Lana
Being around Kade is wonderful but difficult. Every moment has two versions: the version he and I share, right here in reality; and the version which exists in my mind in which I tell him about the baby. Over the next week, he comes to my bedroom, we fuck, make love, screw, whatever you want to call it, we do it, and then we lie together for a while before business calls him off. Every time, I tell myself, is the time I will explain everything to him. I will tell him about his child. I imagine how he will react. Extremes dominate these imaginings. I see him building a crib and I see him throwing me out onto the street.
I write more, start a novel, discard it, start another, do the same. There’s a kernel in here somewhere. I’m sure of it. I just have to find it.
Scud visits me, brings me sandwiches, lingers and waits for me to speak. He’s a nice guy, I tell myself. But nice guys can be a pain in the ass, too.
I’m sitting at my desk, a couple of Evergreen kids giggling in the street outside, sun shining onto the wall in front of me silhouetting my every movement, when my cell buzzes. I almost jump up from the desk when I see the number: Terry.
I swipe the cell to answer and say, “Terry?” I speak uncertainly. Since I left her outside the Twin Peaks, we haven’t spoken. I’ve felt too nervous to reach out and she seemed to be fine with that.
When she speaks, it’s the same old Terry, matronly and playful with an undertone which implies that, if it came to it, she could throw down. “Lana.”
A pause. In the background, I hear what sounds like the beep-beep of a removals van.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I managed to get a job in Seattle, illustrating for a small children’s publisher. With that and the freelance work, I’m going to be able to finally call myself an illustrator. How weird is that, huh?”
“You deserve it,” I say.
“You helped,” Terry says. “I showed them our notebook. I never would’ve done any of that without you.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s all you.”
Another pause.
She wants to ask me something, I can tell. Or tell me something. But the way we left things before hangs between us, the proverbial elephant in the room—the elephant on the phone line, lurking somewhere between cell towers.
“Listen, Lana. I’m—I can’t say I’m sorry for how I felt about you leaving then and there with a man neither of us knew. But I handled it in the wrong way. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”
“I accept your apology.”
We both laugh, and the tension dissipates.
“I’m proud of you, Terry,” I say.
“The pay is about the same as working in the Twin Peaks, if you can believe it. But there are added benefits, like dental and not having to wear a bikini to work. What about you? Are you writing?”
“Yes, or I am trying to. I’m working on a novel. Well, half-working on a novel. I keep starting and restarting it.”
“What’s it about?”
I tell her: a girl gets caught up in a biker’s quest for revenge.
“What’s your main character’s name?” Terry asks. “Iron?”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
A third pause, but this one without any of the brimming tension or resentment. Terry collects her thoughts. She murmurs something to a man, who says: “Yes, ma’am.”
“Listen, Lana,” she says. “I have something to ask you.”
“Okay . . .”
I nibble the end of my already tooth-marked pen.
“I leased a two-bedroom place. Which is fine because I guess I could turn one room into a drawing room—not the old English stuff kind, an actual drawing room—but I was thinking, seeing as I’ll be moving near to your area. Why don’t you move in with me? We can be roommates. I’ll warn you ahead of time. I have been known to snore. If that happens, all you need to do is chuck a couple of pillows over my face.” She giggles.
“Oh, Terry . . .” I think it over. I’m falling for Kade, hard. That’s the truth. And another truth is that our sex is explosive and intimate and the time after the sex, when I lie in his arms and he runs his hands through my hair, is almost as incredible. But another truth is that every moment with Kade is difficult. Difficult because I have not told him about his child. And one day, I’ll have to explain it. Each moment with him, no matter how beautiful, is marked with pain.
“What?” she asks.
I lower my voice: “I haven’t told Kade about the baby yet.”
“Oh.”
“And . . . I think I should, you know? What if he wants me to stay? What if he wants to—to sort of move to the next level?” I feel silly speaking the words. Kade enjoys our time together, enjoys tearing into each other, but he has never said anything that hints at something more.
“Well, the offer’s there. Send me a text if you change your mind.”
“I will,” I say. “I definitely will. I’m glad you called.”
