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“Kathy’s pregnant.” It was a slap in the face, a punch to the gut, verbal violence—and she wanted to run even as she was frozen in place.
She couldn’t form words, couldn’t think, and the room swam around her. She reached behind herself, bracing against the cinderblock wall. “What are you going to do?” she finally asked.
It was his turn to look stunned, as though she hadn’t had any right to ask him that.
“We’re going to have the baby.”
So that was it.
Just a few months before, Kathy had been asking her to persuade him to sign the divorce papers, and now she was pregnant.
And she had no end of follow-up questions—how, when, why, was it even Elliot’s?
Her eyes burned, and her chest felt tight. “I can’t do this right now.” She pushed past him.
“Liv—” He reached for her. “I’m sorry. I never meant . . .”
She shook him off. “It happened, but it’s obviously done.” She shrugged with far more nonchalance than she felt, trying to put on a brave face, trying to forget the feeling of his hands on her skin, the taste of his mouth, the way he felt inside her.
It was over. Clearly.
And yet.
She was haunted.
Her nails down his back.
His teeth over her collarbone.
The way he breathed her name when he came.
But it was over now.
Kathy was pregnant.
They were having the baby.
He’d made his choice.
All she had was memories.
Of how he shoved her against the wall after bringing her home.
Of how his fingers bit into the tender flesh of her hips.
Of how achingly gentle he’d been even in his greediness and need.
She wished she could forget even as she clung to the memories like a security blanket.
It had only been once. And yet, it was everything.
“Liv,” he called after her again, but she ignored him, walking away silently. He’d made his choice.
* * * * *
Her phone buzzed again and she let it go to voicemail. It was him. And she wasn’t having it. Not the excuses, not the explanations, not the apologies. She wasn’t ready. For any of it.
And yet, when the buzzing stopped and the voicemail symbol came up, she still found herself going through the motions, as though on autopilot. If she stopped to think, she wouldn’t’ve pressed the buttons, but muscle memory won out. His voice came through the speaker.
“Liv . . . Liv . . .” His voice was tinny. “I was hoping to talk to you, but . . . I guess. Look, I know things between us. I wish . . . Look, I fucked up. I wish things were different. Call me?”
She sighed. She wished things were different too. But wishing wasn’t going to make it so.
The last thing she wanted to do was talk. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to more justifications, rationalizations, and explanations. She wanted to fight him, and then she wanted to fuck him—or maybe the other way around.
And she’d already done both, and all it had gotten her was a pregnant estranged wife and an apologetic voicemail.
Not that she wasn’t complicit, but she wasn’t going to play that game again.
She hit the delete button.
She was on her own now.
And then her door buzzed.
Fuck.
She knew it could only be him.
She hit the button to admit him. “Come on up,” she said on a sigh of resignation.
“What do you want?” Her patience was thin, and he was wearing at her.
He took a step towards her, silently requesting to be let in. “We still haven’t talked,” he said.
“We slept together, and you want to discuss this now?” She rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to hear it. She wanted him gone or she wanted him in her bed, but she didn’t want to stand here talking.
He nodded and reached for her. “Liv . . .”
She shook her head. “No.”
He pushed. “I love you . . .”
Fire flared through her—anger, shame, and even her own residual desire. “So what?”
It was his turn to take a step back, and she repeated it. “So what?” she repeated. “What difference does it make? Kathy’s still pregnant, and you’re still going back to her.”
“I wish . . .” he began.
“Yeah,” she interrupted him. “So do I.”
He reached for her, holding her. It still wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. “I’m weak,” he whispered. “God help me.”
She didn’t know his god; she didn’t have any belief in his god. She only knew here, and now, and them. And she knew that she couldn’t have any of it.
She stepped back. “You should go.” Every word broke her, but she forced herself to say them anyway. “Home. To your wife.”
Resignation and regret crossed his features. “Liv . . .” he tried one more time.
“Please don’t make this any harder.” She looked up at him, determined to face him and face what they’d done, and move on. Still, she wanted to hurt him, just a little bit, ensure he knew a fraction of her pain before the night was over. “It’s not like I don’t feel the same way, you know.”
He bit his lip before turning on his heel to leave. Only after the door closed did she allow herself to fall to the floor, sobbing.
For what never was.
End