to calm down.
The problem is, my brain isn’t working. And the blood that pumps through me is frozen so I’m cold and immovable. I am literally malfunctioning.
“You’re not saying that she’s…”
Abby has turned completely towards me, legs crossed in front of her like she’s a kid in a damn story circle. Her elbows are heavy on her knees and her head slumps over shaky hands.
“Elijah, I didn’t know until weeks after. I thought I had my period. I… shit, I’m saying this all wrong. I’m sorry. I prepared something, but I’m messing up.”
I’m mesmerized as she takes a deep breath. When she looks up, her eyes are a shade of blue so light, they’re almost translucent.
“Elijah, what happened that night was amazing and we both chose to be together. I don’t regret a moment of it.
Our protection failed and I meant to take the morning-after pill.
But when I got home that night, my period started.
I wasn’t on the pill because of a history of complications but, at the time, it seemed as if the universe gave us a break. ”
“So you didn’t take the morning-after pill.” I’m surprised I can speak at all.
“No. I figured what was the point when a person can’t get pregnant while on their period. It turns out, I was probably just… anyway, nevermind. The point is, I miscalculated and made a decision on the spot.”
“Miscalculated? Is that what you’re calling it?” I whip out.
Abby’s torso recoils as if my words hit her in the face. She rearranges her body to face outward like me, feet on the ground. Late summer temperatures and city pollution make the bridge flicker from this distance. Or maybe that’s just my vision failing because I am definitely malfunctioning.
“You have every right to be doubtful and upset. Go ahead. I’ll continue when you’re ready to hear the rest.”
“When I’m ready? When I’m ready, Abby?” Derision chokes my windpipe. “I’m not sure that’s even possible, to be honest. And me being ready is the least significant thing about this fucking conversation.”
The heaviness in my stomach begins a slow, dangerous churn, like a stew at the point of overflowing and there’s no stopping the mess.
When she speaks, her voice grates like a fork on a plate. “I just mean, maybe you need a minute before I continue. This isn’t a conversation I ever had before so maybe, maybe I’m the one who needs a minute, OK?”
“A minute. You think a minute is going to make a difference?” My mouth is running on its own and I don’t stop it.
“Don’t make this about me not being ready.
You’re about to give me information I’ve had every right to know from the goddamn beginning.
There isn’t a minute that’s going to change that. ”
“You’re right.” Her voice is steady, but the words slash at the air around us.
“I found out almost two months later. It’s normal for me to miss months of my period and with so much travel, it wasn’t a stretch to assume my sickness was from changes in diet.
I finally called for a doctor during a trip in Barcelona.
She confirmed I was eight weeks pregnant. ”
Her words are like knives, slicing right down the middle of my life. The before of this conversation and the after, when I realize Abby Riley, who is a stranger to me in every way that matters, brought a child into the world. A child? My child.
“The girl dancing in the aisle during the performance.”
“Yes. That’s Cora. She, um, she can’t help moving when she sees music.”
“You mean hears music.”
“Yes, yes of course. But she also sees it. Have you heard of synesthesia? When there’s music she loves, she calls it her dancing rainbow.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Give me all these details about Cora when there are giant-size pieces of information you’re leaving out.
Tell me, Abby. And say it straight. Why the fuck didn’t you call when you found out?
I was in graduate school for another two years before getting the position at Riverside.
A woman with your smarts and resources could have had me on the phone the same day you found out. ”
“I saw you. I had every intention of telling you in person. As soon as I decided I wanted the baby, I flew to New York and watched one of your concerts.”
The thought of her pregnant, watching me play cello and carrying our baby, twists me tighter. The grip on my chest won’t let go. I can’t speak and for now I won’t try.
Abby continues with her low, calm voice. “I waited by the backstage door and hoped to have a private moment with you. To tell you my decision and to confirm that I could support myself. I had no expectations at all.”
Something about that statement pushes me over the edge. “Is that what you were going to lead with? Hi, Elijah. Don’t worry, I have no expectations from the guy who knocked me up.”
I hate the sound of my voice. Where did all this bitterness come from?
I can’t process information because something else keeps getting in the way.
A toxic mix of emotions hijacks me. Under all my resentment about being left out of the most important fact of my life—I conceived a child for god’s sake—under all of it, hurt burns.
Resentful, confusing hurt lodges so deep, it has to be permanent.
She reaches out and puts a hand on my knee. “No, of course not. I—”
“I know you didn’t need me. You never did and probably never will. That’s not what this is about.”
For the first time in my life, I let anger take over my brain’s functions. Awful scenarios play out all at once. Abby seeing me and being disgusted, finding me unworthy to talk to, regretting the choices she made. Choices she made. Fuck, she had no right to make them without me.
Smoke coils from the fire in my stomach and I relish the poisonous taste of rage. Abby Riley sought me out and then walked away? How little she must think of me. When I finally speak, it comes out as a smoldering hiss.
“Let me get this straight. You flew from across the world to tell me. Came within fucking earshot and just, what, walked away? Jesus, Abby. I figured you didn’t think much of me but that was brutal.
What did I do to deserve your disrespect?
Goddamn, you had no right to treat me that way.
How could you keep this from me? Who the fuck do you think you are? ”
Her breath hitches and I refuse to look at her. I can barely contain my own devastation. She is obviously upset, but I Will. Not. Look. How can I witness her distress and process her betrayal at the same time?
Thing is, I know she’s about to apologize. I can practically feel the waves of regret coming out of her. And in my bones, past the hurt and anger and shock, is the absolute certainty that I will forgive her.
That pisses me off most of all.
“I can’t. I can’t do this,” I mutter. I walk away and try not to look back.