Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
“It takes two to tango.”
I woke up with the tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, or broken bones, or even a broken heart, but the kind that settles in your joints, behind your eyes, in that small space between your shoulder blades you can’t quite reach.
I almost overslept, which is rarely the case.
My body felt waterlogged, as if my brain hadn’t caught up with the morning and definitely wasn’t ready for what I had to do.
For some reason, I decided to look decent today. I put on my navy jeans with the nice seams that actually showed some curves, and brushed my hair into a ponytail, finishing it with a tie, not a pen. Dabbed lip balm and mascara like it mattered, just in case I had to impress gravity today.
The pharmacy opened at seven. I told myself I was here to buy gum and some Q-tips, standard items, nothing out of the ordinary, just simple shopping.
Walked straight to the aisle I’ve always walked past and grabbed one box, looking over my shoulder like a criminal.
Then two. Then five. Will that be enough?
As a pilot, I liked things to be certain, black and white.
How ironic, I thought, that now I had decided to take as many precautions as possible, just to be sure.
The pharmacist didn’t say anything, and that almost made it worse. I wanted her to raise an eyebrow so I could raise one back, make a stupid comment like big plans today? or buying these for a bachelorette party. Instead: nothing. Just a beep, a bag, “thank you/ next,” and a pit in my stomach.
At work, I was irritatingly early. The office space was empty, quiet for once, which, surprisingly, was even more annoying than the usual chaos.
That peace and silence were playing on my nerves everywhere I went, it seemed.
So I made tea, starting with chamomile, then peppermint, and finally green, as I couldn’t decide, but at least that gave me something to do without spiraling.
Kevin the Cactus looked well-watered, for once.
Tom usually came at nine, so I made coffee for him without being asked, ready for him when he arrived.
I even added a I’ve been making you decaf for the past month Post-it on his cracked mug.
I told myself I’d wait until mid-morning, then until lunch, but by 9:17, I was in the washroom stall, as if it were just another meeting that had to be done and over with.
Test one. I took it out of the box, shaking with hand tremors.
I wasn’t sure my brain understood the weight of what I was about to do: another wonder of the brain protecting me from unbearably intense feelings.
I read the instructions, because that’s what I do, even though I could recite them backward in a storm by now.
This time, too, even though it was a stick, two lines, and a maybe.
The control line must appear next to the test line.
During what was probably the longest 180 seconds in my life, I counted mirror droplets: forty-eight. Then started over: fifty-one. My hands and my throat were dry. I rubbed my index finger against my thumb until the skin felt raw and polished.
The stall was quiet, too quiet for this kind of science.
It shouldn’t be like this and look like this, especially since the other victim of our own crime might have easily been ten feet away, completely oblivious to what was happening at this second.
That half of him might be created in me, which sounded like a scenario from a tropey TV show and totally dramatic, come to think of it.
I felt he was here already, in this building.
For some reason, I could always feel when he was close, it was like an internal radar: an intense, palpable heat—not the sexual kind, at least not anymore—overwhelming my body.
I thought about the last time we were together, that night.
When ‘goodbye’ didn’t taste like closure, but rather unearthly intimacy, salty tears, and regret.
I was clinging to something: maybe him, maybe the fantasy of hope.
Perhaps I just wanted to be touched like I mattered, and just because I liked to be touched by him.
And he always let me feel like I mattered, to my own demise.
I thought about how I used to read every flight manual ten times before a single takeoff, and somehow, I still managed to crash this one.
I told myself I wouldn’t look until three minutes passed, but I looked at one minute and twenty-seven seconds, and it was long enough to know.
Of course. Of course it was this, how could it not be?
He always left something behind: a leather jacket, a T-shirt, a broken heart, and crumbles of half-truths, but this was another level of crumbs.
I took another test from a different manufacturer, less sensitive, just in case the first one was a prankster.
Then a third. Fourth. Fifth. Same result, same stillness.
I sat in the stall for another five minutes, or ten.
Pale, nauseous, that Mr. Clean Fresh Lemon bathroom smell stinging my nostrils.
