1. Eric #3
I truly meant to say “this” baby. I didn’t mean to make the question about whether she wants to be forever linked to him, but I couldn’t help myself.
I was unsure if she caught my meaning, and right then, I understood that it was irrelevant.
However, her response made my masochistic heart pitter-patter at her choice of words.
“I want the baby.” She nodded, determined. Not his. The.
“Then let’s figure it out.”
And so we planned, budgeting on napkins.
She could teach in the midafternoon and take her classes in the evening, scheduling herself for three really busy days of on-campus work and two days off-campus, no childcare required.
She didn’t suggest that he’d pick the baby up once he was off work at four, but I offered to schedule my seminars when she wasn’t taking classes so I could pick it up and wait for her until she arrived, so as not to increase childcare costs.
Adding the baby to her insurance will be costly, and it needed to be paid every quarter. She’d need a loan. I didn’t fight her on that, but damn if I won’t co-sign it.
We looked around and found a few daycares nearby that allowed for a part-time fee for three full days.
We crunched numbers: first, her half of rent, then childcare, her half of utilities, her budget for public transit.
Amanda talked me through which apps she’d cancel.
She’d switch her phone and chip at grocery expenses.
I didn’t tell her she would use my login or that I would buy her food or cook for her every single time I could get away with it.
I also didn’t point out how she wasn’t budgeting for his half of daycare or for him to pay half of the kid’s medical insurance. I didn’t mention how she was bending over backward to figure out how to do it alone—with my occasional help.
She figured out how to make it work, just about breaking even with what she earns from her teaching salary. It was left unsaid that she’ll have to put in more time editing crappy writing samples in her side gig.
By the time we were done, I was exhausted. But she looked okay. Happy, almost.
“When will you tell him?”
I was back in front of her, no longer within arm’s reach. I feared that if I got closer, I’d ask her not to do it to herself.
Or perhaps not to do it to me.
So I kept my distance.
“Soon.” She began gathering her things. “Tonight. I just needed a plan, you know?”
I nodded toward the bar so I could pay for the drinks, because what the fuck else was there to do?
She moved to follow me, but I waved her away and left her to get ready.
While I waited for the server to run my card, I started to crumble, even though I had to hold it together until she was on her way home.
She is pregnant. With someone else’s baby. And she is having it.
Her children won’t be mine. My children won’t be hers.
The privilege of that first will be forever his.
I held my wallet roughly so I didn’t clench my fists in jealousy.
By the time I was done, she was already outside, hands in her pockets, her long trench coat undulating with the gentle breeze. The dusk settled, allowing the moon to shine, and her eyes were locked on it.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked, standing next to Amanda but not looking at her.
She finally turned to me. She was happy and calm. Filled with purpose and excited about possibilities. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked.
And I didn’t have the strength to deal with what she was acknowledging—my unresolved feelings for her. That I’d kill for an opportunity to turn back time.
But I couldn’t get into it. Or lie to her. So I ignored her question.
“Eric,” she whispered, reaching for my hand, “I’m going to need you. Am I going to have you?”
Fuck. I was speechless.
She was about to go to the home she shared with him to be pampered and celebrated, to get fucked and loved. And I was going to go to the bar and get fucked up.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and held her tightly, dropping my head to kiss her forehead.
She lifted her head, and our lips were closer than they’d been in years.
All it would take was a small, catastrophic movement, just a tilt of my head.
It was so tempting, but I made the smart, heartbreaking choice, and simply murmured, “Always.”
When the cab finally pulls up to my building, I stumble out of it, feeling the need to scrub myself clean.
As I open the door to the building and make my way up the stairs, I seriously consider therapy for once.
If she’s having fucking babies, I really need to move on.
I really need to figure out my life. Any part of it.
I need to just be fucking well for once.
If I had been in the first place—can’t think about that now.
As I turn around the staircase and onto my floor, my apartment door comes into view.
Thank fuck. And then she is there, cradling her knees, giant backpack still on, two fully stuffed gym bags surrounding her.
I come close to her, and as she lifts her gaze to meet mine, I see her tear-stricken face.
One thing is clear: I’m going to fucking kill him.