Elijah opens the refrigerator door and pulls out the milk as he swipes the paper from the table with his right hand. He’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye as he chugs the milk and raises the paper to be level with his eyes.
“And what news might that be, Mrs. Watson?”
“I’m pregnant!” I blurt the words out with so much force that I p
ractically scream them. But I don’t care. I’m too excited to contain myself.
I wait for Elijah to partake in this joyous occasion, and I’m not prepared for the reaction he gives me.
I’m not prepared to watch the amused look fall from his face. I’m not prepared to watch as the glass jug of milk to slip out his grasp and shatter all over the tiled checkerboard kitchen floor. And I’m definitely not prepared for him to look at me, disappointed, like the pregnancy is all my fault.
Now the smile I was wearing fades from my lips.
I slouch down in my chair.
And I’ve never felt so alone in such a happy occasion.
“What’s wrong with you?” I snap. “This is wonderful news and you’re acting like I’ve just given you a death sentence.”
He doesn’t make eye contact, but instead looks at his watch. The silver band gleams beneath the kitchen lights and I find my eyes drawn to it too. It distracts me for a moment, but then I blink and keep my eyes centered on Elijah’s face. He folds his arms and drops his gaze to the floor. “It is wonderful news,” he comments. But his voice has a somber tone to it and to me that indicates that he’s anything but happy.
“You’re lying.” I get up from my chair and take two strides, coming to a halt in front of him. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re as excited as I am.”
He doesn’t. He continues staring at the floor. I watch him. His gaze seems lost. It’s like his eyes are floating a top the white and black tile floor. It seems like if I don’t offer him a life-vest he’ll sink. “I am happy,” he reassures me, but his voice sounds like anything but reassuring.
We rarely fight and if we do, we make up minutes after. But this is something worth fighting for to me. “I can’t believe you!” I raise my voice and before I can control myself, I’m screaming, “I get the best news of our lives today and you’re acting frigid about it!” I poke him in the chest with my pointer finger. “We’re going to be parents. It’s a beautiful thing. Please snap out of this foul mood and embrace it. Please try and be happy about it.”
It’s at that point that he makes eye contact with me. “You don’t understand.” His voice is low and there’s grit in it and I know that he’s angry.
“What do you mean I don’t understand?” I bark back.
“You don’t understand what my childhood was like, I—”
At that point I cut him off with, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I stomp my foot. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” My childhood was a living, breathing hell. To this day, I don’t know how I survived it. He might have issues with his father, but to me, that’s no excuse for his childish behavior.
“This discussion is over,” he yells, straightening up.
“It’s far from over!”
I’m emotional.
And hormonal.
And I at least want him to pretend to be happy.
I at least want him to pretend to be happy for my sake.
“Elijah, please,” I plead. My voice is barely above a whisper.
“I said it’s over!” he shouts.
Then he brushes past me, stomping past me and leaving me alone in the kitchen.
Chapter Eight
~After~
There are days where I miss the feeling of having a warm body lying next to me.