Surviving Valencia

I nodded.

He sat beside me and took my hand. “All I want is for us to spend the rest of our lives together, and raise this baby, and make each other happy. Can we still have that?”

“It sounds nice,” I said.

“But not nice for you?” he asked, judging from my tone.

“It sounds like a nice life for someone. I’d like it to be mine.”

“So let it.”

“I don’t want to choose it just because it’s easy.”

“Honey, love should be easy.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“So tell me what you mean. Easier than what?”

“Leaving. Leaving you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

I drew in a deep breath. “That’s my motorhome outside,” I told him. “And in that big, flat envelope over there,” I said, pointing to our stack of mail, “are its decals. I’ve been planning to become a fruit vendor. I guess it’s time I told you the truth: I’m leaving you so I can sell oranges.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That blue motorhome – it’s a home, not a camper – is where I’m going to live. I didn’t think it would be ready so soon. But there it is.”

“Very funny, Sweetie.” But he did not look amused.

“I’m serious. I’ve been trying to tell you for months. You just wouldn’t listen.”

He got up and tore open one of the envelopes. From inside it he pulled out a huge, laminated sign. Delicious Juicy Fruits! We’re Manic about Organic!

“Wow! They did a great job,” I said, taking the sign from his hands and admiring it. “Is there another one in there? Because they were supposed to make one for each side of the cart.”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Adrian. He tried to tear it in half, but the lamination was so thick and durable that it only twisted.

“Adrian, you’re going to wreck it,” I said, pulling it away from him.

“Who’s we? Why does it say ‘We’re Manic about Organic?’” he demanded.

“Well, ‘we’ means me and the baby. Plus, I thought it sounded safer. You know, so people would know more than one person was inside the motor home at night when I’m sleeping.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” he asked, sitting down and putting his head in his hands.

“You don’t need to swear.”

“What is the matter with you?”

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I really am sorry. But this is what I have to do. How can we go on like this, after everything that’s happened? I can’t just sweep stuff like that under the rug. Especially when there is about to be a baby involved. I was planning on January first being the day I left, but it looks like there’s nothing stopping me from taking off a little sooner. I think I’m going to drive to California and get started there.”

“You aren’t leaving with my baby,” he said.

“Well, I can’t leave without it.”

“Why don’t we go out for some ice cream, do a little shopping, and wait until this passes,” said Adrian, soothingly, trying a new tactic.