Chương 7
"I said I don't know."
"Marcus, is the baby yours or not?"
My throat tightened.
"Probably."
I hated saying it.
"What does Alina say?"
"She says probably."
"Well, that's comforting."
"Thank you."
"Sorry."
He exhaled slowly.
"Where are you?"
"Outside the house."
"Her house?"
"Our house."
"Right."
The correction irritated me, though I had made the same distinction myself for months.
"Why are you there?"
"I don't know."
"You going in?"
"No."
"Then why sit outside like a creep?"
"I am processing."
"You look like you're casing the place."
Despite myself, I smiled.
"You're very supportive."
"It's my gift."
I stared at the front windows.
The curtains in the living room were different.
She had changed them.
That bothered me more than it should have.
"Did Leah go to appointments with her?"
"Some."
"Anyone else?"
"Her sister, I think."
"Daniel?"
Evan paused.
"Who?"
I almost laughed.
"Never mind."
"Is Daniel a problem?"
"No."
"That sounded exactly like yes."
"He went with her to the clinic."
"Okay."
"That's all you have?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"That it's weird."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Does she have friends?"
"Obviously."
"Then maybe one of them went with her because her husband left."
I ended the call.
He called back immediately.
I rejected it.
Then he sent a message.
That was childish.
I replied, I know.
He sent back, Call me later.
I put the phone face down.
Five minutes passed.
Then a gray SUV pulled into the driveway.
For one absurd second, I thought it would be Daniel.
Instead Alina got out.
She saw my car before she reached the front steps.
She stopped.
I considered driving away.
That would have been consistent with my recent approach to difficult conversations.
Instead I got out.
"What are you doing here?"
"I don't know."
She looked tired.
"That's becoming a theme."
"I read the files."
"Already?"
"I wasn't busy getting divorced."
She gave me a look.
"Bad joke."
"Yeah."
She adjusted the strap of her bag.
"Did Dana tell you to come here?"
"No."
"Did anyone?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
I looked at the house.
"I drove."
"That explains transportation."
"Can we not do this?"
"You came to my house."
"Our house."
Her expression hardened.
I immediately regretted it.
"Sorry."
She looked toward the front door.
"I have a call in twenty minutes."
"With Priya?"
"My obstetrician."
The word changed the tone between us.
"Is everything okay?"
"Routine appointment."
"You said call."
"Telehealth."
"Right."
I put my hands into my coat pockets.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You seem committed to it."
"Who knows?"
She did not pretend not to understand.
"About the pregnancy?"
"Yes."
"My family."
"Mine too."
Her face softened slightly.
"Evan told you."
"Mom knows."
"Your mother found out accidentally."
"How do you accidentally find out someone's seven months pregnant?"
"She came by with soup."
"Of course she did."
Alina almost smiled.
My mother treated soup as both food and surveillance.
"She saw me."
"And nobody thought I deserved a call."
Alina's expression closed again.
"Your mother tried."
"Apparently everyone tried except the person who was actually pregnant."
"Do you want to fight?"
"No."
"Because I don't have the energy."
"I don't either."
"Then don't build a courtroom case on my driveway."
I looked down at the cracked concrete near my shoe.
A small weed had grown through it.
"I saw the ultrasound."
Her hand moved unconsciously toward her stomach.
"Which one?"
"The last attachment."
"Oh."
"Is that recent?"
"Three weeks ago."
I nodded.
"Does he have a name?"
That surprised her.
"No."
"Nothing?"
"I have a list."
"Can I see it?"
She stared at me.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Marcus."
"Because if he's mine, I don't want to meet my son and find out everyone else spent months calling him something."
"No one is calling him anything."
"Not even you?"
She looked toward the house.
"I call him Bean sometimes."
I blinked.
"Bean?"
"Don't."
"I'm not judging."
"You are absolutely judging."
"I'm evaluating."
She sighed.
"It was the size comparison on the pregnancy app at some point."
"What kind of bean?"
"I don't remember."
"That's irresponsible."
She laughed once.
Then her face changed, and she pressed a hand to her lower abdomen.
I stepped toward her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You made a face."
"He's pushing down."
"Is that normal?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Marcus, I've been pregnant for seven months."
"And I've been pregnant for zero."
"That is scientifically accurate."
I stood there feeling useless.
"Do you need to sit?"
"I need to get inside."
"I can help."
She considered it.
Then she unlocked the front door.
The house smelled the same.
That was the first thing that got me.
Not exactly the same.
There was cinnamon somewhere, maybe a candle.
But underneath it was our house.
Wood polish.
Laundry detergent.
The faint mineral smell from the old radiator near the stairs.
My body recognized home before my mind could object.
I stepped inside and stopped.
There were shoes beside the door that I didn't recognize.
Small things had changed everywhere.
A new lamp.
Different pillows.
A basket of baby books on the coffee table.
Then I saw the cardboard boxes stacked against the dining-room wall.
One was open.
Inside were folded yellow blankets.
I stared.
Alina followed my gaze.
"My sister brought those."
I nodded.
On top of another box sat a package of newborn diapers.
The sight of them hit me harder than the ultrasound.
Those were not abstract.
A baby would wear them.
A baby would sleep here.
A baby would cry in rooms where Alina and I had spent years learning how to be quiet around each other.
"Do you have a crib?"
"Not assembled."
"Where?"
"Upstairs."
"Which room?"
She hesitated.
"The office."
My office.
Former office.
The room where I had worked late while our marriage deteriorated ten feet away.
I looked toward the stairs.
"Can I see it?"
"Marcus."
"Just the room."
"You don't live here anymore."
"I know."
May you like
"Do you?"
The question was not cruel.
