What Lovers Do

With narrowed eyes and lips parted, he remains idle. A sponge absorbing everything I just told him. “Honor your request …” Curling his lips between his teeth, he makes the slightest nod. “Okay.”

Okay.

That’s it?

No more questions?

I’m fully prepared to hold my ground, plead the Fifth. I’m ready for his childish fit and desperate pleading.

He does none of that. Instead, he unties me and slips back on his shirt while I scurry to step into my panties and power walk toward the sofa to retrieve my dress and shoes.

“Thanks for inviting me to dinner. I had a great time. Let’s do it again …” I head toward the door just as he emerges from the bedroom, silent and unreadable. “The dinner part.” I smile, nose scrunched before shooting out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Mind telling me where you’ve been?” Jimmy asks as I shut the door and toe off my shoes.

I glance up at him hogging my sofa and monopolizing my television.

“I was on a date.” I smile, shoulders back and head held high as I make my way to the kitchen with Cersei on my tail waiting for my attention. Maybe this is a new direction that I never thought about—showing Jimmy I’m moving on.

“Excuse me?” Jimmy says slowly as I fill a glass with water.

“A date. You know … when two people go out to dinner because they like each other, and sometimes they take things further if the night’s going well. We dated, Jimmy. Don’t you remember back when I liked you? Back when you had a sliver of self-respect left in your body? I know time flies, but it wasn’t actually that long ago.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sits up slowly, at the same pace that my words must be sinking into his damaged brain.

“I’m serious. Like how serious I am about you moving out of my house. Like how serious I was when I said we were over. I’m flattered you think I have such a rich sense of humor, and I did before you moved into my house, but if I’m not laughing, then I’m probably serious, Jimmy.” I drink the whole glass of water and set it down with a little more force than necessary.

I’m mad, but for reasons I can’t explain. Today started off so good. The baby. The heartbeat. My sister and her husband in tears because I’m giving them something they want more than anything. Even work went well. Dinner was amazing. Then … Shep.

Shep happened.

And Jimmy.

One of them I want and can’t have. The other I don’t want and can’t seem to shake.

I’m completely drained of all sympathy for the two hundred pounds of dead weight on my sofa. It’s terrible, but I think I’d have a weak moment of happiness if he said he had some terminal illness because it would mean that he’s leaving my house, even if on a gurney with a sheet covering him. Again … ninety-nine percent not serious about that. Okay. Maybe seventy percent.

I blame these morbid thoughts on pregnancy hormones. They’re making me sick, but not in a physical way.

“So now what?” He stands like his joints won’t bend properly, like an eighty-year-old man instead of the spry twenty-nine-year-old I found on a dating app. He had sex appeal and vigor for days.

“Uh … what do you mean now what?”

“Clearly we have more issues to work out now.”

It’s rare, but not unheard of for young adults to experience dementia. Maybe he’s schizophrenic, and I’m dealing with multiple personalities. Brain tumor? Stroke? Really … what am I missing? “When’s the last time you had a physical?”

He presses his hands to his lower back and stretches like it’s painful to stand fully erect. “You mean with my doctor?”

“Yes.”

“A year or two. Why?”

“No reason.”

“I don’t qualify for health insurance with my new job until I’ve been with them for thirty days. And I’m not sure if it will cover couple’s counseling, but I’ll check. It would probably be easier if we were married.”

Je … sus … really? I left my tied-up position in Shep’s bed, and this is my reward for having a conscience? For not letting our physical relationship go too far? (Too far again) For doing the right fucking thing!

“What if I were pregnant? What if I were pregnant and it wasn’t your baby?”

“W-what the hell are you talking about?” His words rush out like I just punched him in the gut.

“Would you still act like the world’s biggest asshole? Would you still act utterly clueless and pretend that what we had can be salvaged?”

His slack jaw snaps shut, teeth clenched, and a little vein in his forehead pops out. “I’d be fucking pissed off.”

“Pissed off enough to leave? To move the hell out of my house?”

“The fuck …” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I just bought a new driveway.”