Neither of us say a word. Nothing. He stays on the floor, sitting, staring up at me. Lost. His hair is all over the place and it doesn’t look like he’s shaved in days. I want to fall into him and curl up on his lap but something tells me not to. Some condescending, whispery voice telling me I don’t belong there— that he doesn’t want me anymore.
I fumble in my purse for my keys and take them out with trembling fingers. It takes me a few moments to open the door. When I do, he’s behind me, standing, and we walk into my apartment letting the door click quietly closed behind us.
This isn’t how we usually come into my apartment. Usually we’re ripping at each other’s clothes and bumping into things, stumbling through rooms until he’s inside me. The different behavior hardens into a lump at the back of my throat.
“Would you…uh…like something to drink?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to drink in this place after my one-woman pity party last night, but I don’t know what else to say or ask, the room is too quiet. Silenced by the impending doom that’s about to rain over us.
“No,” he says low. “Thank you, though.” He doesn’t want anything to drink because he’s not staying. I see it. He’s trying to crawl out of his skin to get out of here. It’s hard to watch. I dart my eyes to the kitchen, quickly. Last night I seem to have left a mess all across the countertops and floor. I end up staring down at my shoes.
He sits on the edge of the couch—not leaning back like he’s getting comfortable to stay, but at the very end of it for a quick escape. Why doesn’t he want to be here with me? What have I done?
“Jane,” he whispers, and his voice is so full of sadness is makes me lightheaded. I don’t want to hear him say my name like that. I want him smiling and happy to see me, kissing and touching and tearing at my shirt, but none of that is happening right now. “Jane,” he says again. “Please come sit with me.”
Maybe if I stand here, I don’t have to hear what God-awful thing he has to tell me. Why is he making this so drawn out? What the fuck is happening? Why can’t he just talk? Say he’s sorry? Blood roars through my ears, and I’m instantly angry and ragey and I want him to spit out whatever it is so I can finally know what I’ve been worrying over all this time. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
He sighs.
My head starts to pound again.
“Remember I told you my ex-girlfriend was calling? Trying to get in contact with me?” He’s rubbing at the back of his neck, the color of his face blanching, he can hardly keep his eyes on me. Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god.
“Stephanie, right?” Maybe she got hit by a bus and died. Oh God, I’m the worst person in the world right now for havingthatbe the first thing to pop up in my brain.
“She was pregnant.”
“She was pregnant?” What did that have to do with him? Did she want him to be the godfather? They haven’t seen each other in a year, right? Why would she—
“She went to my mother’s house when she went into labor.”
Did she have no one to take her to the hospital? Forget the number to 911? I hate to be callous and jealous but seriously, why the hell did she call my boyfriend and go to his family’s house when she hasn’t seen him for the last year? “Did something happen? What the hell is going on Dex? I don’t understand. You vanished for three days and missed my birthday. Are you telling me you missed my birthday because your ex had a baby?”
“My baby, Jane. She hadmy baby.” He runs his hands over his face then opens and closes his fists over and over again.
I start laughing. This has to be a joke. It’s gotta be. See, because Dex told me he’d never been with anyone without wearing a condom. I remember his words clearly.Clearly. And he broke up with her a year ago. Any minute now he’s going to tell me this is some sort of fucked-up article Gail is making him write titledHow toGet Away with Murder by Giving Someone You Love A Heart AttackorAwful Relationship Pranks to See if Your Girlfriend Really Loves You.
He’s going to jump up and yell,Gotcha!
Any moment now.
Any. Freaking. Time. Now.
But so far, it’s been a full two minutes and we’re still gaping at one another and nothing like what I just thought about is being said.
Nope. So far what is happening is that I am trembling from head to toe, and my mouth has become this dried-out cavernous hole where no words can be found, just weird laughing-braying-donkey sounds, and my stomach is threatening to projectile vomit the stupid hamburger I just ate with Nate all over Dex’s stupid, dumb face. “Please. Please tell me this is a distasteful joke.”
He stands up. “Jane—”
“Oh, oh my God.” My eyes bulge out of my head and I step back. “You’re serious? You’re actually fucking serious right now?”
He reaches out and leads me to the couch. When his hand touches mine, I have to squeeze my eyes tight to keep in the tears. Dex has a child. Dex just had a baby? Can he even take care of a plant? What? Where do I go from here? What does this mean for us? For me?Oh, shut up Jane!It’s not like he was having sex with her while he was with you and she just got pregnant! This isn’t something that’s even happening to me! It’s happening to Dex. None of it is his fault. I’m an awful girlfriend. I’m making it all about me and our relationship and I shouldn’t. He just found out he’s a father and I’m acting selfish. I want to scream and rant and stomp my feet loud enough to get this ex-girlfriend back out of the picture. But that’s wrong,that’s so freaking wrong. I need to be there for him and we can get through this. There’s no way he shouldn’t be a part of his child’s life. Of course this is going to be challenging, but we can deal with it together. “Wow. Wow. That’s just. I really have no idea what to say. You must be shocked.”
“Yeah. It’s been…yeah.” Two writers that can’t find the words. What a pair we make.
“So, what’s the plan now? Do you have one? Will she let you visit? Do you have any parental rights? Or does she just want child support? Wait. Is it a girl or a boy?”
Dex blinks up at me. “A girl,” he says, sitting down on the couch next to me. “But, Stephanie…” his words are slow, deliberate. “She wants a little more than me just visiting.”
His words destroy me. This really isn’t where I thought this conversation was going.
