Nancy
Fink and I move to the back of the bar as the bikers spread out and canvas the area, making sure that no cops are staying behind for a sneak attack. He takes me to the booth we sat in when we did all those shots, what seems like years ago now. He sits down with a crooked smile and I try a smile back. Things are awkward, slightly distant, and will require some work to repair. But just sitting here is proof enough that we want to repair them.
“That was . . . goddamn, Nancy. You’ve got some fire in you. I had no idea.”
“Neither did I,” I say honestly. “When I saw him pointing that gun at you, though, I just lost it. I just thought . . .” I thought: You do not hurt the father of my baby. I think about the pregnancy test. Maybe I was wrong; maybe he doesn’t know. “I need to tell you something,” I say.
“You’re pregnant,” he says. “That’s why I ran out.”
Laying it bare like that—that he ran from me just because I have baggage now, his baggage—makes me want to slap him across the face. I’m glad he’s being honest, but it drives me a little mad.
“You have to understand,” I say, clenching my teeth to stop from yelling, “that when you say that, it’s going to annoy the hell out of me. You have to understand that, because otherwise I’ll seem like a crazy psycho when I do this.”
“Do what?”
I pick up a half-full glass of water and toss it in his face. It splashes hard, droplets bouncing off him and hitting me. I place the glass down and fold my arms, waiting.
Fink wipes his face with his sleeve, and then smiles, and then laughs like a maniac. He grips the table and shakes back and forth, laughing like somebody with no problems in the world laughs, laughing like somebody who has never had to worry laughs. He laughs like everything is okay and everything will always be okay. And then releases the table and wipes a tear from his eye.
“Okay,” he says. “I guess I deserved that.”
“You did. But I promise I won’t do it again. I just . . . I have to know, Fink. I have to know why you ran out of me because of the baby. I mean, I get it. I guess I do. Babies scare men. But surely you could’ve just woken me up, and we could’ve talked about it, or . . .”
“Sure, I could’ve done that.” He shrugs. “What are you expecting from me? Some kind of detailed analysis of my feelings—”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me,” I interrupt. “I want an explanation before I decide if I’m taking you back or not.”
“So you’re telling me you came down here and saved my ass and now you don’t even know if you’re taking me back. Be honest, Nancy. You’re taking me back, and we’re going to be a real couple this time. We’re going to do shit, like go to the movies or whatever, and when you have appointments at the doctor and things like that, I’ll come with you. I’ll look at the what-do-you-call-it, the photograph that looks like an aerial photo?”
“The ultrasound?” I say, giggling. There are tears in my eyes.
“I’ll look at the ultrasound and pretend to be able to see the kid, and when the kid is born, I’ll be there. I’ll take him to school and soccer and all that good stuff. I promise.”
I want to fall into his arms. I want this to be the moment where everything gets good, better than good: where everything runs smoothly until the end of time. But I also can’t deny my feelings, and my feelings are far from simple. “But you just walked out,” I say. “And you didn’t come back. You didn’t even come back this time. We’re not sitting here now because you came back to me. We’re sitting here now because I came to you—again. So who’s to say that you won’t just disappear again?”
“I am,” he says firmly. “I say that. Because I know I’m not my dad. I know I won’t ruin that kid’s life. I know I won’t be the reason another fifteen-year-old joins a biker club. I’ve left the club, Nancy.” He explains about being banished from Salem. “And all for you. You think I wasn’t going to come back to you.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out an envelope, sliding it across the table.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I open it and look inside: a one-way plane ticket to LA, leaving in four hours.
“You really were going to come back,” I whisper. “You were going to fly all the way out there—and you’ve left the club, your club—all for me . . .” I trail off, revelation after revelation stacking atop each other until there’s a tower in my mind. I watch it, seeing if its foundations are strong, seeing if it will topple easily. It seems sturdy, and we have plenty of time to make it sturdier.
“What about tonight?” I ask.
“I was going to ask you about that,” he says. “I’m banished from Salem, it’s true, but I reckon there’ll give me some leeway for the first week, let me get my shit together. I was wonderin’ if we could fall asleep together, pretty lady.”
“And I’ll wake up and you’ll still be there.” I wink at him playfully.
“I guess we’ll have to see about that,” he says.
We go outside to my car. “Can I drive?” he asks.
“Sure.” I toss him the keys. “Why?”
“Don’t you know anything about me, pretty lady? I’m a gentleman. I’d never let my pregnant fiancée drive.”
His words don’t hit me until I’m sitting in the passenger seat. “Fiancée,” I whisper. And then I turn to him, louder: “Fiancée? Are you serious?”
He kisses me as his answer, a long kiss, the sort of kiss which is a preview to the life we’ll spend together: warm, comfortable, and tinged with incredible passion. When he breaks it off, I suck in big gasps of air, hungry for more.
“I mean it,” he says. “I’m deadly serious. I love you, Nancy. I fuckin’ love you, and I’m not going to let my shit get in the way anymore. Well, I’m gonna try my hardest not to let it.” He smiles. “I don’t know how successful I’ll be, but I reckon I can give it a good go.”
“Promise me,” I say, touching his face. “Promise me you’ll stay until the baby is born. Give me that much.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m staying, no matter what. It’s just some days I might be a pain in the ass.”
I lay my head against the headrest and smile. “I’m sure I can deal with that. Let’s go back to my place.”
He starts the engine.