“Me, too. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
She hangs up. I try and return to my writing, but my mind strays to Kade and Terry, to secrets, to the baby.
I can’t keep this from him any longer, I tell myself, trying to gear myself up for it. I can’t keep it from him; the lower part of my belly is softening, getting rounder. My hips and ass have gained weight, my breasts are swollen. I don’t think these changes are particularly visible to someone else, but I know my body well, and he’s getting to, too. At what point does it move from “putting on a little weight” to “incredibly pregnant?” I don’t know. And if I don’t tell him now, what will I say when he finally sees? Will I say it is somebody else’s? Will I plead ignorance and claim I have no clue how my body just started growing? Will I say I’m one of those women who don’t pay much mind to their periods? Perhaps he knows so little about women’s functions that he might believe it. But even then, I would have lied to him. And for the rest of my life, I’ll have to keep up the story that I didn’t know I was pregnant.
I realize I’m chewing the pen to tatters.
I drop it onto the desk and stand up.
No, I won’t live a lie. No, I won’t string him along. No, no, no.
It’s time to tell him.
I pace into the bar and to Kade’s office without giving myself time to think it over. Scud is sitting at the bar and as I walk past he says, “Where are you going in such a rush, Lana? Come and sit with me awhile.”
I ignore him. Not trying to be mean, just worried that if I stop, even for a second, I’ll begin to have second thoughts.
I knock on Kade’s door with a shaky hand, so that my knocks are quick raps.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
“Alright.”
He sounds tired. Worn-out. On the verge of anger.
When I walk into the office, I see that the skin around his eyes is dark, sleep-deprived. His leather is thrown over the back of his chair and he wears a checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the collar loose around his neck.
“Are you okay?” I say, when I see his face. It’s a picture of withheld rage.
“I need to get goin’,” he says. “Some incident out in the forest.”
His temples pulse and it’s like I can see the anger moving through him. He wants to punch the wall, or hurt somebody; he wants to be out in the forest where he can deal with whatever this is.
I tell myself that I need to come clean. I tell myself that it’s time. I tell myself I can’t keep this secret forever.
But looking at him, I know that telling him right now would be cruel. He’s already worried. He’s busy. He’s got other things on his mind. Telling him right now would serve no purpose other than relieving me, making me feel better, taking a weight off my chest. Telling him right now would be selfish. Maybe that’s true; maybe it’s just justification.
But as I look into those tired but still-bright blue eyes, I know I am not going to tell him today. And I know that if I am not going to tell him, I shouldn’t be here, lying to him night after night.
“I’m moving in with Terry,” I say.
“Your friend from the Twin Peaks?” He sits up, leaning forward. “What? When?”
“Soon,” I say. “She’s got a place in the city and she’s asked me to move in with her. I think it’s time—”
“It’s not,” he interrupts. “It’s not time at all.”
“I’ve told her I will now.” I’m shocked by how easily the lie comes to me, bypassing thought and just coming right out.
He stands up, shaking his head. “I can’t talk about this right now. Don’t do anythin’ until I get back. Give me that, at least.”
“I won’t be moving right away,” I say. “But I will be moving.”
How can I explain to him the importance of moving without telling him about the baby? I can’t, so when he looks at me waiting for an explanation, I just look back at him.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he says. He throws on his leather. “There’s somethin’ happening and I need to see to it.”
He glances at me, seems to be about to speak, and then shakes his head.
“She needs a roommate,” I say.
“We’ll see about that.”
Something about his tone makes me bristle. As though he owns me, and if I’m a hypocrite because I like him to own me in the bedroom and not out here, so be it. But as far as I’m concerned, the bedroom and the real world are distinct places with distinct rules.
“I’m moving,” I say, and then I march out of the office without waiting for a response.
I think Kade is following me before I get back into the dorm and hear the roar of his Harley.
I pick up my cell and text Terry: It’s a yes.
I went in there to tell him I’m carrying his child. I walked out after telling him I’m leaving him.
How the hell did that happen?
But maybe it’s for the best, I reflect as I chew on my pen. Maybe it’ll make things easier.
“Easier for who?” I mutter. “Easier for who? You? Kade? Or the baby?”