I was past crying or cursing; I just sealed the tests in a sandwich bag, like they were evidence from a crime scene, and smudged some mascara below my left eye when I was drying my face with a paper towel.
At my desk, there was a Post-it, in Paul’s handwriting, as if I needed any more reminders of our sin.
You okay today? You seem off. P
I stared at it, crumpled it, and dropped it in the bin without looking back.
I had no idea why he kept on doing this, texting casual messages or writing Post-its like he cared for me, an ample kind of torture.
It just made things worse and messed with my head, which was already dizzy enough.
And I wasn’t going to be a line in his day, I reminded myself again.
The wind on the terrace was cooler than I expected it to be, but—luckily—this kind of Pacific ocean breeze nudges you rather than chills your bones to the core.
Mine were all stiff anyway. I stood at the railing already when Mia arrived with a suspicious tote bag on her arm.
I didn’t say anything right away; I wasn’t sure I was in the mood to talk.
But it was Mia’s magic: she just knew when to hug me and when to shoot straight, and I loved her for that.
After a moment, I finally spoke, eyes on the skyline.
“Five tests, god awful Tommo washroom stall, 100% customer humiliation, and you already know.”
Mia gave a small, dry huff. “I know.”
Silence again, like a note still vibrating after the string’s been plucked.
“My body knew too, before I did,” she said finally. “It’s been there with me for days. I just didn’t want to translate. I could still button my jeans and drank a lot of beer at a friend’s birthday party. I felt great! But the gut knew already.”
“I feel detached, disengaged, Mia, like I’m watching someone else experience everything that happened in a year,” I continued. “But also… not entirely surprised. I think some part of me always knew, from the minute I felt the goodbye in his mouth and still let it happen.”
“Just remember, Alicia, babe.” Mia collected her thoughts for a while longer than usual.
“That it takes two to tango, and that you didn’t let anything happen.
You both needed it, deep in your souls, and decided it felt right.
I don’t think we’ll ever know why he needed it, but you did it out of hope and out of love.
It was one-sided, but at least on your end it was pure. ”
My hands and voice weren’t steady, but Mia always managed to sort my thoughts into something that made sense, and she was right. My fingers tapped rhythmically on the railing, to make some noise that wasn’t my own words.
“I keep asking myself how I let this happen,” I said. “How someone like me, who used to memorize every emergency checklist, missed the one that mattered most.”
“You didn’t miss it,” Mia said softly. “You just didn’t think you’d need it.”
“Seems to be a trend in my life, lately. I seem to miss signs: changing thermals, unrequited love, and protection. I was too sure—and I became reckless.”
“It’s life and the painful beauty of it. And now, time to be honest with me: do you still care for him? Remember, I already know the answer.”
“I thought I’d gotten to the part where I thought I could finally ignore him and move on, naturally.
Where I’d survived the worst of it, the love and the hurt, and his face gradually becomes a blur I can’t even draw from memory anymore.
And now it’s like…” I trailed off, searching for the right words.
“Like the crash already happened, but it’s about to happen all over again, in slow-motion. ”
Mia’s brow furrowed gently.
“I’m not going to tell him yet, I think,” I said. “Not because I want to keep it from him, but because Paul left a tear in my soul that I’ve been trying to mend, and I need to make sense of it all before I tell him.”
Mia leaned her elbows on the railing beside me.
“It’s okay, Alicia. You don’t need to have all the answers, and, honestly, he doesn’t deserve to be the first person you tell this right now. He chose silence when he should have spoken, and I thank you for choosing me. You’ll tell him at your own pace.”
I exhaled deeply. “I will. Not because I hope for anything from Paul, not anymore, but because it’s the right thing to do, and I don’t want to be someone who hides.
I never hid the truth from him, even though I got burned.
God, I hate that word; it evokes bad memories.
I don’t know how I’ll tell him. Message him: Hey, you wanted to know what’s up with me?
So, I’m pregnant, it’s yours by the way, have a nice life with the person you truly love? How does that sound?”
It sounded horrible: the raw truth of it hit like a hammer, and I could feel it deep in my ribcage. I had to stop and catch my breath, and let Mia take over.