Page 16

James

T he first sign I get that something is rotten in the state of Denmark is the absolute lack of contact from my boyfriend all day on Thursday. The second sign is the almost distracted ‘U 2’ I receive when I finally give in and text him to say I’m on my way back and I miss him. But the third, and final, sign is the tension I can feel when I let myself into my own home.

It’s silent, but not in a comfortable ‘everyone is asleep’ way. I don’t know how I can tell the difference, but I can. Call it a parent’s intuition, or something. I drop my keys and wallet in the bowl on the sidetable in the entryway, and then just about leap out of my skin when I walk into the living room to find Evan hunched over on the couch in the dark.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss at him, “what the fuck, Ev?”

With his elbows braced on his thighs, and his hands clasped together in an approximation of prayer or begging, he raises his forehead from where it was resting on his hands and looks up at me with a similar serious expression to the one he used when he told me that he had feelings for me.

“You’re going to want to sit,” he says, and he doesn’t even sound like himself.

I plant my feet and demand, “What’s going on?”

“Jay,” even the way he says my name is eerily calm and foreboding, “sit down.”

Dropping my overnight bag on the floor, I do as I’m told, taking the spot beside him. He swivels sideways and reaches for my hand, holding it tightly. In the dim light from the outside streetlight, I watch as his eyes line with concern and hesitation behind his sexy glasses frames.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. The anxiety which has been slowly churning in my gut since I realised he wasn’t texting me today is now turning to dread. “Ev?”

“Fuck, I’ve had hours to think about how to drop this on you and I just don’t…”

“Evan,” tugging gently at his hand, I try to soothe his nerves even while mine are all sitting on knifepoint.

I have the strangest feeling that he’s going to break up with me. Tell me that he was wrong: that he can’t imagine being in a relationship with a man —with me— for the long-haul. That he misses women, or that he wants…something else. He’s had time away from me to realise that he was just infatuated with the novel experience, or whatever.

Even though it hurts to think, I’d rather he get it out now, while we have a chance of salvaging our friendship, than if he continues to drag things out.

“Just…say it,” I prompt.

He takes a deep breath. I brace myself. “Mia might be pregnant.” He winces as he delivers the news.

“Wh- what?! ” I was braced for a breakup. I was not braced for that.

I surge to my feet, intent on racing to her room to…I don’t even know what. Ask her what the hell she was thinking? Hold her and tell her it’s scary but it will be okay? Demand that she tell me that this is some really piss-weak practical joke?

Ev gently pulls me back down to the couch, shaking his head. “She’s asleep. It’s been a rough day.”

“No shit,” I scoff with liberal sarcasm. Scrubbing my hand over my face, I narrow my eyes at him and demand, “Tell me everything. Now .”

Squeezing my hand again, he does. I get the run down about how he discovered her in her room, distraught. Just hearing it breaks my heart, as does his admission that she told him that I would hate her.

“I promise,” he assures me, his wobbly voice emphatic, “I told her there was no chance of that happening. I don’t even think she believed it herself. She was just scared. Is still scared.”

“I wasn’t here,” I lament, guilt roiling my stomach. “She was freaking out and I wasn’t here.”

“But I was. I still am.” Ev’s words calm me and soothe some of the ache in my heart. “And you’re here now . And now is going to be the hardest part because we’re stuck in limbo waiting for the blood test results.”

“Blood tests?”

“Oh, right. I didn’t get that far yet.” He sighs wearily, then launches into the rest of his story. Of going to buy her tests, of them being inconclusive, of taking her to the doctor. He winces again. “She wanted me in there with her. Moral support or whatever. But some of those questions…”

I can remember going to Haley’s —Mia’s mother’s— early appointments with her almost as if it was yesterday. It wasn’t even seventeen years ago, so it’s no wonder the memories still feel vivid. I scrunch my nose and nod.

“…So, yeah,” he continues, “then the doctor sent her off for blood tests, including a whole panel for STIs and stuff, and it’ll be a couple of days before we know. I, uh, I called the school and told them she was still sick and would be out the rest of the week. I’m sorry if that was overstepping, but—”

“No,” I interrupt him, “no, that’s perfect. You’re perfect. I hate that I wasn’t here, but I’m glad you were.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t call or text you. I…” Ev licks his lips and looks me in the eye. “This was something I thought was better said in person.”

“Yeah,” I breathe, my mind feeling like it’s moving through molasses. It’s slow to function, too many thoughts and emotions churning through it at once. “Yeah, I get it. I’m not mad. Not at you. Not at her. But…fuck,” I tighten my grip on his hand, panic starting to set in. “What do we do if she is?”

“What did your parents do for you?”

“Loved me. Supported me. Adored Mia.”

“Then we do that. But,” he levels me with another serious look, his stare so sharp and piercing behind his frames that it takes my breath away, “we’re not influencing her decision. It’s her body. If she chooses not to go through with the pregnancy…”

I’m nodding even before he trails off. “Of course ,” I tell him, a little horrified that he’d think otherwise. He knows me better than that. “Whatever she chooses, I will love her and support her.”

“And, uh,” Ev swallows again, this time a little nervous, “if…and I mean if she chooses to put the baby up for adoption…” I can feel his hand trembling in mine, and I don’t quite understand until he takes a steadying breath and finishes, “…I think we should consider adopting it.”

I was not braced for that, either.