Page 100 of This Woman Forever

The ride home is silent. I expect if I was even remotely with it, I’d sense it’s uncomfortable, but I’m not. Nowhere close. I never once considered how I would actually feel to have it confirmed Ava’s carrying my child. Our child. Not really. I think I probably imagined, but never truly considered the reality of it. And hearing her say the words I’m pregnant? It’s like a deluge of emotions have drowned me—every emotion imaginable. The most prolific?

Disbelief.

I’m confused when we walk in and find Cathy. Then my mind reboots, and I remember it’s early afternoon. Ava should be at work. I should be killing time waiting for six o’clock when I can follow her back to our bubble. But today, we’re here, and I honestly can’t remember anything before her heartbreaking call. I shake my head and look down at my hands. My keys and Ava’s bag in one, Ava’s hand in the other.

I release my hold of her, feeling her look up at me, and set my keys on the table.

“Is everything okay?” Cathy asks, the caution in her tone screaming. I must look like I’ve seen a ghost. I feel oddly vacant, like I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react, feel, or be, all the emotions swirling around, mixing things up. I look at Ava’s bag in my grasp again, frowning as I pass it to her. “Boy?” Cathy prompts.

“Everything is fine,” I reply, though I know it doesn’t appear so, and despite not being able to look at Ava, I know she won’t seem okay either. “Ava’s not feeling too well.” My hand lifts of its own volition and encourages her toward the stairs. I need a moment alone. I never dreamt I would ever feel like that when Ava’s around me. Never alone.

She resists my light push into her back, her worried eyes looking back at me as she accepts her bag. “Are you coming?” she asks, but I still can’t look at her. I’m scared about what I’ll see. My wife. A liar. She knowingly set out to hurt me. It just doesn’t compute.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” I say, my throat rough and quiet. “Go.” She’s hesitant and unsure, but she slowly walks away, having a brief moment with Cathy. I don’t know what to say. All I can hear is my inner mind telling me this isn’t true. That I’ve heard things. That Ava’s not pregnant, that she’s going to scream at me at any moment that she hates me, that I want a baby more than I want her. I know that’s crossed her mind before. I know she’s wondered why I stole her pills.

And I know I should give her some context and work hard to make her see I’ve not done this on a whim.

I frown to myself as she takes the stairs, constantly looking back at me.

“Jesse, for the love of God,” Cathy says. “Will you please speak?”

Blinking, I give Cathy my eyes. She recoils. “I’m fine,” I say robotically. “Really.”

“Well, you don’t look it, boy.” She comes to me, placing a palm on my forehead. “You said Ava was unwell. It’s you who looks it.”

I take her hand and force a smile. “I’m okay.”

Her old face wrinkles, looking doubtful. “I put your peanut butter in the fridge.”

“Take the rest of the day off.”

She nods, but it’s reluctant, unfastening her apron and going to the kitchen as I slip our keys onto the table by the door. She appears moments later with her carpet bag. “Are you sure, boy? I could stay. Cook for you and Ava.”

“I’ve got it.” I put an arm around her shoulders and walk her to the door. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay. Okay, boy.” She reaches up with her lips to kiss my cheek, making me dip so she can reach. “Be well, now.”

I see her out and face the penthouse. What the fuck is going on in my head? I just don’t know what to say to Ava. I realize I asked for this. But the process from then to now, everything that has happened in between, it’s got me good. She left me because I took her pills. And now I realize, she left me because I had achieved what I set out to do.

Secure our future. Or, as Ava would say, trap her.

But does she feel trapped now? And is that why she left? She got drunk, knowing she was carrying our baby. Unacceptable. But she was at a loss. I’ve been there. Am hardly in a position to judge.

Fuck.

I cover my face with my hands and drag them down, exhaling, my mind bending.

What should I do?

Scream, shout, yell?

No.

I call Peterson and tell him Ava’s come home because she’s unwell, hanging up before he can think to question me, then I take the stairs slowly and enter the bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed, looking lost and nervous. It’s exactly how I feel myself. Lost for words and nervous about how this is going to pan out. So I will do what I need to do to bring us both together and put us back in our bubble. She’s carrying our baby. She’s holding our future within her. Everything up to this point doesn’t matter. She’s always been precious to me—my redeemer and my ruin. Now she’s beyond that. She is literally holding my life in her hands.

I go into the bathroom and take a moment to look around the space where we first came together. How far gone is she? How many weeks? I turn on the tap and pour some bath soak in, taking extra towels off the shelf and putting them on the warmer before placing the sponge on the side of the enormous tub. Will we need to move? Getting a pram and all other kinds of baby paraphernalia up to the penthouse daily will be a pain. I sweep my hand under the tap, testing the water. Too cold. I adjust the tap, making it warmer. She’ll have to start taking it easy. No more ten-hour work days. I whip up the water to stimulate more bubbles. And what will people think? The wedding was just over a week ago. I laugh to myself. I couldn’t give two fucks, but I give endless fucks that Ava will care. Her mother, her father, her brother. What about outside space? We’ll need a garden with a child.

I still, staring at the frothing water. The Manor. So much outside space, a whole fucking park on the grounds. And yet still wasted. I reach into my inside pocket and pull out my phone, punching a text out to John.

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