“Not yet. I—I want to be sure.”
“So, I’ll get tests. We need to know,” she says.
I can’t speak around the knot in my throat. I switch to autopilot and grab my toothpaste. She walks out of the room, and I hear her steps leading to the door. I flinch when it closes behind her. When could this have happened? I backtrack through our sexcapades. The night in the rain. We could barely keep our hands to ourselves as we stumbled up the driveway. The rain had been a gentle mist, and the moon had been full, casting a romantic glow over the landscape.
We ended up on the back deck with no protection. Normally, we’re safe. While we’ve both been tested, and gotten a clean bill of health, I don’t trust my birth control one-hundred percent. My mother conceived my sister and me on different types of contraceptives. The women in my family are notorious for failed contraceptives. There’s something in our makeup that doesn’t jive with the wonders of modern medicine.
Sweat dots my brow. What am I going to do if that test is positive? If I tell him about the baby, everything I’m trying to accomplish is going to be compromised. I’ll never know if it’s about the child I carry or me. Does the man even want children? It’s not something we discussed at length. If he had this much trouble being faithful, how will he be with a child? I refuse to put any little person I birth through the same thing me and Rochelle lived through. I spit out my toothpaste, rinse my mouth, and splash water on my face. I need to pull it together. This is all just a “what-if”.
A knock comes at the door again. I frown. Blue has a set of keys. I creep forward and peer out of the round hole. Skull. I want to rush back into the bathroom and pretend I’m not here. He cannot be here when Blue gets back.
He knocks again, louder. “I know you’re in there. Your car is outside, and I saw the man deliver your food.”
I rush to the door, hold my breath, grab the bag and jog to the kitchen. Chucking it in the garbage can, I run back and suck air into my greedy lungs. I rest my head against the door. “What do you want?”
“I’m not doing this through the door, Ruthie.”
“Then go away,” I croak.
“I’ve been nice so far. I’m playing by your rules. If you don’t open this door and meet me in the middle, I’m going to remind you who you’re dealing with.”
I remain silent praying to God, he’ll get tired of it and go away.
The doorknob jiggles.
No, this motherfucker isn’t—
The door swings open, and he appears with a wide grin. “I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re dating a criminal, and you need to get that fucking lock changed.”
I watch him slip the kit into his back pocket, tongue-tied and impressed, despite myself.
“I think you’ve given me the silent treatment for long enough.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Let’s start with how you liked my presents.”
“They were thoughtful,” I admit.
“There’s nothing you told me that I don’t remember. I care about you, girl.”
But is that enough? I glance down at my bare feet and wiggle my toes.
“Don’t do that. Don’t you disconnect from me.” He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to lift my head. “Skewer me with those witchy eyes of yours, but don’t ignore me.”
“I don’t have any answers.”
“Yes, you do. You haven’t said no. Which means yes. Maybe not now, but soon.”
“You want me to admit that?” I scoff, sneering up at him.
“I want you to come back where you belong. I want us back.”
“Okay,” I say desperate to beat the invisible hands of the clock ticking down.
“What?”
“You want me back. We’re back.”